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They say when you get The Electric Chair, your life flashes before your eyes. Only, it plays in reverse.
Maybe this was an execution.
Danny might've already by dead by the time he pressed the button. Maybe the power brimming inside The Portal killed him instantly when he turned it. Maybe he didn't have suffer through the agony of being ripped to shreds by lightning, of feeling the electricity tearing through each individual nerve and setting it alight. Maybe he didn't feel his eyeballs melting in his sockets and his body being mangled beyond belief and his skin sizzling to a burn crisp and the heat heat hot hot hot hot hOT FIRE AGONY—
But ghosts aren't supposed to recall their deaths.
All he should say is that after being burnt alive, he was left to simmer for a little.
First, time sped back. He recalled the incident that just occurred through newfound eyes. He watched his skin splotch back onto his bones, his flesh grow lighter, his body unfurl. He heard his screaming dull until it stopped altogether, up until his hand rested on the button.
Curiously, Danny lifted his hand, and came to a realization.
He was…dead.
Funny how it took that long to hit him. Things were moving too fast. It felt like he experiencing this whole thing underwater. He died. He felt himself die. He watched himself die. He was dead. It was the only logical conclusion.
But if he was dead, how was he still here?
…Oh. Looks like ghosts existed after all.
He floated—floated—out of the portal, following his aliv—past-self. Once in the center of the lab, he turned to stare at the hole in his wall.
Why did he have to die? Shouldn't he be alive now? He couldn't be dead, he couldn't. There were so many things and it'd been too short and he wasn't ready and he was 14—
(It's fine. It's fine, Fenton, get a grip. Just take a breath—)
(He couldn’t breathe. His lungs were wet bags only existing because of a distant imprint—)
He floated around the lab, trying to get used to the feeling of weightlessness. Weird couldn't even begin to describe it. It's like someone turned any sense of normality off, literally flipping his world upside down. His limbs were made of jelly, like he could mold them any way he wanted. It was jarring, to see the place he usually stood below him as he hovered in mid-air.
He'd always wanted to fly before, to be able to touch the stars, but not…not like this.
He was dead, executed when his hand grazed along that red button. His punishment was so severe that he couldn't even die properly. He was condemned to spending an eternity in limbo.
If this was an execution, what was his crime?
Was curiosity the cause of this? Was it really that much of a sin to want to know what's on the other side? Was it stupidity, perhaps? How could he have known the risks?
But…who was the one who encouraged him to go into the portal in the first place?
"C'mon, Danny. Haven't you ever wanted to know what's on the other side?"
Sam.
Isn't she the one who wanted this? Isn't she the one who told him to go into the portal in the first place?
No, he couldn't blame her. She didn't know that this would happen either. He's the one who pushed that button.
And why was he standing directly inside the portal? It was hardly a finished product, and definitely a safety hazard for those unprepared. Sam knew that. Didn't his parents always warn them about how dangerous their lab was?
And Danny should've known not to bring them down there, he'd seen firsthand how dangerous their inventions could get—
But Sam knew that too. That rebel attitude's fine for the aesthetic, but it's not so fun when someone's life is actually at risk, is it? She should've known this was a mistake—
Danny's the one who let them in—
She's the one who pushed—
She's not at fault—
She brought it up in the first place, she ignored him—
He went through with it—
He wouldn't be in this scenario if it weren't for her—
No—
She's the one to blame.
He stared at her, energy dancing across his form. She caused this. She's the reason why he's suspended above the ground, why something aliens hums in his chest, why he died.
He's not the one who committed a crime here. It was all her fault, her fault, herfaultherfaultherfaultherfault—
Time reversed faster, and Danny watched a dizzying spin of events unfold. He saw his body traverse up the stairs. He saw her influencing him to go down. Time sped faster. He saw them talking, laughing, doing homework, playing video games, just enjoying each others' company. He saw every moment that they had spent together.
She was his friend, and he was a ghost. Ghosts didn't have friends. This? This was his murderer.
She would pay, Danny would make sure of that.
Time flew forward, and Danny found himself in the present moment, floating above his corpse.
A choked mixture between a sob and a gasp sounded behind him, and he turned to see Tucker, most importantly Sam, staring at him with wide eyes.
His eyes hardened, and his aura glowed dangerously. With a flash, he vanished from sight.
A ghost's unfinished business always took first priority, and Danny will haunt her for the rest of his afterlife.
Because this wasn't an accident, some silly mistake that could be waved off without a second glance. This wasn't something that could ever be rectified. No, there was only one possible thing that this could be:
Murder.
This story didn't have a happy ending.
Danny would make sure of that.