Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Danny noticed was the sound. The low, wet pulse of something alive. It echoed through the walls like a heartbeat and made his skin crawl. The second thing he noticed was the pressure. It was tight, claustrophobic, smothering. His hands were pinned to his sides. Panic set in instantly.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

His heart thudded wildly until instinct kicked in.

Go ghost!

But nothing happened. His body stayed solid. Human. The transformation didn’t come. The panic surged harder. His vision flickered green with involuntary power, and that’s when he realized.

Ecto energy. He still had it.

Danny phased.

His body slid through the walls of the pod, falling forward and hitting the floor with a wet smack. The air outside burned with rot and metal and sulphur. Somewhere distant, he heard screaming and something roar.

He coughed, then looked down at his hands. Green light crackled faintly along his fingers. He could still blast. That was something.

But no ghost form. No flight. No escape.

A sharp ache behind his eye made him wince. The memory slithered into his mind again. The tentacle, the pod, the creature burrowing into his eye. A tadpole.

He pulled his hood over his head and wrapped the scarf around his face. The room was on fire.

Where was he?

What was this place?

How the hell was he going to get home?

Danny crept through the pulsating corridors of the ship, hugging the fleshy walls. The further he moved, the worse the smell got. Burned metal, old blood, something acidic and wrong. Whatever this place was, it wasn’t built by anything human. Or ghost.

He rounded a corner and froze.

Two figures stood at the base of a half-collapsed ramp. One was tall, lean, and green-yellow-skinned. Her eyes were sharp, and her teeth bared in a scowl. Her nose was strange. Overly small and upturned. She wore beautiful armor. Silver with red gems inlaid. She carried a sword and a bow. The other was shorter, dark armor glinting under the sickly red light, with stark white hair tied at his neck. He had a longsword gripped tightly in one hand and a shield on his back.

Danny’s first instinct was to go invisible.

He flickered out of sight just as the green-skinned one snarled, weapon raised. “Show yourself, parasite!”

Before he could react, it hit him.

A wave of thought that wasn’t his own.

Three infected. Three minds.

Danny staggered, the world spinning for a moment. It wasn’t speech. It was presence, slithering and sharp like ice behind the eyes. He saw flickers: a battlefield in flames, a severed head rolling across a floor, green eyes narrowing in judgment. Their tadpoles were linking.

Lae’zel blinked. “You’re infected.”

The the man beside her stepped forward. "So are we."

Danny hesitated, still invisible.

“I don’t want to fight.” the man continued. “But if you can fight, we could use another sword. Or… whatever that was you just did.”

Danny slowly became visible again. The glow in his hand flared and fizzled green, casting shadows across the floor.

“I’m not a sword guy,” he said. “But I can hold my own.”

Lae’zel didn’t lower her weapon, but she didn’t raise it either. “The link confirms your infection. That means you’re coming with us until we remove it. Or until you turn.”

“Great,” Danny muttered. “Team parasitic brain worms.”

The half-drow actually cracked a smile. “Better than dying alone.”

Danny didn't return the smile, but he fell in step beside them.

They seemingly had no idea what he really was.

He could work with this.

The corridor twisted sharply, opening into a chamber that crackled with fire. The smell of sulfur hit hard, followed by the high-pitched screech of winged things descending from the upper rafters of the alien ceiling.

Ugly, twisted, little monsters.

Three of them dove from above, tiny claws bared, mouths full of jagged teeth.

“Scatter!” Lae’zel barked, launching into motion.

The man raised his shield just in time to deflect a claw aimed at his head. He returned with a clean sword stroke, severing one imp’s wing in mid-air. It crashed to the ground hissing.

Danny dove behind a pillar, his lungs already burning.

He wasn’t ready for this. His transformation was still out of reach. His energy felt thin, like pulling power through fog. But the imp circling above didn’t care.

It lunged.

Danny threw up his hands and fired.

A blast of green ectoplasm tore from his palms and impacted the imp mid-charge. It exploded in a spray of smoke and black ash. Danny staggered back, winded.

The second imp landed near Lae’zel, claws flashing. She grunted as one raked across her arm, then responded by splitting the creature down the middle.

Danny turned, searching. Where was the last one?

Too late.

It slammed into his back, claws biting deep through his hoodie. He cried out and rolled, shifting intangible just enough for it to pass through him. He phased out of the imp’s grasp and emerged behind it, hands crackling.

