#phicphight21

[sylph-feather]

Title: Ectoplasmic Fossils

Summary: "Actually, Dad?  I wanted to be a paleontologist."

Prompt: Prompt is the same as the summary. Prompter is gaunttwister, team halfa. 

Wordcount:  2453

Notes: Can you tell I was a dinosaur kid.....

For a Danny in familiar world, his first positive thought after becoming a ghost and learning ghosts existed (after, of course, a litany of terror), was as follows: imagine the new world I could explore. He considered this while staring into the swirling portal that lead to places unknown, and in his mind he compared it to the vast and beautiful unknown of space.

This Danny, in this less familiar universe, was less impressed by the portal itself; of course, he was in awe of it from a technical perspective, but nothing that deeply riveting, that personal spark of exploration— not from its wrought metal or whirling green center, that is. No, this was his thought, in replacement of the other spark: if ghosts exist, what things have been made ghosts over the years? What old life could be discovered? 

Danny, you see, did not desire to explore space in this universe. No. He was fascinated by paleontology. Star books were replaced by compendiums of dinosaur species, models of rockets and stations replaced by scientifically accurate models and bones, diagrams of ships replaced by diagrams of feathery, toothsome things. You get the picture. 

Where these obsessions came from… who was to say? Why one fixation over the other? Did this Danny latch onto his parent’s obsession with the dead and translate it into this, rather than translating it into the more vague idea of exploring the unknown? Or was it as simple as an exposure to different things; a cartoon with scientifically inaccurate dinosaurs rather than a ridiculous sci fi premise, or perhaps watching Jurassic Park too young rather than Star Wars…? The child’s mind is prone to flights of fancy that stick— that’s the  the final conclusion, no matter the exact cause of specifics. 

Regardless, his parents engaged in it; provided him with aforementioned objects— models, posters, etcetera— and generally encouraged his interests. The most annoying was when they tried to sell him on ghosts by using dinosaurs as a sort of bribery; they talked of the possibilities of discovering undocumented species and anatomy with the ghost forms of creatures from long ago, a sort of tempting what if, to lure Danny to their side. 

Up until today, when a portal had electrocuted half the life out of him, Danny didn’t believe it. 

Sam, Tucker, and Danny were all reclined in Danny’s bedroom— all fully human, though Danny still felt a bit… simultaneously charred and charged, which he supposed made sense given he’d just been fried by a nasty shock (to put it lightly). 

His two friends were sending him worried looks— also sensible, given not half an hour ago Danny was significantly ghostier, and significantly panic-ier. Now, though, while Sam and Tucker sent each other concerned glances to communicate wordlessly, Danny was simply considering the possibilities. Gooey species of jellyfish and slug-like creatures that hadn’t been preserved! Confirmation of the placement or use of bones, especially controversial ones like the hollowed crest of the Parasaurolophus or the gastralia of many beasts! Behavior that could only be guessed at via anatomical features! The degree to which feathers coated their body! Colors! 

...And so on and so forth. It was all enough to bring a wide grin to Danny’s face— which was a bit creepy given he’d just died. 

“Dude,” Tucker grimaced, snapping Danny out of his reverie, “are you, like, coping well—“ 

“We have to go into the Ghost Zone,” Danny cut him off with excited urgency. 

Sam blinked at him owlishly. “Now? Why?” 

“Not now, I guess, necessarily,” Danny brushed off, filled with excited energy. His eyes were shining when he turned them to his new friends— “imagine what ancient things we could find as ghosts.” 

Tucker facepalmed and groaned. “Of course the first thing you’re thinking of is dinosaurs.” 

Sam eased a bit, brushing off her initial assumption that Danny had some weird, ghostly pull to the green portal. “Well, at least you’re seeing the bright side,” she huffed sarcastically. 

Danny crossed his arms in a pout. “I’m not just thinking of dinosaurs.” No, he was thinking of other eras of ancient things too, of course. 

Tucker shot him a look, but broke it with a laugh and didn’t prod further. 

  xXx

  It was, of course, a disappointment when the first ghosts that came through were too formless to tell what they had been, if they were anything but raw emotion. It was an even bigger disappointment when the first fully-formed ghosts were largely human-shaped. With the exception of dragons— which Danny definitely did not count— there was nothing that bore any resemblance to extinct creatures. 

On top of this, Danny had sort of let go of the go find dinos in the Ghost Zone NOW mentality, because… well, despite insatiable curiosity, he didn’t know his way around the place at all. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, or if he was even expecting it to be easy to begin with, but going into a directionless green abyss where orientation did not exist… well, needless to say that Danny knew he could not find his way to whatever ancient beast ghosts were there, if they did even exist in the first place. And he certainly didn’t want to risk his life knocking on doors of who-knows-what, or drifting around ghostly islands in the middle of who-knows-where. And that’s not even touching that technically Walker wants his arrest for a reason Danny only sort of remembers because it was so dumb. 

And so, for the first handful of months of his existence as a halfa, Danny contents himself with theorization. It’s hard to think too much about dinosaurs anyways, because it’s hard to think too much about anything— despite being a teen and thus being prone to sleep deprivation, the ghost fighting combined with high school has lead Danny to a new level of exhaustion, one that he is still adjusting to. His grades hurt for it, as do his passions. 

Slowly, though, he does adjust— enough to be confident to go in the Zone, and enough to have actually smart thoughts without his brain fizzling out. 

