#...This might look familiar because I'd accidentally posted it before I was finished writing it.

[asjjohnson]

Ta-da—I've finished the first part of this holiday Danny Phantom ghost story. Which I'd thought of the idea for last year just after Christmas.

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Phantom stepped into his lair and the glowing green portal vanished behind him.

It had been a good day—tiring, but good. For him, that was.

With a practiced ease, he turned and flopped onto a large melted stump of a stalagmite, as though flopping onto a couch, and put his arms comfortably behind his head.

Valerie may have erected that shield of hers, but he had other methods of getting his fun.

Today he'd blasted an impassable trench all along the circumference of Amity Park. A canyon surrounded by jagged metal.

No one would be able to enter or leave.

It might've been too late to stop Amity Park from having their food and gifts, but their celebrations would be tainted by foreboding. The knowledge of his blockade, of their days of plenty soon transitioning into dwindling supplies and starvation.

A different type of ruin and destruction.

A grin stretched across his face as he imagined it.

But the thought was cut short. An uncomfortable tickle of vapor brushed through his nose and triggered a gasp.

He tensed, and pushed himself up on one elbow, eyes narrowing as he scanned his shadowed surroundings.

His lair was a large cavern, dimly lit by a sourceless glow. The floors were littered with chunks of broken cave formations that he’d left lying after having blasted them apart.

Nothing looked out of place. He saw no movement, and heard only a slow drip of water from the cave ceiling.

No one could enter his lair. He knew this. There were no entrances or exits other than through his own portals.

It must not have been his Ghost Sense after all, but instead a thread of cold air passing by to tickle his nose, or else indigestion.

He shouldn’t have eaten that blob ghost earlier.

He rubbed his nose in annoyance and laid back down.

But he still felt uneasy. A feeling of paranoia, of an imagined something watching.

Simply the idea of someone else being in his personal lair bothered him. It was a place formed from his inner essence. Even he didn’t understand what a cave could mean to him. But, whatever it did mean, it was something deeply personal that he didn’t want to share. A look into his core.

It was a long several minutes before the subject faded from his mind. He began to doze, insubstantial wisps of pleasant dreams pulling him toward sleep and energy recovery. His own laughter. Valerie's face. Jagged metal.

His ear twitched and he started awake before the dreams fully took hold.

There was a noise—very faint, but unnatural to his lair.

It echoed along his walls and ceilings, making it hard to pinpoint the direction.

He stood. And waited. Ectoplasm pumped through his limbs, preparing for a possible confrontation.

The noise grew steadily louder. It was now possible to make out two distinct sounds: the high clinging of chains, and a grating noise of something scrapping against rock.

Then—it was to his left. He spun around.

There, nearly invisible, with glimmering chains draped over his shoulders, was the ghostly form of Vlad Plasmius.

His chest constricted with the shock. "You're gone!" He pushed off of the floor and away from the figure, firing a Ghost Ray straight through its middle. The ray slammed into the far wall. Not even a chain link shifted. An intangiblility that somehow felt unnatural, even for a ghost. He fired again. "You no longer exist!" Another Ghost Ray. "You're a hallucination! You aren't real!"

The figure remained unmoving, hovering with his hands clasped behind his back—visible through his translucent torso. He raised one eyebrow. "Are you quite done, Daniel?"

"What are you?!" Phantom shouted.

"You already know."

It didn't make sense. Plasmius couldn't exist, Phantom had destroyed him a long time ago, the ghost had been completely absorbed.

This figure couldn't be real. It had to be his mind playing tricks on him, or a dream, or a ghost who had followed him through his portal—maybe Amorpho.

But the fear coursing through him said otherwise—said this was the spirit of Plasmius back from oblivion, somehow pulled from his own core. A face he had been certain he would never see again. It couldn't be true. Instinctively, the repercussions of such a thing terrified him. Absolutely and completely.

"You couldn't have at least decorated the place?" the figure asked. "Perhaps some Packers memorabilia? A few pennant banners along the ceiling goes a long way."