“Invisibility, now,” he whispered to himself.

His body shimmered and vanished.

The imp shrieked, spinning in confusion. That’s when Danny struck, reappearing with an ecto blast that launched the devil into the wall hard enough to splatter.

Silence.

Smoke curled from the broken corpses. The heat of battle cooled, leaving only burned flesh and adrenaline.

The man sheathed his sword and turned to Danny, eyebrow raised.

“Your magic is... unorthodox,” he said. “But effective.”

Lae’zel gave a sharp nod. “You channel powers from a patron? You fight like a warlock.”

Danny didn’t answer. His hands still trembled from the strain. That wasn’t strength. That was barely a fragment of what he should be capable of.

But they didn’t need to know that.

They pressed forward.

The corridor ended in another chamber, this one eerily silent.

It was darker here. lit only by the bioluminescent veins that pulsed along the ship’s interior. Several pods lined the room. The glass was dark and Danny couldn't see inside them for the most part.

One pod was different.

A woman with dark hair and elven features slammed her fist against the glass, her mouth moving rapidly in desperate pleas. Her armor gleamed faintly with a strange, angular design. She was alive. Awake.

And terrified.

“Help!” she cried, eyes locking on the group as they passed. “Please! I’m still in control! Don’t leave me here!”

Danny stepped forward instinctively, but Lae’zel blocked his path with a firm arm.

“We don’t have time,” she snapped. “This ship tears itself apart by the minute. We leave her and move.”

The man looked at her calm and cold. “Slowing down could get us all killed.”

Danny clenched his jaw.

He looked at the woman’s eyes, pleading and scared

“I’m not leaving her.”

He stepped forward before anyone could stop him. He pressed his hand to the glass, green energy humming faintly at his fingertips.

“This might hurt,” he said quietly, more to himself than her.

He phased.

The resistance was brutal. Where the other pod had yielded, this one clung to him like molasses. Pain lanced through his chest. His knees buckled slightly, but he pushed through.

Then, with a crackle and a sharp pop, the woman tumbled free into his arms.

He staggered, barely catching her before falling to one knee. His hands sparked uncontrollably, ecto-energy flickering down his arms before fading into nothing. He forced himself to stand, ignoring the pounding in his skull.

The woman blinked, shocked. “You… how did you—?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Danny panted. “You’re out.”

She straightened quickly, adjusting her armor with practiced grace. “Shadowheart,” she said. “ Thank you.”

And then it hit again, that mind-touch.

Everyone flinched as their thoughts brushed one another. Flickers of memory, instincts, flashes of suspicion.

Lae’zel stepped back, face tight. “Tch. Another infected. That settles it. We move together, for now.”

Shadowheart glanced warily at her. “Not exactly my first choice of travel companions, but fine.”

The drow looked around. “If we’re working together, we should know what to call each other.”

“Lae’zel,” the gith said, curt.

“Call me... Shadowheart,” the woman repeated. “And you?”

The man hesitated, eyes flickering with something dark. “I don’t remember. Anything. But I fight well, so that’s what matters.”

He looked at Danny. “And you, warlock?”

Danny hesitated.

“Danny,” he said finally, voice low.

He didn’t miss the curious glance Shadowheart gave him. Or the way the drow seemed to file the name away.

“Then let’s keep moving,” Danny said, ignoring the ache creeping up his spine.

He could rest later. If they survived.

They reached the helm just in time to see it all go to hell.

The room was cavernous, sloping upward in tiers of writhing, fleshy conduits and pulsing bio-machinery. At the center stood a disturbing creature, tall, robed in dark material, and adorned with four long, slithering tentacles.

A Mindflayer.

Danny stopped cold, his breath caught in his throat.

He'd seen a lot of monsters. But this wasn’t just a monster. This was... wrong. It radiated power so deep and ancient it made his core pulse in alarm. The tadpole behind his eye sang in recognition.

Take the helm.

The command struck like a thunderclap in his brain. He clutched his head, teeth gritted. Even Lae’zel flinched.

A red-skinned winged figure stood before it. Horns curved from his skull, he wielded a flaming greatsword.

“A cambion,” Shadowheart hissed. “We’re outmatched.”

