Chapter Text
The gray light of dawn filters through the blinds, doing little to illuminate the kitchen despite its location on the third floor. The silence of the apartment is heavy, punctuated only by the rhythmic thump-hiss of a second-hand coffee maker and the hum of incandescent lights.
Exiting from his and Tucker's room, Danny shuffles out of the hallway towards the kitchen, his feet dragging across the linoleum. He clearly struggled to get a wink of good sleep, darkened skin beneath his eyes betraying his state of fatigue. His hair, usually a mess anyway, is a chaotic nest of static and cowlicks, and his oversized hoodie hangs off his shoulders as if he lacks the energy to even fill the fabric.
In the kitchen, Sam and Tucker are already stationed at the small table. They don't react much beyond acknowledging his presence with a clipped "good morning." They don't even comment on the fact that he looks like a walking ghost in the most literal sense. Their own appearances mirror his; Sam's eyeliner is smudged from the day before, and Tucker is staring blankly at a coaster, his glasses sitting slightly crooked on the bridge of his nose.
Without a word, Sam reaches over to the counter. She pours a stream of coffee that is thick enough to be confused for used motor oil into a novelty mug and pushes it across the table toward the empty chair.
"Thanks," Danny croaks. His morning voice is thick and gravelly.
He wraps his fingers around the ceramic, letting the heat seep into his palms. He lets the steam caress his face for a solid ten seconds before taking a long, bracing swallow. It is bitter, scorched, and exactly what he needs.
The three of them bumble around the cramped kitchen in a sort of practiced, low-energy choreography. There is no grand conversation, just the soft clink of silverware and the occasional mumbled request.
"Eggs?" Tucker asks, leaning over a frying pan. He doesn't look back, his movements sluggish as he cracks an egg against the rim.
"Two," Danny replies, staring into his coffee. "Fried. easy."
"Bacon?"
"Three slices each," Sam murmurs, reaching past Danny to grab a plate. "Make it four. We're going to need the grease." Tucker's head wobbles in an approximation of a nod as he starts with Sam's vegan bacon first.
The sizzle of the bacon filling the air is the only thing that feels alive in the room. They move like ghosts themselves, drifting between the fridge and the stove, united by a shared, bone-deep fatigue that no amount of caffeine can truly touch.
Once the morning haze lifted and the last of the coffee took hold, Danny, Sam, and Tucker stood in the center of their living room. Gear was packed, appearances were straightened, and their nerves were steeled for the trek.
With a well-practiced flick of his wrist, Danny bisected the seams of reality. The familiar neon-dark glow of the Ghost Zone spilled into the room, washing over the furniture and casting long, dancing shadows against the walls. Without a word, the trio stepped through the rift, leaving the quiet hum of their apartment for the chaotic, swirling currents of the Zone. Behind them, the seam mended instantly, leaving the air still once more.
They emerged on the outskirts of Princess Dorathea's Kingdom. Tucker and Sam hold the back of Danny's baggy hazmat suit and gloved hand respectively as they make their way to the Kingdom's ornate gates. As they descended the main path and checked in at the guardhouse, the sheer scale of the kingdom hit them.
Unlike the desolate regions of the Zone, this kingdom was alive, or as alive as the dead could be. Spectral peasants hauled carts of goods, and translucent knights in plate armor patrolled the battlements with rhythmic precision. But as the trio wove through the crowded thoroughfares, the lively clatter of the market warped into a low, persistent hiss of whispers.
As they move deeper through the heart of the city, the voices of the townspeople drift over them like cold fog.
"...the Halfa returns," a middle-aged ghost muttered to a group of merchants. "Is he here to play King, or just to tell us where we aren't allowed to fly today?"
"He saved the realm from Pariah Dark!" an older ghost countered, shucking a piece of glowing produce. "Show some respect! He's the only one keeping the peace."
A younger ghost clutching a basket scoffs, "Peace? It's a cage! My sister hasn't been allowed to cross the veil for a week because of his 'security advice.' Since when does a mortal set our borders?"
Danny doesn't miss a beat. He floats with his head held high, hands shoved casually into his pockets as if he were strolling through a park rather than a den of brewing resentment.