Phantom sneered, pushing the fear to the side. "You have no say concerning my lair."

The figure somehow seemed amused by the words.

Phantom glanced at the long chains trailing down to and across the floor. "As though your taste in decoration is any better. What did you do, decide to carry the ruins of your mansion with you?" Broken pieces of gray brick and assorted other objects hung from the chain links like a giant charm bracelet.

The figure looked down at himself. He unclasped his hands and lifted his arms to either side, chains and objects clanking noisily and grinding across the cave floor with the movement.

The figure remained with his arms stretched wide, gazing at Phantom, as though inviting Phantom to examine the chains he wore.

The objects on the chains continued to sway. Broken pieces of gray brick. Books—one with a stylized ghost on the cover, and one with the year 1981 printed across it, but also other books. Cracked picture frames and photos. Quarters—a lot of dangling quarters. Test tubes stained with dried ectoplasm. Small bones, as though from animals. Broken machinery—computer monitors, an incomplete ring of metal that resembled a small Fenton Portal. A red fabric mask. A shredded white t-shirt. A pair of metal gauntlets. And so much more.

"These are the failings I'd gathered in life," Plasmius said. "I carry these burdens with me. My guilt."

Phantom snorted in disbelief. "How is the money a failing?" The coins still looked perfectly usable. He continued to idly run his eyes across the chains. There were also papers and folders—business contracts and deeds. And his eye caught the gleam of a small, familiar ring.

Plasmius's face twisted in hate, his eyes glowing a brighter red.

Phantom unconsciously drifted backward, the fear again coming to the forefront.

Plasmius loudly rattled the chains and screamed, "I wish I had never deceitfully gained one cent! I was a fool! I had traded away everything that mattered!"

The horrible sound of the rattling chains gradually died down and Phantom uncovered his ears, not remembering having covered them.

Plasmius still wore a glare, but he now talked at a normal volume. "You have done much more than I have. Your chains are ten times this long, not counting the ones you have inherited."

For a moment, Phantom imagined he could feel the invisible weight. Imaginary heaviness across his shoulders, and pushing him down toward the floor. Chains from Vlad Masters, Danny Fenton, and from the years of his current existence.

All of the steel beams and other debris surrounding Amity Park, trailing behind him like a king's long coronation robe.

Phantom crossed his arms. "That's ridiculous."

"You say that, but you worry for your fate. Your soul is uneasy. A child realizing there are consequences to his actions, fearing his Father's punishment—"

"I am not a child!" Phantom shouted.

"You will be visited by three spirits—"

"No! You aren't real! None of this is real!"

"Daniel!"

The name was said so firmly, so whiplike, the equivalent of a grounding slap, that Phantom snapped his mouth shut.

"You will be visited by three spirits tonight," Plasmius said. "Your participation is not optional. You will listen to them, go anywhere they want you to go, and observe whatever they want you to observe."

"Do you count as one of the three?" Phantom grumbled.

"You know how the story goes. Three visitors in addition to myself."

"So I'm basically in one of those Scrooge movies."

Plasmius slowly grew more transparent. "You know that isn't the title of the story." His voice grew quieter, fading.

"How would you know whether I do or not," Phantom said to himself. He could never remember the official title.

Plasmius was gone.

Phantom hovered alone in the empty cave chamber.

He whispered, "Bah. Humbug."

[randomperson99sworld]

Ruffled Feathers 🪶

~ Part 6 ~

Summary: Julia Morgan, Bobby's niece, has always been a royal thorn in Dean Winchesters ass since the day they met 1 year ago at Bobby's memorial. She wants to be a hunter, he thinks she's a dumb kid playing dress up. Will she always be seen as an unwanted load in Dean's eyes or will he see something more?

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warnings: Language, age gap, sexual themes (used lightly), physical abuse (Not by Dean).

