Tucker's Story

Poor Tucker. Poor, poor Tucker. While Sam and Danny are obviously fated to be together, he's got no-one. While nobody picks on Sam and Danny has ghost powers for revenge, Tucker's only got his PDA. (Which, needless to say, does little to help him in most dangerous situations.) Heck, Sam and Danny both have legions of fans just waiting to write them a love story. And considering the fact that he's got a cold, it really shouldn't hurt that Sam and Danny went ahead and planned an entire weekend of couple fun. (Stupid fluff movies and the like. They were really horror flicks so unlike what ghosts actually were as too be laughable, but Tucker relished the thought of Danny being stuck watching cheesy soap.) And yet, it did. And Tucker, unlike Sam, wasn't so tough that he had to deny that he was jealous. And Tucker, unlike Danny, enjoys being in the spotlight of fame.

So when, on this dreary, disgusting Friday night, he found that Danny was too caught up with Sam to notice the people dropping like flies(Not literally, of course, flies are actually rather good at staying in the air, what with the little bug wings and all), he quite literally jumped at the chance to be a hero. It's a pity landing on one's face tends to dissipate mirages, isn't it?

Anyways, back to the beginning. Tucker, jealous, comicly angsty and phlegm-filled, was sitting propped up in his bed. He was reading through his old collection of Star Trek comics, which he was finding were far less appealing now than they were when he was twelve. (He had been given the comics by his father, who had handed them over with a mixture of deep relief to be rid of the stupid things, and deep anxiety that his son might tear the pages. Ironically enough, that's what his father had felt when he had handed over his beloved copy of Moby Dick to Tucker's Dad. His worries were probably far better founded, too.)

'"Aw crap!" said Doctor McCoy. "Hot chick!" said Captain Kirk. "Shut up and do your work!" said Mr. Spock!' Tucker said, badly imitating the voices of the badly drawn actors in the relatively well kept comic. He sniffed loudly, and the dust that was drawn from the newsprint graphic novel made him sneeze violently several times. His mom shouted at him to get some kleenex. 'Technically it's tissue paper. Kleenex is just a brand name.' he said to himself. 'WHAT?' shouted his mother from the bottom of the stairs. 'WE JUST RAN OUT!' he shouted back. 'COME OUT AND TALK TO ME!' shouted his mother. 'Come out and talk to me!' Tucker (badly) imitated to himself. 'WHAT???' said his mom. 'I'M COMING!!!' said Tucker.

With much groaning and moping about, Tucker hauled himself with his dark green sheets out of bed, fell to the floor, sneezed so violently that his body actually convulsed, knocked his green lightshade off the lime green bedstand, was smacked over the head by it's plastic body(his mother by now refused to get him a ceramic one), sneezed and convulsed again, knocked over the bedstand, fell over backwards where it used to be, and yelped as his back came into contact with the viciously spiny back of a lego dinosaur. He groaned. He groaned again. He groaned again (again).

His mother was up the stairs in seconds. 'What's the matter?'she asked from outside the door. She cautiously peeked in. A series of muffled sounds came from the blanket on the floor. 'What?' she asked, having positively identified the laundered lump in the middle of the dark, extremely messy room as her son.

Tucker sighed. Things like this happened to him all the time. Why never Danny? Why never Sam? They said it was because he never shut up, that it was because he was clumsy, but Tucker was sure it was just flat out bad luck.  Like when Danny broke the table, and Tucker covered him by pretending to be a martial artist. In all truth, being grounded for something you didn't do but being unable to say that it wasn't you because you were covering for a friend doesn't happen to normal people, did it? No. No it didn't.

'I'm fine, mom.' he said aloud. What he had ariginally said was 'Oh, nothing's the matter, mum. I've just been ditched, I've got a cold, someone left a lego dinosaur on the bedroom floor, I've just acquired a headache and it's rainy. I'm just peachy.' This would not have gone over too well with his mother, had she heard him, so he had reverted to just saying "I'm fine." in the most sullen, out of sorts, nasty way he could. He sneezed.

'Well then, you might want to get that kleenex.' snapped his mother. She felt snubbed that he could sound so angry, and what's more, angry at her. She stalked off down the stairs and into the kitchen to make supper.

Muttering angrily, and sneezing mightily, Tucker gathered all his blankets about him, shivering against the chill cold of rain in February. He stomped to the bathroom, took a long piece of toilet paper and blew his nose. He took the entire roll off to his room, fully prepared to continue his sulking and sniffing.

Returning to his room, he stumbled through the dark over the incredible mess on the floor to his bed. He stubbed his toe on his fallen bedstand, and, muttering derogatory things about it's usefulness, righted it, placing the lamp back where it had been before. Well, at least he'd managed to avoid breaking the lightbulb. It cracked as he set it down.

Tucker is usually a happy soul, content with itself and most that surrounds it, taking all in stride and going with the flow. However, that flow did not extend to spiteful lightbulbs, and he cursed at it long and violently, if soft enough for his mother not to hear. After flipping the stupid thing the bird, (for all the good it did him) he flopped backwards onto his bed. He stared blearily at the ceiling, willing sleep to rid him of his sniffles and petty jealousies.

There was something glowing on the other side of the room, so he must have fallen asleep. Funny, usually when he dreamed he didn't need his glasses. He groped for them on his bedstand. The glowing ball of light came closer, forming the appearance of a girl. A very pretty girl, Tucker saw as he managed to put his glasses on without breaking anything.

'Who are you?' she asked, her voice light, almost cheerful.

'I'm Tucker. Who are you?' asked Tucker. He sort of figured that she was a ghost, but it's not like she could hurt him in a dream.

'I... don't know.' she said, mulling it over. 'Oh well!' she said, smiling prettily at him at and shrugging.

'er...' said Tucker, not sure whether to smile, or object that she should know, or something like that.

'Does it matter?' asked the girl leaning over him. He shivered. She stared at him with large, slightly glowing blue eyes. Hot chick, thought Tucker with a goofy little smile flitting over his face.