A/N: Err… There's, like, 15 reviews telling me to continue this the day after I posted the first chapter (plus a PM), so I decided it wouldn't hurt to go on writing. This even got more response than Mr. Syme…

On a side note, yesterday was my birthday! Huzzah! Now I'm 13!

When Danny woke up on the cold tile floor and heard the familiar buzz of one of his parents' ecto-guns above him, he found it in his best interests not to open his eyes.

Of course, he ignored the logical part of his mind and cracked an eye open, finding a large, glowing, metallic gun not inches away from his face.

Go figure.

"Um, Dad, what are you doing?" Danny asked hesitantly, not understanding his dad's sudden hostility. Well, of course, his dad always turned hostile when he thought there was a ghost around or when his fudge mysteriously disappears, but that's not really the point.

"I should be asking you that, ghost kid! Where's my son? What did you do to Danny?" Jack yelled, waving the gun around dangerously. Danny took advantage of the gun no longer being squished in his face and sat up.

Wait a second, he thought when his brain decided to start working, ghost kid?

"I am Danny, Dad. What are you ta-" then Danny noticed his black jumpsuit. "Hey, who changed my clothes? What happened to my shirt and pants? And… is this underwear… new?" He shivered at the vile thought.

"Lies, ghost kid, lies! You're not Danny, and nobody would actually change a ghost's clothes!" Jack yelled, nudging poor little Danny with the big, scary weapon. (A/N: Yes, that was sarcasm. Sarcasm makes the world go round.)

Sam and Tucker chose this moment to intervene, while Maddie stood by the side wondering what the hell was happening.

"Um, Mr. Fenton, sir," Tucker started, "that really is Danny."

"What? Of course it isn't! Don't you see that hair? And those… eyes?" Jack trembled at the mere mention of Danny's eyes, to which said kid was greatly confused. What the heck was so scary about him?

"Mr. Fenton, forgetting about the fact that Danny has recently been un-Danny-ified, doesn't he look like your son?" Tucker shot.

"Uh…"

"And does he not act exactly like you?" Danny started to protest, but Tucker silenced him by holding up a hand.

"Well…"

"And isn't he, by all means, the exact same one who took your fudge?" Sam groaned and face-palmed.

Jack raised his recently lowered weapon and yelled, "YOU TOOK MY FUDGE? I KNEW GHOSTS WERE EVIL, BUT THIS IS CROSSING THE LINE!" He put his finger to the trigger, and was just about ready to pull.

"Jack! Don't shoot!" Maddie yelled, and her husband obliged. But he was still pointing the gun at Danny.

Speaking of Danny, he was currently floating up to the ceiling.

"Um… guys? What's going on?" he asked. Hopefully the answer did not include talking sausage (another one of Jack's experiments. Let's just say it did not turn out well.)

Maddie sighed and massaged her aching head. "Well, Danny, it appears that you have died. Either that, or you've been horribly mutated."

"What? That's Danny?" Jack asked, much more confused. "Then… Danny took my fudge?" Tucker nodded and smirked at the ceiling, where Danny was currently residing. "YOU ARE GROUNDED FOR A MONTH WHEN YOU GET DOWN HERE!"

"For one, Dad, I DID NOT TAKE YOUR FUDGE! And two, what do you mean by 'dead'? I mean, yeah, that was probably the most painful experience in my entire life, but does that really mean- wait, never mind. Now how to I get down from here?" It was this moment that Danny conveniently fell down to earth. "Ow!"

Sam sighed and pulled out a hand-held mirror from existence. "Just look at yourself, Danny, and stop asking questions." Said kid took the shiny reflective thing from her hands and gasped. He now saw why his dad was holding an ecto-gun.

His recently black hair was now snow-white and his white jumpsuit was now completely black (save for the gloves, boots, belt and collar, which were now white). His skin was much paler than the tan color it had once been, and there was a light glow surrounding him. Also, now that he was thinking about it, his voice echoed a bit. But what unnerved him the most, surprisingly, were his eyes.

His eyes, which now glowed neon green. (A/N: Don't ask why I described him again when I already did that last chapter. I honestly do not know.)

After gaping for a considerable amount of time, Danny stuttered, "Is that- is that me?"

Sam rolled her eyes and replied, "Yes it is. Now stop admiring yourself and stand up." She proceeded to help Danny rise from his sitting position, but was a bit shocked when his arm fell through her grasp halfway up.

Danny was not happy with falling twice in the same day.

He was also not happy with falling through the floor as well.

He eventually came back through the floor a few minutes later, as a result of doggy-paddling through solid substance as if it were water.

Yes, this was definitely the weirdest day of his life. Which, by the way, turned even weirder when two rings formed around his waist a few seconds after reappearing in the lab, traveling up and down his body, reverting him back to regular old Daniel Fenton.

"Um… what just happened?" Danny asked.

"I have no clue," Maddie answered. She started looking thoughtful. "Maybe… we should take a blood sample. Just to see what's going on." She saw Danny's look of pure horror. "Oh, don't worry, sweetie, we're just gonna take a little blood and run a few tests on it. Not a big deal." Of course, she had no idea about Danny's fear of needles. He never really told anyone; he was too embarrassed about it.

Let's just say the attempt to get a bit of blood from Danny did not end well…

A/N: Uh… yeah. Probably the worst chapter I've written for anything so far. Sorry for this being so crappy, but I got a bunch of books today that I really want to read :D. (Yes, I am a huge bookworm. Blame my parents.) Anyway, sorry about this being so short. It's midnight right now and, though I usually go to sleep at two am, I don't like writing this late at night unless it's some stupid little angst-y one-shot. The chapters are usually terrible otherwise (as you can see from this example).

CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM, PLEASE!