"Don't mind them," Danny says, tilting his head slightly toward Sam and Tucker. He offered a small, lopsided shrug. "I've got a mixed reputation everywhere I go. Half the people want a statue of me, and the other half want me grounded. It's nothing to worry about, guys. Just par for the course."
Behind him, Tucker's pace slowed. He glances nervously at a group of brawny spectral guards who were pointedly ignoring Danny's friendly nod as they approach the castle, their spectral essence flickering with irritation.
He shifted his gaze to Sam, his eyes wide with a look that said, 'Is he actually hearing the same things we are?' Sam doesn't answer out loud. She simply levels a flat, deadpan stare at the back of Danny's head, her expression a mix of concern and "goddamn it" energy. She catches Tucker's eye and gives a sharp, subtle shake of her head. Arguing with Danny about the public's opinion of him was like shouting at a hurricane.
They shared a heavy, silent sigh and quickened their pace, following their friend as the shadows of Dorothea's castle began to loom over them.
The heavy purple doors of the castle creaked open with a groan, swinging inward just a breath before Danny's fist could make contact. He stumbled slightly, his hand hitting empty air instead of wood.
Sam stepped forward immediately, her voice echoing in the vast, stone-cold foyer. "We need to see Princess Dorathea. Could you lead the way?"
The guard shifted his pike, his visor gleaming under the torchlight. He drew a deep breath, his chest swelling as he prepared a stern dismissal. But before the first syllable of a rejection could leave his mouth, a melodic voice rang out from the depths of the eastern corridor.
"Hark! Do my ears deceive me, or is that the sweet melody of my dearest lady-in-waiting approaching?"
Dorathea didn't walk; she drifted, and as such made no noise with her movement. She exited the hallway with a spectral grace, her gown billowing behind her like a captured cloud. As she approached the group, she offered a bright, regal smile that seemed to push back the gloom of the castle walls.
She stopped first before Danny, extending a hand. "Sir Danny, it is a pleasure to see you hale and hearty," she said, shaking his hand with a firm, surprisingly modern grip.
Turning to Sam, she pinched the sides of her skirts and sank into a deep, elegant curtsy. "My dear Sam, your timing is as impeccable as ever." Sam returned the curtsy with a smile.
Finally, she turned her gaze to Tucker. With a respectful, measured nod, she acknowledged him. "And Master Tucker. Welcome to my halls."
"Pray, accompany me to my private study," Dorathea continued, gesturing for them to follow as she turned toward the inner sanctum. "A flurry of messages have arrived from across the realms, and I find myself appreciative of your counsel on these latest tidings. The winds of change blow restlessly today."
Tucker adjusted the wrist strap of his modified specter deflector and shared a knowing look with Danny and Sam. "Well," he said, stepping into stride beside her, "you are in luck, Princess, because that is exactly what we're here to talk about."
As they stepped inside, the shelf covered walls of the study seemed to lean in. Every available gap was plugged with a lifetime's worth of curios; leather bound books, trinkets of all kinds, and silver-framed photographs that watched the newcomers with frozen, sepia-toned eyes.
Dorathea didn't pause to admire the collection, having seen it time and time again as she worked. She moved with practiced grace toward an ornate wooden desk centered against the far wall. The massive window behind her was draped in sheer fabric, filtering the ambient light of the zone into a hazy, verdant glow that silhouetted her figure. For a moment, she was the very picture of living royalty and yet also the ghost she existed as framed in the emerald light.
"Sit, please," she said, her voice low but commanding. She gestured toward the furniture that claimed most of the floor space: a plush, overstuffed loveseat and a deep-seated recliner that looked far too comfortable for the gravity of their visit.
As the group settled in, Dorathea began gathering handfuls of documents from the desk. She moved with a focused intensity, her fingers rifling through stacks until she had what she needed. Crossing the small room, she leaned over the low coffee table and began spreading the papers out like a dealer laying out a high-stakes hand of cards.
She sank onto the edge of the loveseat next to Sam, their shoulders nearly brushing as they hovered over the display.