“We only need to reach the helm,” said the man, eyes narrowing. “Let the flayer fight the devil.”

The Mindflayer and Cambion clashed.

Then came the imps, crawling from the walls and chutes in droves.

“Go!” Danny shouted, blasting the first two from the air. “I’ll cover!”

They surged forward, the corridor lit with green flashes from Danny’s ecto blasts and fire.

Danny phased through a leaping imp, letting it slam into a wall. He reappeared coughing, drained.

Too much too fast.

He fired again, the blast smaller this time.

Behind him, Shadowheart called down divine light, searing through imps that closed in too tight. “We need to get to that apparatus now!”

“The helm,” Danny gasped, pointing toward the control cluster at the far end.

“Almost there!” Lae’zel shouted, leaping over a collapsed chunk of wall.

The tentacle apparatus pulsed with a beckoning glow.

The ship shook.

A red dragon. A massive, ancient, furious dragon clawed onto the nautiloid. Its talons dug into the hull, its eyes blazing. It opened its jaws.

Danny dove as flame sheared over the bridge.

“Now!” Lae’zel roared. “Someone take the helm!”

The Drow didn’t hesitate. He sprinted through the smoke, imps shrieking at his heels. He leapt onto the platform and seized the tentacle-like conduits.

Outside, the dragon roared and dug deeper into the hull. Flames flooded through a gaping tear, catching flesh and metal alike. The cambion attacked the Mindflayer with a stike from flaming steel. The Illithid retaliated by ripping into the cambion’s mind with invisible force.

Then the Drow connected the final pair of tentacles.

The ship screamed.

A soundless ripple of reality burst outward. The nautiloid shuddered, shrieked, and tore itself from the plane.

For a split second, Danny saw everything. Stars bending, color melting, a hole in space

Everything went silent.

Chapter Text

Danny woke up with dirt in his mouth.

His body screamed in protest as he rolled onto his side, coughing up dust and bile. His hoodie was scorched, the back half torn open from a blast—or claws. Everything hurt.

Above him, the sky was impossibly blue—too bright, too clear. Birds wheeled in slow circles overhead. Grass swayed in the breeze. Trees creaked nearby. The only sound was the wind and the distant rustle of leaves.

It was peaceful.

He sat up, groaning. “Okay… okay. Still alive. That’s something.”

His hood was down. He quickly pulled it back up and tightened the scarf to cover his face again. If anyone or anything found him, he didn’t want to be recognized

He looked around.

The forest stretched in every direction. Lush and wild, a stark contrast to the screaming horror of the nautiloid. Birds chirped. Bugs buzzed. A breeze stirred his hair.

“Where the hell am I?”

There are no signs of roads. No buildings. No power lines.

He rubbed his temples, trying to recall everything after the ship crash. Fire. Tentacles. A red dragon clawing through the hull. A portal.

Danny stood on shaking legs. He swayed for a moment, then took a breath and forced himself upright.

His powers were still there but faint. He would survive this. He wasn’t healing like he should. The ghost part of him felt… dulled. But the nautiloid had gone down nearby.

If he was alive, maybe others were too.

He turned toward the trail of black smoke rising in the distance. Burned trees. Crashed metal. Glowing red veins of the ship’s alien tissue still pulsing faintly against the dirt.

Danny narrowed his eyes.

“Let’s hope I’m not the only one who made it.”

He moved toward the wreckage, cautious, every step uncertain. His instincts screamed to hide, to vanish, to run. But the others had helped him fight. Even if they didn’t know what he really was. If they were alive, they might need help.

Danny followed the smoke.

The crash site wasn’t far, but the forest thinned as he neared it. The air buzzed with heat and he could hear ocean waves. Must be near a beach.

Then he saw it.

Not the wreck.

A jagged outcropping of of stone. Arcane symbols glowed across its surface. The runes were pulsing like a heartbeat. In the center, a swirling purple vortex spun in midair, like a tear in the world itself.

Danny blinked. “What the hell…”

Then he saw the hand.

A human hand, sticking out of the vortex, fingers wiggling frantically.

“Hullo?” came a voice. It was male, clear, calm, British, and entirely too polite given the situation. “Little help, please?”

Danny approached cautiously. “Are you stuck in there or just super committed to a bit?”

