The above artwork does not belong to me.

Mabel was in awe of the Fentons' lab.

The six hours of searching had yielded few results. Sam, Tucker, Jazz, Ford and the twins had found nothing of use. It was a lot better than being chewed out by Ford for leaving, though. And the phone call to Stan hadn't gone well at all. At first, he had wanted them to come back right away. But Mabel and her brother had convinced him to allow them to stay, as Ford couldn't escort them back for a few more days.

Still, the search had been awkward and fruitless, and Mabel had been relieved when Jazz had announced that her parents were leaving. She had unlocked the door and let them all into her house with no problem.

Tucker, Sam and Jazz had lead the way to the lab with no hesitations, going as fast as they could down the stairs. They were obviously eager to get going after having waited so long.

Now, Mabel looked around the lab with wide eyes. Even she, who didn't know or care much about science, was amazed. Dipper looked like he was in heaven. He kept running from machine to machine, stumbling over his words as he asked a massive amount of questions.

"How did your parents manage to get their hands on all this stuff?" Ford asked, clearly impressed.

"They're inventors," Jazz said simply. "They sell plenty of their patents, mostly ghost-hunting stuff. Some of it can be used against regular people or people with superpowers, which is good, considering how many super villains are around now. But they keep a lot of the best for themselves."

Ford's eyes swept around the room. "Where is this tracker?"

Tucker took over. "Well, they've got plenty of trackers. But the one keyed in on Danny is called the boo-merang."

"The boo-merang?"

"They aren't the best at naming their inventions."

Ford raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. So where is this boo-merang?"

Tucker glanced away guiltily. "Well . . ."

"Danny and Tucker are the ones who broke it," Sam said bluntly. "Tucker, where did you put it?"

The boy grinned sheepishly. "We hid it in a drawer. I think most of the pieces are intact."

He got the device out and laid it on a table. The thing was broken into three separate parts and covered in fractures.

"What did you even do to that thing?" asked Dipper.

"We were . . . ghost training."

Mabel was curious. "Ghost training?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "They were watching the Sixth Sense and got scared. Apparently Danny was the one who knocked the TV onto it, but I'm not so sure."

"You should've seen him!" Tucker insisted. "For a guy who's dead himself, he got really freaked out when the psychiatrist guy figured out that he was a ghost."

"Well maybe that's why he got freaked out!" Sam pointed out.

Mabel frowned. "Sixth Sense? What's that?"

"I see dead people," Dipper muttered.

"Will you guys be quiet?" Jazz snapped. "You're getting way off topic. Do you want to find Danny or not?" Then, more quietly, "Time could be running out for him."

No felt like joking after that.

There was a minute or two of silence while Ford tinkered with the device, figuring it out. Jazz started to help him and tell him what she knew about it.

The kids went upstairs eventually in order to get food and drinks for everyone. There wasn't much they could do down in the lab, and Ford didn't like to be watched when he worked. Plus, someone needed to watch the door in case the Fentons came back.

Mabel talked to the others as they made sandwiches. "So Sam, I saw that picture of you and Danny. It was pretty cute!" she grinned, elbowing the older girl.

Sam blushed ever so slightly, laughing a little. "I guess."

Tucker smirked. "Aw, come on, we all ship it!"

Mabel giggled. "They need a ship name."

The older boy cackled. "Ghost-goth forever, baby!"

Sam nearly dropped the butter knife she was holding. "Ghost . . . goth?"

"It's official," Mabel announced. "Ghost-goth forever."

The self-proclaimed goth just blushed brighter, shook her head, and continued spreading peanut butter. "I don't understand you people."

"I'm with you," Dipper muttered, blushing at the mention of romance as well, even if it didn't concern him.

The four of them went back downstairs with the sandwiches and drinks. Ford had surprisingly gotten quite a bit done; it looked at if he was using some spare parts to make an entirely new machine.

He was explaining something to Jazz. " . . . and although it may not look exactly like the original, its functions will be the same, as long as we have a DNA sample, which I'm sure you can get somewhere-- although I can probably get it to work with his human DNA, I should probably have a sample of it from his ghost form too, just to be safe . . ."

The scientist was completely off on a tangent by then, barely paying attention to anything. He took a huge swig of cranberry juice and then continued speaking without missing a beat.

As Jazz was saying that she could get some ghost DNA from a Fenton thermos Danny had touched, Ford took a huge bite of a sandwich without looking at it. His eyes suddenly widened after he chewed a few times, and he froze.

"Mr. Pines?" Jazz asked, concerned.

"Kids," he said calmly, "what's in this sandwich?"

"Oh, that one doesn't have any peanut butter, if you're concerned about allergies," Sam said.

"Yeah," Mabel added, "it has turkey, pickles, mayonnaise, mustard--"

Ford's jaw clenched. "Listen to me carefully. I'm deathly allergic to mayonnaise. Once I inject myself with my EpiPen, I'm going to need medical treatment. If you can do it here, that would be great, but if not I need to go to the hospital."

Jazz's eyes widened. She helped Ford over to a corner, where medical supplies were stored, and laid him down in the cot that her parents always kept there for lab accidents and emergencies.

He pulled his EpiPen out of his jacket and injected himself. "Hopefully I won't go into anaphylaxic shock," he said, "but I may. Do you have any cortisone?"

She nodded.

"Do you know how to use it? Good. Keep some on hand. Take me to the hospital if it gets too bad, but only then. I'd have a lot to explain to any doctor, and it would just waste time if I were put in that situation."

Mabel was really scared. She oftentimes resented or distrusted Ford, but she didn't want him to get hurt.

Ford grimaced. "I really hope your parents don't get home soon. That would be--"

He started coughing like a fifty year old smoker, his airways obviously swelling up.

The Pines girl bit her lip as she listened to his coughing, guilty that she had unintentionally poisoned her great uncle.