The table was carpeted in a variety of pressing documents. Most were letters, a frantic dialogue of recent concerns written in a dizzying array of styles; some in rigid, architectural print, others in elegant, looping cursive that felt like a secret code. A few were scrawled in a jagged shorthand that defied immediate reading. Tucked between the personal missives were the colder, more clinical sheets: official censuses, their neat columns of names and dates looking out of place next to the emotional ink of the letters.
"Danny," she began, her voice echoing slightly, "your advisory for ghosts to remain within the Zone has caused... quite the stir. Many are restless. They feel their very essence, their callings, are being stifled by these boundaries."
Danny sighed, leaning back into the soft cushions of the loveseat. "I know, Princess. It wasn't about trapping anyone; it was about keeping both worlds safe. But I've heard rumors that some aren't exactly following the PSA."
"More than a few have elected to ignore it entirely," the princess confirmed, a wry smile touching her lips. "The more stubborn spirits find the human realm far too tempting to abandon."
"They won't be out there alone for long," Danny reassured her, crossing his arms. "There is still a ghost-amicable team patrolling Amity Park. They're trained to corral wayward ghosts back into the Zone with as little trouble as possible. Even while I'm tied up with things in Gotham, Amity Park is being watched."
The Princess's posture relaxed, a look of genuine relief washing over her features. "That is comforting to hear. Truly. I have received more than a few scorched letters of complaint from spirits claiming they were 'rudely escorted' back home. If they are complaining that loudly, it means your team is doing their job well."
Dorathea turned back towards the coffee table, her fingers hovering over a stack of weathered parchment. She pulled three specific letters from the pile.
"However," she says, her tone sharpening with concern, "these are of a different nature. They have come from every corner of the Zone, all asking the same question: Where is Ember McLain?"
Sam leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "Ember? She's not exactly the 'hide and seek' type. She lives for the spotlight."
"Precisely," Dorathea said. "I sent out scouts to her usual haunts, but they found nothing. She had a massive performance scheduled at Skulker's Island three nights ago. She never showed. Ember would never willingly miss a chance to have a crowd chanting her name."
"That's... definitely not like her," Tucker added from where he sat across from them in the recliner. "If there's an audience waiting, Ember is usually there at least twenty minutes early just to check the acoustics."
Danny swapped a worried glance with Sam and Tucker. "If she's not in the Zone and she's not performing, something is wrong."
"We can do some digging on the human side," Danny suggested, turning back to the Princess. "If she's crossed over and hasn't been picked up by the patrol, she might be laying low, or someone might be keeping her that way. We'll check with the Amity Crew and suggest they start researching typical hot-spots and we can see if any Ember sightings have popped up online."
Dorathea nodded solemnly. "I would appreciate that, Danny. If she does not reappear soon, I fear her absence may cause more unrest than the lockdown ever could."
Danny rubbed the back of his neck, looking less like a protector of the balance between humans and ghosts he strived to be and more like a guy forced to have an uncomfortable conversation. That which he was forcing himself to partake in simply because it was the right thing to do.
"Look, Princess, these are all well and good things to know, but it's not necessarily what we came to talk about." He shifted uncomfortably. Sam decided to take pity on him and get straight to the point, "It's not just the usual ghost-hunting chaos anymore, Dora." Danny curled up into the corner of the seat, his ghostly talk swirling around him, "Things are getting sketchy on the human side. My parents... they've basically gone corporate. They're officially paired up with the government now."
Dorathea tilted her head, her jewelry rattling softly. "The Fentons have always been a nuisance to our kind. How has a 'partnership' changed the fundamental nature of their threat?"
"Because now they've got a blank check and a lot of suits backing them and their ideals," Danny explains, scrunching further. "It's not just two people in a basement anymore. It's an entire agency."
Tucker hopped in, "Exactly. The government probably has their hands on every blueprint, prototype, and 'oops-I-blew-up-the-kitchen' invention the Fentons ever made. They're taking that tech and scaling it up."
"Princess, they're not just building better thermoses," Tucker added grimly. "They're likely working on a specialized weapon. Something big. If a ghost gets caught in the crossfire now, they won't just be sent back home with a headache. They might be gone for good."
Danny nodded, looking at the floor. "I'm serious. If any of your people go over there thinking it's just the same old game of cat and mouse, they're gonna get a massive reality check. A dangerous one."
