#lockjaw danny phantom

[ghostlyglimmer]

Lockjaw Chapter 4

Summary:

Missing for three weeks, Danny finally escapes, only to be found dead and taken to a funeral home. But death isn’t the end—Danny awakens on the embalming table with his jaw wired shut and terrifying new powers. Disoriented and desperate, he must find his way home, knowing nothing will ever be the same again.

Sam lingered by the school entrance, her heart heavy with the weight of the day ahead. The bell had rung minutes ago, signaling the end of another grueling school day that she barely remembered. She spotted Tucker standing by his car “Betsy”, his usual tech filled messenger bag slung over one shoulder. His face was somber, matching the oppressive gloom that had settled over all of them since Danny's disappearance.

She approached him, her steps slow and deliberate, as if prolonging the moment would somehow ease the pain of what they had to do. Tucker looked up as she neared, his expression softening with concern.

“Jazz texted me,” Sam said, her voice quiet but strained with the effort to keep it steady. “She said Mrs. Fenton just picked up Danny’s belongings from the station. His phone screen’s cracked, but it’s still usable.”

Tucker nodded, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a somber resolve. “Okay, good. Then the hard drive shouldn’t be damaged. We should be able to save any photos he had pretty easily. Should we head over and get started on the slideshow?”

Sam nodded, her eyes reflecting the pain that her words didn’t convey. “Yeah. Jazz could use the help. It’s… it’s going to be hard for her.”

The drive to FentonWorks was silent, the weight of the task ahead pressing down on them. They both knew that putting together a slideshow for Danny’s memorial meant reliving moments that would be bittersweet at best, excruciating at worst. But they also knew it was something they had to do—for Jazz, for Danny, and for themselves.

When they arrived at the Fenton household, the normally bustling lab and living quarters felt eerily still. Jazz met them at the door, her face pale and drawn, but she managed a small smile of gratitude. “Thanks for coming,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve got everything set up in the living room.”

Sam and Tucker followed her inside, exchanging a glance that spoke volumes about their shared grief. They entered the living room, where a laptop was set up on the coffee table, Danny’s cracked phone beside it. A box of his belongings sat nearby, items carefully wrapped in evidence bags.

Jazz sat down heavily on the couch, staring at the phone as if it were a lifeline to her brother. “I started going through his photos, but… I just couldn’t.”

“We’ll take care of it, Jazz,” Tucker said softly, sitting down next to her and opening the laptop. He connected Danny’s phone and began the process of transferring the photos and videos. Sam hovered nearby, her eyes scanning the room filled with memories of their time with Danny.

As the images began to populate the screen, a mixture of emotions flooded them—laughter, joy, and the stark reminder of what they’d lost. Pictures of Danny, Sam, and Tucker at the Nasty Burger, at school, and during their countless adventures. Each one was a reminder of how vibrant and full of life Danny had been.

“I’m going to go get some of Danny’s other things,” Jazz murmured, excusing herself from the room. Sam watched her go, a pang of sorrow hitting her. Jazz had always been the strong one, but even she had her limits.

Tucker was about to start organizing the photos into a slideshow when Danny’s phone buzzed, startling them both. They exchanged confused glances.

“Who would be texting Danny’s phone now?” Tucker muttered, picking it up. His eyes widened as he read the message that had just come through.

Sam leaned over, her heart skipping a beat. The message was from an unknown number, addressed directly to them.

“Sam, Tucker—it's me, Danny. I need your help. I’m not dead. Meet me at your hideout”

The color drained from Sam’s face as she grabbed the phone from Tucker, rereading the text to make sure she wasn’t imagining things. “This… this has to be a joke, right? Some sort of prank?”

But as she stared at the message, something in her gut told her this wasn’t a prank. It was too specific, too personal. And the sense of urgency in those words felt too real.

Tucker’s mind was already racing. “What if Danny stole someone’s phone? What if he used it to message us because he couldn’t remember our numbers?”

Sam’s heart pounded in her chest as she considered the possibility. It sounded insane. “We need to find out who sent this. If there’s even a chance that Danny’s alive…”

Tucker nodded, his fingers moving quickly over the keys. “I’ll trace the number, see if we can find out where it came from."

Sam watched as Tucker worked, her mind whirling with questions and a growing hope she didn’t dare let herself believe in just yet. But one thing was certain—they couldn’t ignore the message. If there was even a sliver of a chance that Danny was out there, alive and needing their help, they would do whatever it took to help him.

[ghostlyglimmer]

Eyes glowing, mouth bound—still more human than them.

[ghostlyglimmer]

I am totally normal about ghost suppressing restraints for overpowered ghost boys.

[ghostlyglimmer]

Finished up Chapter 2! Let me know what y'all think! I hope you enjoy!

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With a newfound purpose, he rips off the trocar from his abdomen and stumbles off the embalming table, collapsing into a heap on the cold, tiled floor. A groan escapes his lips as he struggles to push himself up. His entire body feels like it’s been through the most grueling workout imaginable after decades of complete immobility—sore, shaky, and, well, dead.

