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Good Old Bucket Prank

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  “Did you just slime me?“

Danny ran his hand through his hair in disgust, pulling it out now covered in the green goop. The bucket had been poised on the top of the ajar door to the empty classroom Danny had ditched his stuff in while he went and wrangled the Box Ghost, again. Wes was standing there, smug as can be, his stupid camera poised at the ready. The click of the camera was all he got in response. Danny huffed, not really mad, just annoyed. He could appreciate a good prank, but he didn’t appreciate getting covered in green goo Wait. Danny looked at the goo on his hand and then sniffed it, confirming his suspicion.

“Wes, this is ectoplasm! Where’d you even get so much?” Danny asked, a bit more confused than before.

“Places,” was the brief grunt he got from Wes as a response.

Wes’s smug look shifted to irritation and impatience, like he was waiting for something.

Why isn’t it working?” He grumbled under his breath, like Danny could hear him from a yard and a half away.

“What? Is your camera finally broken or something?” Danny prodded again, but Wes didn’t respond, standing poised, peering at Danny through his camera lens.

Danny had half the mid to go wipe his hand all over Wes’s jersey when he felt a tingling sensation where the ectoplasm was. It was like pins and needles, ice water running over his skin, it felt like his transformation. His gloves had partially formed under the goop on his hand, and the skin at the edge was discolored, matching the tone of his ghost form wherever the ectoplasm made contact. It didn’t hurt, but felt extremely odd, the mesh of warmth and the chill of his ghost form, not to mention uncomfortable.

Wes snapped another photo as Danny grasped at his hair, the tips frosted under the layer of green. It dripped onto his face and the sensation followed. The denim of his jeans morphed into the rubber of his jumpsuit from where he had wiped his hand, as did his shirt where the ectoplasm had soaked his shoulders.

Wes took his final picture, getting his perceived evidence to finally prove Fenton and Phantom were the same person, his smug look returning tenfold. Danny looked up, mismatched eyes glaring at him, seething with a mixture of shock, irritation, anger, and… something else Wes could identify. Desperation, maybe?

“Wes, give me the camera.” Danny hissed.

“Why? So you can delete my evidence again?” Wes snapped.

Danny lunged for the camera.