A heavy silence fell over the room. The Princess sat tall, the weight of her crown seeming to press harder against her brow. The casual annoyance she'd felt toward the 'wayward' spirits vanished, replaced by a ruler's protective instinct.
"If the humans are escalating to this degree, then my leniency must end," Dorathea declared, her voice regaining its royal steel. "I cannot allow my people to wander blindly into a trap."
She thumbed one of the census reports for her kingdom. "I will tighten the restrictions immediately. No citizen under my banner is to approach the human realm without express clearance. I'll send word to the Far Frozen and the other settlements, too. They need to know the 'Fenton Works' label just got a lot more lethal."
She looked back at Danny, her eyes softening. "We will do our part to keep them here, Daniel. Just... try to make sure the human world doesn't come looking for a fight on our turf."
Danny sighed in resignation, "I wish that I could promise they wouldn't try."
Dorathea hums in acceptance, "The problem, Daniel, is that the Realms are a mess. There is no unity, no delegation. Every settlement is an island, and most of us only talk when there's a crisis."
She turned back to him, her expression turning uncomfortably serious. "The Zone needs a center. It needs someone to bridge these gaps. Would you be willing to be the one to spark that unity? To... assume a higher role? The role of King?"
Danny actually choked on his own breath, letting out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "Whoa, wait. A king? Princess, no. Absolutely not." Sam and Tucker looked at Dorathea wide-eyed. Knowing Danny is enough to know he wouldn't want that much authority.
He rubbed the back of his neck, uncurling from the cushion. "First off, the last guy who called himself 'King' was Pariah Dark, and we all remember how that went. He was a warlord who tried to steamroll everyone. If I showed up claiming the crown, half the Zone would probably start a riot before I even finished my speech."
He stopped and looked her in the eye, his expression earnest. "Plus, I don't want to be anyone's judge, jury, and executioner. That's way too much power for one person. And let's be real, I'm nineteen. I barely have the delegation skills to finish my laundry, let alone the expertise to run an entire dimension."
Sam leaned into him, nodding firmly. "He's right. Aside from the optics, concentrating that much power in one person is a terrible idea. To assume all three of those roles would be a total violation of the checks and balances that let a government actually reflect the will of the people."
Danny and Tucker shared a quick side-eye. It was that specific "we definitely should have learned this in Civics class but were too busy fighting ghosts or slacking off" look. They hadn't exactly absorbed the finer points of political theory, but they knew Sam was right.
The princess, surprisingly, didn't look offended. She nodded slowly, her hand resting gently on her lap. "I see. You speak of a balance I have not seen in many centuries. It is... a wise perspective."
The heavy tension finally began to dissipate. They stayed for a while longer, leaning over the table to sift through the rest of the letters and reports. Between the serious business, they fell into an easier rhythm, Dorathea sharing the latest court gossip about the Knight's latest blunder, and Tucker showing her a few memes on his PDA that left her looking deeply confused but polite.
Eventually, the weight of the day caught up with them. Danny stretched his arms over his head, his joints popping. "Alright, we should probably get moving if we want to inform the Amity Crew about all of this before midnight."
"Of course," Dorathea said, her voice warm. "You have stayed quite long enough."
She personally guided them through the winding corridors of the castle. When they reached the massive front gates, she bid them a graceful farewell.
As the heavy doors groaned shut, setting the trio out to travel the swirling green and purple mists of the Zone, Dorathea stood alone in the silence of her hall. She didn't move for a long time. She thought of Sam's words; of checks, balances, and the will of the people.
If a King was the wrong answer, perhaps a voice was the right one. She began to wonder what it would take to gather the leaders of the Far Frozen, the Islands, and other established settlements. Not for a King, she mused, but for a Council.
The living room was cast in shades of bright emerald and amethyst as a split in reality tore a hole in the air several feet above the carpet. Jazz sat on the sofa, squinting against the sudden glare that washed over her face and highlighted the tired lines around her eyes.
She didn't even have time to move the papers she was working on before the first thud hit.