The hand jerked. “Oh, quite stuck. Feet dangling in limbo, spine contorted, and my robe’s halfway in another plane. Be a dear and pull me out before my shoulder dislocates?”

Danny sighed and grabbed the wrist. With a tug, Danny yanked the man out. The portal behind him shuddered and collapsed into nothing, vanishing with a low hum.

The stranger landed on his knees, robes fluttering, hair slightly windblown but otherwise composed.

He dusted himself off and straightened his collar with casual grace.

“Much obliged,” he said. “Gale of Waterdeep. Wizard, scholar, romantic, occasional hazard.”

Danny blinked. “Danny.”

Gale looked him up and down. “You were on the ship. If I'm not mistaken."

“Oh. Uh, yeah,” Danny muttered, trying to keep the wobble out of his voice.

Gale’s smile faded slightly. “Well then, my fellow survivor, allow me to be the first to offer congratulations.”

“Uh… for what?”

“For surviving even a few hours without turning into one of them.” He tapped his temple. “Ceremorphosis.”

Danny stiffened. “Ceremo-what-now?”

Gale’s expression turned grim. “The process by which a mindflayer tadpole—currently swimming behind your eye—devours your brain, rewrites your body, and hatches into a full-grown illithid. You’re infected. So am I.”

Danny instinctively pressed a hand to his head. The tadpole pulsed faintly in response.

“...Oh.”

“Indeed. We should both be screaming or tentacled by now. The fact that we are not is no minor miracle.

Danny rubbed his temples. “So what? You’re saying I’m on a timer?”

“I’m saying,” Gale said gently, “we need a healer. A cleric. Or a cure. As soon as possible."

Danny nodded slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. “Okay. Alright. No pressure.”

Gale chuckled dryly. “On the contrary, there’s considerable pressure. Come on, let’s get moving."

***

The sun dipped below the trees, bleeding orange across the sky. The forest settled into its nocturnal rhythm. The distant howls, the rustle of leaves, and the soft chirping of strange birds Danny didn’t recognize.

He’d never felt farther from home.

They found a quiet clearing not far from a stream. The crash site was miles behind them now, and no other survivors had answered their calls.

They needed to rest.

“Not bad for a temporary camp,” Gale said, clapping his hands once. A shimmering swirl of violet energy coiled from his palms, unfolding itself into a canvas tent with brass trim, embroidered sigils glowing softly at the seams.

Danny stared. “You… made a tent.”

“I could conjure furniture too,” Gale said smugly, “but I doubt you’d want to haul a fainting couch through the woods.”

He gestured and a spare bedroll unfurled next to the firepit, landing with a neat fwump. “For you.”

Danny gave a tired thumbs-up. “Magic’s really showing off today.”

Danny dug into their salvaged supplies and started cooking. They roasted mushrooms and some kind of foraged root Gale swore wouldn’t kill them. Gale ducked into his tent. When he emerged, he was dressed in loose, blue and purple pajamas.

His expression was less guarded, the crinkle at his eyes deeper in the firelight.

Danny stayed as he was. His scarf tight around his lower face, hood up, sleeves pulled down.

Eventually, Gale tilted his head, curious.

“You know,” he said lightly, “you’ve been wearing that scarf since I met you. And that hood. I’m starting to wonder if you’re hiding something truly dramatic under there.”

Danny flipped a mushroom with a stick. “Maybe I’ve just got bad hair.”

“Even in battle? Even in the heat of the day? Either you're spectacularly shy or you've been burned.”

Danny didn’t respond.

Gale’s voice softened. “Or cursed.”

Danny froze mid-bite.

“I'm not cursed,” he mumbled.

“No? Fashion statement, then? Battle gear? Hideous facial tattoo?”

Danny looked down at the fire, unsure what to say. He could lie. He should lie. But what was the point? This wasn’t Earth. This wasn’t Amity Park. No GIW, no social media, no ghost hunters tracking him down.

No one here knew Danny Fenton.

If he's not even on Earth anymore, maybe it’s fine. Maybe no one here would even recognize him.

He slowly pulled the scarf down.

The firelight flickered across his face. It was young, pale, smudged with ash and exhaustion. His eyes were sharp, guarded, rimmed with lingering green light that faded as he blinked

His jaw was still soft. His cheeks too smooth.

He looked like a kid. Which technically, he was...

Gale’s brow furrowed. “You’re just a boy.”