He tries to stand, only to grab onto a rolling tray covered with embalming tools. It slips out from under him, crashing onto its side and sending scalpels, forceps, and other instruments clattering across the floor. The noise is deafening in the silence of the room. He winces, his heart racing as he glances around, half-expecting someone to burst in. When no one does, he exhales in relief.

Steadying himself with outstretched arms, he rises shakily, his legs trembling beneath him like a fawn taking its first steps. He manages one step, then another, then a third. His limbs feel stiff and uncooperative, but he smirks at his small victory. In this moment, each step feels like a monumental achievement.

He lurches out of the embalming room, taking a sharp right down a dimly lit hallway. A set of lockers by an exit sign catches his eye. There must be some spare clothes there,��he thinks. He shuffles to the closest locker, marked with the name "Bryson" on a piece of painter's tape. Inside, he finds an oversized black hoodie and gray sweatpants. He quickly changes, then checks the neighboring locker labeled "Dalton." A pair of Nike sneakers awaits him, a size too big but far better than the Converse he vaguely remembers owning. Sorry, Bryson and Dalton, he thinks with a faint smile as he slips the shoes on.

He pushes open the exit door next to the lockers and steps out, scanning his surroundings to get his bearings. To his left, the Amity Park Graveyard stretches out, a familiar place he used to cut through with his best friends on the way to their favorite hideout—the abandoned observatory. The structure’s dome peeks out from behind the treetops, barely visible in the distance.

Pulling his hood as far forward as it will go, he sets off toward the graveyard, vaulting over a crumbled section of the fence. His mind drifts to Sam, the one who had discovered the observatory and made it their secret spot. She always did her homework there, finding solace in its quiet, eerie atmosphere. A grin tries to form on his face, but the movement sends a sharp pain shooting through his jaw, forcing him to wince instead.

As he navigates through the graveyard, he takes in the rows of tombstones, some weathered and old, others freshly carved. This is where everyone in Amity Park ends up eventually. One grave, in particular, catches his eye—a freshly dug plot with a canopy overhead, waiting for its new occupant. Curiosity pulls him closer, and he squints at the newly engraved stone.

His heart stops as he reads the name etched into the marble.

𝔻𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕖𝕝 𝕁𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝔽𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕠𝕟

𝔽𝕖𝕓𝕣𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝟙𝟚𝕥𝕙 𝟚𝟘𝟘𝟟- 𝕆𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟚𝟟𝕥𝕙 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟜

𝔹𝕖𝕝𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕕 𝕊𝕠𝕟, 𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔹𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕

Danny stumbles backward, falling to the ground. His breath quickens, eyes wide in shock as he reads the inscription over and over, hoping he’s made a mistake. His hands fly to his hair, tugging at his raven locks as pain shoots through his skull. This can’t be real, he thinks. This has to be a nightmare.

He clenches his eyes shut, desperate to wake up in his own bed, cuddling his drool-covered Bearbert Einstein. But when he opens them again, the cold marble is still there, looming in front of him. This is no dream. This is his reality.

Daniel James Fenton is dead.

Tears spill onto the dying grass as he stares at his trembling hands, unable to comprehend the situation. Why is he here? Why is he... alive? He can’t remember what happened, can’t piece together how he ended up like this. But after a moment, he forces himself to calm down, knowing he needs to come up with a plan—some way to figure out what’s going on, and what to do next.

[ghostlyglimmer]

About

Glimmer ⛓️ She/Her ⛓️ 28 ⛓️ Certified Undead Blorbo Enjoyer ™ 

Howdy, I'm Glimmer I've been a huge fan of the show since the release, but just now finally jumped into the fandom! Everyone here has been so amazing, and I’m beyond excited to be part of the community. I adore making new friends and rambling about the blorbos, so don’t hesitate to reach out if you ever wanna chat! 👻

⚠️ Occasionally reblogs Gore (everything will be tagged appropriately).

🖤 In this house, we respect Phantom’s eldritch horror potential and give him the angst he deserves.

TL;DR: Here to scream about ghosts and have a good time. 🖤💚

I follow from @ayalathedeer

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Unlikely Roads: Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3

Lockjaw: Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4

The Black Dog of Amity Park: Pt 1

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🪦Frat Party Fright 🪦 Charred Remains🪦Butt Dial🪦Breaking Point🪦Is This Thing On?🪦Where Are You? (And I'm So Sorry)🪦Emerge🪦Tarot: The World 🪦 You're Grounded Mister 🪦

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The fandom that can't die: Danny Phantom's CRAZY "PHANdom"

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HOLY SHIT I WANT TO EAT THIS AS A 3-COURSE MEAL THE EMOTIONS THIS IS MAKING ME FEEL IS INSANE BUDDY

Eyes glowing, mouth bound—still more human than them.