Tucker came tumbling out of the swirling green vortex first, flailing as he hit the floor with a muffled "Oof!" Sam followed a split second later, having no time to adjust before she landed right on top of him. Danny floated out last, the portal snapped shut with a swishing pop, plunging the room back into the warm, dim glow of the table lamps.
Danny winced at the heap of limbs on the rug. He drifted downward, his feet touching the floor just as the white rings of light washed over him, swapping the baggy hazmat suit for a wrinkled t-shirt and jeans.
"Sorry," he said, reaching out a hand to help them up while rubbing the back of his neck with the other. "I totally misjudged the exit height."
"It's alright," Sam muttered, groaning as she braced her other hand on Tucker's shoulder to hoist herself up. She brushed the wrinkles out of her skirt and offered Danny a small, reassuring shrug. "Practice makes perfect, and, let's be real, practicing wasn't exactly an option for a while there."
"Yeah, man," Tucker joined in, sitting up and readjusting his glasses, which were hanging precariously off one ear. He didn't look annoyed, just a bit winded. "Not blaming you. I've had worse landings into literal dumpsters. This rug rates five-stars by comparison."
Jazz watched them, her initial concern being replaced by a relieved, if somewhat exasperated, smile. "I take it that the meeting with Dora went well? Aside from the rough landing?"
"Yeah, it went well," Danny said, flopping onto the sofa. He absentmindedly pulled a stray sheet of paper from one of the massive stacks settled where Jazz had been working. He scanned the dense text for a second before looking up at his sister. "Made some progress with all of this?"
"Some," Jazz replied, shifting a pile of documents to make enough room to sit back down. "I'm connecting your testimonials of different events and interactions with ghosts and the Ghost Investigation Ward to different legal violations and mental acumen indicators. We need to prove sentience and sapience for ghosts to be allowed to testify in a court of law."
She gestured broadly to the organized chaos of binders and open folders on the coffee table. "I figure once I have a good basis here, we can take it to a solid lawyer. I've got some ideas of who to approach based on the precedents set during the Superman and Martian Manhunter cases."
Danny hummed, the weight of the project making him feel a bit guilty. "Sorry, I haven't been helping as much as I should."
Jazz offered him a soft, weary sigh. "I don't blame you, Danny. Digging through dense literature was always my strong suit anyway."
The conversation was interrupted by the savory scent of herbs and broth. Sam and Tucker drifted back in from the kitchen holding bowls of steaming lentil soup, carefully setting Danny and Jazz's portions down on the few remaining empty spaces on the table.
"This is really good," Sam said, sinking into the elbow of the couch and blowing on a spoonful.
"Really?" Jazz asked, picking up her bowl and letting the warmth seep into her hands. "This guy I met at the library recommended the recipe to me."
"Pass a thanks to him for us," Tucker said, settling onto the floor and leaning his back against the base of the sofa near Danny's legs.
"Wait," Danny said, squinting at his sister over his spoon. "Who did you meet at the library?"
"His name is Jason," Jazz replied calmly. "And we are friends."
"How did that happen?" Sam asked, leaning in with an intrigued look. "You've been buried under this thesis, the legal project, and that handbook for weeks."
"And you aren't exactly the most sociable person on a good day," Danny playfully snarked, nudging Jazz in the side with his elbow.
Jazz didn't flinch, maintaining a perfectly level bowl as she used her free hand to shove Danny's face out of her personal space. "We just ran into each other at the library a lot, and we got to talking," she said. A faint, tell-tale hint of pink began to bloom on her cheeks.
Danny gasped, pointing a dramatic finger. "Is that blush I see?"
Sam giggled, her eyes lighting up. "Jazz has a crush!"
"Jazz and Jason, sitting in a tree," Tucker sang between bites, grinning up at her.
Jazz rolled her eyes, though the blush deepened. "What are you? Five?"
"I bet he has a motorcycle," Danny whispered loudly to Sam, who broke into a fresh fit of giggles. "That's besides the point!" Jazz exclaimed, her voice jumping an octave.
The three of them broke into audible chuckles. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up," Jazz grumbled, though she couldn't hide a small smile as she spooned more soup into her mouth.
"You have to admit, it's on brand for you," Sam said, pointing her spoon at Jazz. "You definitely have a type." Jazz shrugged, conceding the point with a sigh. "Yeah, I guess I do."