“I’m sixteen,” Danny shot back instantly, defensive and sharp.

The corner of Gale’s mouth twitched, not unkindly. “You look younger.”

“Well I’m not.” He crossed his arms.

Gale didn’t press. But the weight of the silence between them shifted.

"Don't get weird on me now. I can handle myself."

“I’m not doubting you,” Gale replied calmly.

Danny huffed and looked away, but the tension in his shoulders loosened slightly. He lay back on the bedroll, still fully clothed, eyes fixed on the stars above.

Then Gale’s voice drifted softly from beside the fire. “Sleep while you can, Danny. I’ll take the first watch.”

Danny didn’t answer, but he closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

The camp was quiet, steeped in a hazy twilight as the sun dipped low over the distant hills. A few torches crackled in sconces, their flickering light casting long shadows across tents and bedrolls. Most of the others were preoccupied.

Danny sat cross-legged across from Gale near the fire, a small open grimoire balanced on his knees. Gale had drawn a rudimentary diagram of spellwork into the dirt beside them: loops, gestures, the arcane symbols of Frost etched like ancient language.

“Magic,” Gale began, for perhaps the fifth time, “is not merely willpower or energy. It’s an attunement to the Weave itself. You must coax the Weave, guide it. Not shove your intent through it."

Danny offered a stiff smile. “Right. Got it. No shoving.”

He held his palm out, inhaled, and murmured the incantation again, focusing intently. The air in front of his hand shimmered faintly, cold condensing in a misty haze, but then it fizzled. His fingers sparked with static, but no beam came.

Gale raised a brow. “Closer that time. But you're fighting it. Think of the Weave like… a river. Swim with the current, not against it.”

Danny exhaled, frustrated. “I’m trying. It just feels wrong. Like it’s moving in a direction I’m not used to.”

Gale tilted his head, studying him. “You mentioned before… your power isn’t from the Weave?”

Danny blinked. “No."

He didn’t elaborate. Gale didn’t press.

Instead, Danny tried again. He closed his eyes, not focusing on words or diagrams this time, but on sensation—cool air, memory, instinct. The old rhythm of his ice powers crept into his bones. This wasn’t the way he used to do it, but it could be close.

A chill ran through his fingers. He opened his eyes just in time to see a bolt of frost spiral from his palm, lancing into a nearby log and encasing it in a delicate sheath of rime. It hissed and cracked as steam rose from the sudden cold.

Danny grinned.

Gale lit up with a smile of his own. “Marvelous! That—yes, that was the Weave. You felt it, didn’t you?”

“I think so,” Danny said.

“You’ve just cast your first wizard spell. I daresay Mystra would be proud.”

Danny looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers. The frost still tingled faintly.

“Thanks,” he said. Then quieter, “But it’s… small.”

Gale’s brows rose. “Small?”

Danny shook his head quickly. “No—I mean—it’s great. I appreciate it. Really."

The crackling fire masked the undercurrent of emotion in his voice. Gale seemed to sense the weight behind it, but chose not to pry.

Instead, he reached behind him and handed Danny a short stack of worn books, their spines inked with symbols and runes. “Then perhaps it’s time to build back up. Start with these. I’ll teach you as much as you’re willing to learn.”

Danny took the books reverently. “Thanks, Gale.”

“Of course.” The wizard smiled. “Knowledge is meant to be shared, after all. Besides, something tells me you’ll surprise us all.”

Danny offered a smile in return. But deep inside, he promised himself.

I have to get it back. All of it.

***

The night was still. Campfire embers glowed low, shadows stretching long around the sleeping group. Somewhere in the trees, an owl hooted, but the rest of the world seemed to be holding its breath.

Danny was always a light sleeper. Especially after his accident. Weeks of survival had left him twitchy and coiled.

Which was why the moment the cold weight settled on his chest, his eyes snapped open.

Astarion loomed over him, unnaturally still, his face inches from Danny’s throat.

Danny barely had time to process it before his instincts kicked in.

A burst of ghostly strength surged through his limbs, and with a sharp grunt, he flung the vampire back like a thrown sack. Astarion crashed against a stack of crates, landing hard in the dirt with a surprised hiss.

Danny sat up, glowing faintly with residual ecto-energy. His heart raced.