Word Count: 2,405

A/N: I had to repost this part because my dumb self accidentally copied my rough draft instead of the finished chapter lol. If you guys see anything that doesn’t make sense let me know! I’m still new at writing, but I want to make it as perfect as possible for my readers! This story is cross posted on Wattpad, I made the last minute decision to share it here too. Happy reading! ♥️

Julia stepped into the diner, the faint chime of the doorbell ringing out as she entered. The place was quiet, with only a handful of people scattered around. She scanned the room, trying to push past the frustration building in her chest. Dean's words echoed in her mind—stay out of trouble. He acted like she couldn't handle a real hunt, like she was nothing more than an inconvenience. It wasn't the first time he'd made her feel like that, and she doubted it would be the last.

But she was determined to prove him wrong.

Taking a deep breath, she made her way to the counter where an older woman stood wiping down the surface. The woman looked up, offering a small smile as Julia approached.

"Can I help you, hun?" she asked, her voice warm but tired.

Julia returned the smile, trying to keep her tone casual. "Yeah, I'm new in town and heard there's been some weird stuff going on lately. Thought I'd ask around, see if anyone knows what's up."

The woman raised an eyebrow, glancing around before leaning in slightly. "Weird stuff? You mean the attacks?"

Julia nodded, keeping her expression neutral. "Yeah. People saying it's a wild animal or something?"

The woman sighed, shaking her head. "It's more than just an animal, I'll tell you that. Folks around here are scared. There's been a few people attacked just outside town, and none of them made it. I've heard whispers about some kind of beast, but no one knows for sure."

Julia's heart rate quickened. Definitely sounds like a werewolf. She kept her voice steady. "Anyone get a good look at whatever it is?"

The woman hesitated, glancing over her shoulder like she didn't want anyone to overhear. "There's one guy, a regular, who swears he saw it. Ted, his name is. He's been spooked ever since, though, barely comes in anymore. You might wanna talk to him. Lives in a cabin on the outskirts of town, past the woods."

Julia thanked the woman and ordered a coffee to go before stepping outside. The sun had dipped lower, casting the small town in a soft, orange glow. She spotted Dean and Sam across the street, walking out of the sheriff's office.

Dean's gaze locked onto her as she crossed the road to meet them. His expression was the same as always—guarded, skeptical, like he was waiting for her to mess up.

"Well?" Dean asked, his voice impatient. "You find anything, or were you too busy chatting up the locals?"

Julia ignored the sting in his tone, keeping her voice steady. "One of the waitresses mentioned a guy named Ted. He says he saw whatever attacked the victims. He lives just past the woods in a cabin. Could be worth checking out."

Dean's eyebrows lifted slightly, like he hadn't expected her to come back with anything useful. He gave a slow nod, glancing at Sam before looking back at her. "Alright. We'll check it out."

For a brief moment, Julia felt a flicker of satisfaction. Maybe this'll prove I'm not just in the way.

The three of them piled back into the Impala, the familiar hum of the engine filling the silence once again as they headed toward Ted's cabin. The tension from before still lingered, but there was something new in the air now—anticipation. Julia knew this was her chance to show Dean she could pull her weight.

As they neared the outskirts of town, the road grew rougher, surrounded by thick woods on either side. Dean parked the Impala at the edge of a long narrow dirt path leading to the cabin. The sun was almost completely gone now, the last traces of daylight fading fast.

Dean stopped the car in the middle of the path as it looked too rough to drive the rest of the way. They got out of the car, and Dean grabbed his sawed-off shotgun from the trunk, tossing Sam and Julia their weapons. He eyed Julia for a second longer than necessary before turning toward the path. "Let's go."

The air was cool, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the day, and Julia found herself gripping her knife a little tighter as they walked.

After a little bit of walking , the outline of a small cabin came into view. Dean motioned for them to stop, holding up his hand as he scanned the area.

They walked up to the cabin and knocked and a man opened the door. He was a middle-aged man, his clothes slightly disheveled, eyes darting around like he expected trouble at any moment

"Hey, Ted right? We spoke on the phone earlier." Dean said. "Mind if we come in to talk?”

