This Place Will Become Your Tomb

Descending

The familiar hum of the Fenton lab was the only sound that filled the air. It reverberated through the cold, sterile space, the echo of machinery the same as it always had been, and yet somehow today, it grated on Tucker's nerves like never before. He stood at the far end of the lab, his back to the door, his hands gripping the edge of the workbench so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

The faint glow of the screens in front of him reflected off his glasses, casting a dim light across his face, but Tucker barely registered the data flashing across the monitors. His mind was somewhere else—lost in a haze of frustration, anger, and something darker. Something heavier.

He couldn't keep doing this.

The thought had been creeping into his mind more and more over the past few weeks, seeping into the cracks of his resolve like water finding its way through a crumbling dam. He had been pushing it aside, trying to ignore the growing weight in his chest, the sense that something was shifting between him, Danny, and Sam—something that wasn't supposed to happen.

But now, as he stood alone in the lab, the steady hum of machinery filling the silence, Tucker couldn't push it away anymore. He couldn't pretend that everything was okay. Because it wasn't. Not even close.

Danny was slipping. That much was obvious to everyone—especially Tucker. His best friend, the boy he had grown up with, the boy who had saved his life more times than he could count, was unraveling right in front of him. And no matter how hard Tucker tried to be there for him, to support him, it felt like Danny was drifting further and further away.

And Sam... Sam was slipping, too. She was consumed with worry for Danny, so much so that it felt like Tucker had become invisible to her. He had always known that there was something unspoken between Danny and Sam—something deeper than friendship—but it had never bothered him. Not until now. Not until he started feeling like the third wheel, the one left standing on the sidelines while the two of them leaned on each other.

It wasn't like he needed to be the center of attention. That wasn't who Tucker was. He was used to playing the supporting role, the tech guy, the one who provided backup while Danny and Sam took on the ghosts. But lately, it felt like he wasn't even that anymore. Like he was just... there.

Tucker clenched his jaw, his hands tightening even more around the edge of the workbench. He could feel the frustration bubbling up inside him, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks now finally starting to boil over. He didn't want to feel this way. He didn't want to be angry with Danny or Sam. They were his best friends, the people he trusted more than anyone else in the world.

But he was angry.

He was angry at Danny for shutting him out, for pretending like he didn't need help, like he could handle everything on his own. He was angry at Sam for always putting Danny first, for never noticing how much Tucker was struggling, and how much he needed her, too.

And he was angry at himself—for not being enough. For not being the kind of friend who could fix this.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, pulling Tucker out of his thoughts. He straightened up, his heart pounding in his chest as the footsteps grew louder, closer. He didn't have to turn around to know who it was. He recognized the familiar rhythm of Danny's gait, the way his footsteps dragged slightly, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Sometimes, he really was. Taking care of both worlds with not much backup and under the constant scrutiny of everyone around him on both sides of the portal. And other times, Tucker wondered why Danny wouldn't just let him and Sam bear some of that weight. If he didn't know better, Tucker occasionally wondered if maybe Danny got his kicks from the pain of doing this. But, when those thoughts came to the forefront, Tucker forced himself to know better.