Astarion didn’t lunge again. Instead, he quickly raised his hands in a placating gesture, brushing dust off his doublet with forced casualness.

“Now, now. Let’s not overreact.”

Danny’s eyes narrowed. “You were going to bite me.”

Astarion put on his best injured look. “I—well—yes. But only a little.”

“You think that makes it better?”

“I wasn’t going to hurt you,” Astarion said, trying for charm. “I just needed a bit. A taste. I’m… not exactly at full strength without it.”

Danny’s brows pulled together. “You're a vampire.”

Astarion’s smile faltered, and his eyes flicked around camp, checking that the others still slept.

His voice was low and honeyed. “Yes. I am. But I’m not like them. I have it under control. Mostly. Usually. I was just—”

He took a breath, then stepped closer, lowering his voice further.

“Look, I wouldn’t have taken much. I just... I’m weak. I need to hunt but I'm not strong enough right now. I'm useless to the group in my current condition. I just need a little."

Danny didn't answer him. He was studying the man. Trying to decide how much of this was bullshit.

“I’m serious,” Astarion pressed, tone softening. “If I can’t keep myself fed, I’m not useful to any of you. I thought maybe…” He let the sentence hang.

Danny considered him. “You’re really bad at asking for things.”

Astarion tried to chuckle. “Comes with the fangs I'm afraid.”

Danny studied him for a long, unreadable moment.

“Fine. You can try. But I’m warning you, you might not like the taste.”

Astarion blinked, thrown. “What?”

Danny tilted his head, baring his neck slightly. “Go ahead. Let’s see what happens.”

Astarion hesitated, suspicious now, but he leaned in slowly.

Fangs pierced flesh.

He recoiled immediately, coughing, nearly gagging. His eyes went wide with something halfway between confusion and disgust.

“What in the nine hells is wrong with your blood?”

Danny wiped his neck with a sleeve, unconcerned. He smirked faintly. “You wanted a taste. Now you know.”

The two stared at each other, silent, the fire popping between them.

Eventually, Astarion broke the tension with a dry, bitter laugh. “Well. That’s one way to learn boundaries.”

Danny laid back down. “Just don’t try it again without asking.”

“I swear.”

“Next time, I will hurt you.”

“…Noted.”

***

Danny spotted her before she even opened her mouth. She was red-skinned, towering, clad in rough leathers and her chest glowed with inner fire. Karlach grinned down at him the moment Tav waved her over, a wide, toothy thing, full of joy and exuberance.

“You’re the kid, huh?” she said. “Heard you helped with the girl in the grove. Quick thinking, little guy!”

Danny blinked. “Uh, thanks,” he muttered. She radiated energy like a campfire come to life. He could feel the engine in her chest before she mentioned it, hot like a furnace.

Karlach plopped down beside him by the fire, already launching into a story and Danny found himself laughing before he even realized it. There was something about her. Her spirit, her joy, the way she barreled through the world without second-guessing her place in it. It all reminded him of his dad on his good days.

“You eat enough? You look like a stiff breeze’d knock you over. What do you do, anyway? Not a fighter, are you? Or maybe you’re one of those squishy little mages?”

Danny flushed. “I can fight,” he said firmly.

Shadowheart, leaning on a log nearby, raised an eyebrow. “He can,” she added, voice dry. “Though he’s more likely to disappear than throw a punch.”

Karlach clapped her hands together and laughed. "That's alright! Just stay behind me if we get into a scap, squirt."

Danny’s face pinched. “Please don’t call me squirt.”

“Right, right,” Karlach said sheepishly. “Didn’t mean anything by it. You just look—you know—twelve.”

“I’m sixteen,” Danny muttered.

Behind him, Astarion chuckled, stepping into the conversation like he’d been waiting for an opening. “Are you, though? Really? Because the last time someone called you ‘kid,’ you pouted for an hour.”

Shadowheart smirked. “He did. It was adorable.”

Danny made a noise of protest while Astarion leaned in dramatically, stage-whispering to Shadowheart, “Do you think we’ll have to start carrying him around in a papoose when he gets tired?”

Shadowheart didn’t miss a beat. “Why do you think we recruited Karlach?”

“You’re all the worst,” Danny muttered, tugging his hood back up and turning away, face burning. He stalked off. It’s not his fault he's short. Why couldn't he have gotten his father's height, like Jazz?