Ted nodded, his gaze flicking nervously between them. "Sure. I'm not much for company, but I suppose it's better than being alone."

They all  came in the quaint looking cabin, and Dean wasted no time getting to the point. "We heard you saw something the other night. Can you tell us what you saw?"

Ted took a shaky sip of his coffee before beginning. "It was dark, and I was just heading home. Then I heard this growl, like nothing I've ever heard before. I thought it was a bear or something at first. But when I saw it... it wasn't any kind of animal I've seen. It was huge, with glowing eyes. It came at me, but I managed to get away. I've been too scared to go back out there since."

Julia listened intently, her mind racing. A growl, glowing eyes—it fit the description of a werewolf alright.

Dean glanced at Julia, then back at Ted. "Anything else you remember? Any specific features or behaviors?"

Ted shook his head. "Just the eyes and the growl. It was like it was hunting me."

Sam leaned in, his expression thoughtful. "Have you seen anything else strange around here? Any other incidents?"

Ted hesitated before speaking. "There've been some odd occurrences—people seeing strange things in the woods, noises at night. I thought it was just my imagination or the stress from what happened to me."

Dean glanced at Julia again, a silent question in his eyes. Julia nodded slightly, indicating that Ted's account was useful.

"Alright," Dean said, standing up. "Thanks for your time, Ted. We'll look into it."

Ted nodded, still looking uneasy. "Be careful. Whatever that thing is, it's dangerous."

They left Ted's residence , heading back to the Impala. Julia felt a renewed sense of purpose. With the new information, they had more to go on. They could focus on the details Ted had provided, potentially narrowing down their search.

As they settled into the car, Dean started the engine. "So, what's next? We going back to check the woods or...?"

Dean nodded, pulling out of the dirt path. The drive to the woods was filled with the low hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of conversation between Sam and Dean. Julia stayed mostly silent, her mind still processing everything from the morning.

When they reached the edge of the woods, the sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows through the trees. They parked the car and grabbed their gear, ready to investigate.

Dean led the way into the forest, the terrain becoming increasingly rugged as they moved deeper. Julia stayed close behind, her senses on high alert. The forest was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that seemed to press in from all sides.

After a few minutes of hiking, they came across a small clearing with signs of a struggle—broken branches, disturbed ground. Julia's heart raced. This was the kind of evidence they needed.

"Looks like this is where it happened," Dean said, examining the area. "We should spread out and see if we can find any more clues."

Julia nodded, taking a deep breath as she walked beside

"Stay back," he muttered to Julia, his voice low.

Julia bit back her frustration, knowing now wasn't the time to argue. She hung back as Dean and Sam moved toward the cabin, their weapons raised, their steps silent.

Suddenly, a rustling sound echoed from the trees behind them. Julia's heart raced as she turned, her grip tightening on her knife. The sound grew louder, closer, until a large shadow darted through the trees.

She raised her weapon, trying to get a clear shot, but the creature was fast, darting in and out of the shadows. Before she could react, it lunged at her with terrifying speed.

"Julia, watch out!" Dean's voice shouted from somewhere behind her.

The werewolf's claws slashed through the air, catching Julia off guard. She tried to dodge, but its claws raked across her shoulder, tearing through her jacket and into her flesh. A cry of pain escaped her as she staggered back, her weapon slipping from her hand.

Dean and Sam charged in, guns blazing. The werewolf howled in pain and rage, momentarily distracted by the sudden attack. Dean's shots found their mark, and the creature staggered before retreating into the darkness.

Sam hurried over to Julia, his face etched with concern. "Julia, are you okay?"

Julia winced as she touched her shoulder, feeling the warm trickle of blood. "I... I'm okay. Just a scratch. We need to finish it."

Dean, his face a mix of anger and worry, approached quickly. "You're not okay. You're hurt. We need to get you patched up."

