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One day he noticed stubble on his chin. At one time he might have been overjoyed at that, having been a late bloomer. Instead, an imagined flash of that goatee, accompanied by fangs and red eyes nearly sent him spiraling. It was unexpected sometimes, how that well of guilt inside would suddenly overflow. After Dan, Danny had made it a point to use his powers more responsibly. No more tripping up Dash in the halls, even when he was being especially awful. He scarcely went on flights outside patrol and almost exclusively went ghost for fights and nothing else. Those powers were a weapon. One he was determined would not be in the wrong hands. It’s amazing just how motivating the destruction of everything one knew and loved was.
Sometime after that day he grew marginally aware that his restraint was becoming extreme. Getting to the Christmas truce party in human form had been unnecessary and irritating. Worse still was when he’d arrived and realised, quite belatedly, that everything would naturally be set up for ghosts. It took some concentration not to sink through the ground in the Ghost Zone as a human. Things weren’t all accessible at ground level either. In fact, most of it wasn’t. Danny was stubborn. Therefore, some minor inconveniences were not enough to get him to give in. Not the fact that there was almost no one to mingle with at his level. Nor the fact that the spiral of refreshments bordering the tower-like room was just out of jumping reach. The moment when his fingers brushed the side of a pitcher gave him a moment of perceived vindication. At least until the force turned said pitcher to pour upon his head. He stewed in that grape-smelling green juice, forgetting that going intangible was even an option.
Finally, when Dora floated down to greet him, took in his appearance and had a complete giggle fit behind her fan, he got an inkling of just what an idiot he was being. She offered her handkerchief and they chatted for a while. While she obviously wondered at his peculiarity she didn’t question it, instead handing him drinks out of his reach. What broke his supposed restraint was when a more medieval sounding music drifted down from what ever source played up above. Dora clapped with glee, then offered her hand as she floated higher. Dora was a person, a friend, who wanted to dance with him. Not something to be wielded. Not a weapon. Suddenly it made no sense that he’d been treating himself that way. Danny returned her smile, and transformed. It wasn’t like taking the safety off an ecto-gun, or any kind of analogy he could think of. It was just him. Blinking with bright green eyes, then grinning as he floated to her height. Then laughing at his friend’s un-ladylike squeal as he wrapped his tail around her proffered hand and whisked her up to the other dancers.