Once the bowls were scraped clean and the kitchen was restored to a somewhat orderly state, the group migrated back to the living room. Tucker claimed the center of the coffee table, pushing aside a few of Jazz's papers to make room for his laptop.
"Alright, let's get the team on home turf in the loop," Tucker said, his fingers sweeping across the trackpad. He opened a private, encrypted video channel and pinged the 'Amity Crew' group chat.
For a few minutes, the only sound was the rhythmic bloop of the outgoing call. "Come on, guys, pick up," Danny muttered, leaning over Tucker's shoulder. "It's not even that late back home."
Finally, the screen flickered, splitting into several laggy tiles as his friends back in Amity Park began to join. Star appeared first, looking like she'd just finished a workout, followed by Wes, who was uncovering his camera lens, and finally a few of the others.
"Finally," Valerie grumbled, her room filling the frame. "Took you long enough. We thought you guys might have keeled over or got caught. What's the word from Jersey?"
"We've got a situation," Danny said, his voice dropping the playful tone he'd used with Jazz earlier. He leaned into the camera's view. "Listen, things are changing. My parents just signed a massive contract with the GIW. It's not just small-town ghost hunting anymore. Say what you want about my parents, but they really are the experts in manufacturing devastating anti-ghost technology."
Tucker nodded, "With government funding, the Fentons and the Guys in White are going to be rolling out new tech fast. We're talking vastly improved weapons, more sensitive sensors, and the works. Way better than what they had before."
"We need you guys to be our eyes and ears on the ground," Sam added, her face appearing next to Danny's. "Keep a lookout for anything that looks new. If the GIW starts deploying stuff we haven't seen before, we need to know the second it hits the streets."
The crew on the screen exchanged looks of grim realization. "Great," Star sighed. "Like the GIW wasn't annoying enough when they were incompetent. Now they're competent with the resources to use it in the most inconvenient way possible." Everyone remembered the disruptions in regular school happenings by the GIW harassing students for information on Phantom. They had no goodwill among any part of the student body.
"Just stay safe," Danny cautioned. "Don't get too close to the gear. Just document what you can and send us the updates. We're trying to track down a missing ghost on this end, but we need to know if the heat is turning up back home."
"Copy that," Wes said with a mock salute. "We'll keep our eyes open. Hopefully, all of this will be over soon. Amity has been weird without constant ghost exposure."
They chatted a little while longer, the Amity Crew wanting to know what it was like in Gotham. Eventually, they left the call one by one until Valarie was the only Amity resident left. "It's Ember isn't it." She said, solemnly. "She's the missing ghost you're looking for." Her tone was questioning, but held a resigned certainty.
Danny hesitated before responding. "She is. How did you know?" The rest of the group looked among themselves, concerned.
Valarie sighed, her earbud mic crackling as she did so. "Ellie mentioned not having seen her lately; I think we all know that if Ember has a chance to set up without competition, especially on the human side, she is going to take it."
A moment of silence held between them before Valarie continued. "I'll keep an eye out for any news about her and tell Ellie you're looking for Ember." She didn't give them a chance to respond before exiting the call.
"Welp. That's done." Tucker declared, shutting the laptop. He stood up and stretched before heading towards the hallway. "Time for bed." Jazz checked the time on her phone. "Yeah, it's time to hit the hay." She headed for her room, Sam following her.
By the time Danny finally trudged inside, Tucker was already buried under his covers. The rhythmic silence of the room was broken as Danny pulled a worn sleep shirt over his head and let out a long, shuddering sigh.
"That had some weight behind it," Tucker said. His voice was thick with exhaustion, but his interest was piqued. He shifted, the mattress of the top bunk creaking as he leaned over the rail to peer down at his friend. "Wanna share?"
Danny didn't answer immediately. He sat on the edge of the mattress, the springs groaning under his weight. He hunched, his hands supporting his head before leaning back, stretching out.
"Just wish things could be simple again," Danny said softly. He climbed into the bottom bunk, pulling the blanket up to his chin as if it could shield him from the rest of the world.
Tucker let out a dry, knowing huff from above. "Ain't that the dream."