He grabbed her arm, guiding her back to the Impala with Sam following closely. Julia's shoulder burned with every step, but she tried to stay steady. The werewolf might still be out there, and they couldn't afford to waste time.

Once they reached the car, Dean quickly pulled out a first aid kit from the trunk. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, but his expression was tense.

"Sit down," Dean ordered, gesturing to the backseat. "We need to clean this up before it gets worse."

Julia obeyed, gritting her teeth against the pain as she settled into the backseat. Dean pulled out the antiseptic, a pair of scissors, and a needle and thread. He glanced at her shoulder, his jaw tightening.

"You should have been more careful," Dean said gruffly, his voice tinged with frustration. "I told you to stay back and let us handle it. Now look what happened."

Julia bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears. "It's not that bad. I just got a scratch."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "A scratch that needs stitches this time. What happens if next time you get bit? You could've turned. You always rush in without thinking." Dean seethed.

Sam stepped in, trying to defuse the tension. "Dean, she was trying to help. It's not entirely her fault. The werewolf was fast."

Dean huffed but didn't respond, focusing instead on cleaning the wound. Julia watched as he worked, his hands steady but his expression betraying his frustration. He cleaned the wound thoroughly, applying antiseptic before starting the stitches.

The pain was sharp and intense, but Julia bit her lip and stayed still, refusing to let out more than a few gasps. Dean worked in silence, his anger morphing into a grim determination to get the job done right. He finished the stitches quickly, his movements efficient but rough

"There," Dean said finally, tying off the thread and cutting it. "All done. Try not to move your shoulder too much."

Julia nodded, wincing as she adjusted her position. "Thanks, Dean. I appreciate it."

Dean's face softened slightly, though he still looked frustrated. "Just... be more careful next time. We can't afford to have you getting hurt. Not like this."

Julia nodded again, feeling a mix of relief and frustration. "I will. I promise."

Sam patted her shoulder gently, offering a supportive smile. "We need to get back out there and find that werewolf. It's still a threat."

Julia agreed, though she was keenly aware of the ache in her shoulder. "Yeah, let's finish this."

They packed up their gear and returned to the woods, the fading light casting long shadows around them. Dean stayed close to Julia, his attention divided between the hunt and keeping an eye on her.

As they continued their search, Julia tried to stay focused, despite the pain and the sting of Dean's anger. She knew he cared, even if his methods were rough around the edges. And right now, she needed to prove that she could handle herself—no matter how tough things got.

Suddenly, a rustling sound echoed from the trees behind them. Julia's heart raced as she turned, her grip tightening on her knife. The sound grew louder, closer, until a large shadow darted through the trees.

"Dean!" Julia called out, stepping forward instinctively.

Dean whipped around, his shotgun raised, just as the werewolf lunged from the darkness. It was massive, its eyes glowing in the dim light, teeth bared in a snarl. Without hesitation, Dean fired a shot, but the creature barely flinched, charging at him with terrifying speed.

Sam moved to fire his gun, but Julia acted faster. She hurled her knife with precision, the silver blade embedding itself in the werewolf's side. The creature let out a howl of pain, staggering back as the knife sizzled against its flesh.

Dean didn't hesitate. He fired another shot, this time hitting the werewolf square in the chest. The creature collapsed to the ground, dead before it hit the dirt.

There was a moment of stunned silence, the only sound the heavy breathing of all three hunters. Dean stared down at the body of the werewolf, then slowly turned toward Julia, his expression unreadable.

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, but she didn't back down. "That was close," she said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

Dean's gaze flicked to the knife still lodged in the werewolf's side, then back to her. For a moment, she thought he might say something—maybe even give her some credit—but all he did was grunt and turn away.

"Let's get the body burned before someone stumbles on it," he muttered, walking back toward the cabin.

Julia watched him go, her chest tightening with a mix of frustration and disappointment. No matter what she did, no matter how many times she proved herself, it didn't matter.