In the moment where Phantom and the Red Huntress found themselves in Skulker’s lair, Danny was largely scared and exasperated at alternating points. It wasn’t until that situation was… resolved (and thank goodness both hunters didn’t pulverize him) that Danny was slapped with a marvelous idea of tangential connections.

Skulker is a hunter. The Zone’s greatest hunter, he claimed, though Danny didn’t know if he believed that much. Still. The point still stood that it was a reasonable bet that Skulker was into rare and dangerous prey, if his arsenal and his fleet of pelts were anything to go by.

All this to say that Danny thought that maybe, just maybe, Skulker would know about dinosaur ghosts. That miniscule spark of hope was enough; Danny felt he deserved to see what he’d always so desperately wanted to see after the thought of dinosaur ghosts entered his mind as a believable thing. 

Danny had to ask— even if there was a high chance Skulker didn’t know or did know but wouldn’t tell, and the fact that asking Skulker was at great risk of being at best, involved in their typical scuffling, and at worst, captured. Danny only had dinos on the brain, though, and maybe he wasn’t awake enough to consider the full consequences of the impulsive thought. 

So he enacted his plan as a teen enacted anything: rashly, suddenly, and without much forethought. Even calling it a plan alone was generous; all the half-ghost did was float into the Zone in the general direction of Skulker’s island, foolishly calling out to Skulker as he floated through. Naturally, he came prepared— not with weapons, or maps, but with a bag containing his phone, a journal, and his comprehensive dinosaur book… just in case he did end up seeing any. 

The mechanical suit showed his flaming mug quite close to his island. Bright, solid green eyes blinked, and Skulker— who had not had the time to pull up hs egotistical Ghost Zone’s greatest hunter speech in his shock— said in a surprised tone, “don’t you have other things to do?” 

Danny did. He did this in favor of an important English essay on 1984 that he had— Danny had tried wrapping his mind around thought crime and contradictions, and once he put the book down he immediately decided I can think on all that and, I’d much rather find dinosaurs. So here he was. 

Skulker shook himself out of that surprise, and levelled a laser that popped out of his arm at Danny. “No matter! Prey is prey, and you are good prey!” 

“Wait!” Danny barked, confident enough (and strange and out of place enough) to give the other ghost pause, making Skulker lower the laser just slightly, a modicum of movement to say go on, or at least indicate curiosity. “I want to see dinosaurs,” Danny said authoritatively, simply. 

Skulker stared, weapon still whining slightly. His slightly slack jaw and slumped arm just screamed huh? 

And thus began a ramble— “I’ve always wanted to see dinosaurs, and once I realized ghosts existed, I figured ghost dinosaurs had to exist, right?” Not waiting for an answer, Danny ploughed ahead. “And I thought of all the ghosts I’ve met, you seem like you maybe, hopefully know where any ghost dinos are, with the whole hunting schtick—“ 

Skulker cut off Danny’s rambling with honesty: “I’m not sure if I should be amused, flattered, or honored, ghost child.”

“As long as you’re not violent?” Danny said slowly, tipping his head, still assessing Skulker as though to try to suss out whether he was a threat still or no 

Skulker himself was still trying to figure out the answer to that question— did he want to be a threat, want to hunt Phantom? Or did he want to pause and take a moment to indulge the bright, sparkling curiosity in his eyes…? 

Skulker gave an awkward cough, a sort of choked harumph sound. He started slowly, unsurely, “I suppose.” He added hurriedly— “to reward you for being such good prey.” 

Danny huffed. “Way to make it weird,” the halfa grumbled— but he wasn’t able to keep up a petulant persona for long, because the excitement shone through too brightly to conceal. Because dinosaurs. “That means you know where to find them?” Danny’s voice was approaching something that could only be described as a squeal. 

Skulker once again paused for contemplation, because those islands were one of his prized hunting spots… the dinosaurs regenerated (as most strong, full ghosts did), but they still were a great joy to hunt. Among the dinosaur-ridden chunks of land, there were also significantly less interesting hunts— the cambrian period areas, for example, didn’t have much that provided a very thrilling chase… they just sort of scooted around. Then again, it was clear the ghost child cared not for the hunt, so Skulker supposed he could share. 

Skulker made a gruff noise, internally considering that of course he would hunt down the halfa anyways, and Danny didn’t regenerate like full ghosts— so it wasn’t like he had to share for long. Granted, it wasn’t like a hunter to lead prey into anything but a trap, but Skulker didn’t have much to argue against that thought, so he just… didn’t think about it, justifying it with a vague “honor” tangent in his mind.

To answer the question after much internal debate on sharing, his own softness, etcetera, Skulker simply said, “yes, I know where to find them. Follow me.” 

The halfa was lost in excitement, doing flips in the air and going on a ramble that the mechanized ghost utterly drowned out as they jetsetted through the Zone at rapid speed. 

I could skewer him right now, Skulker thought over the whine of his jetpack. The thought had no heat to it, though, especially when Skulker took a pause to look at the exuberant teenager. 

It wasn’t long to consider thoughts of said skewering, anyways. The Ghost Zone was a strange place; once someone had been somewhere and knew the way, the green abyss would fold out of its own way to get them there again when they wanted it. Skulker had long stopped questioning it, if he ever questioned it in the first place, but Phantom was quite in awe of the quick travel, and the way their scenery had subtly compressed then stretched into a new horizon around them as they flew— only now was he realizing the complete change in surroundings. 

Skulker just hovered and watched as those luminous green eyes darted from unfamiliar door to unfamiliar door until they settled on the main attraction: a vast set of islands, incomprehensibly expansive and swirling around each other in a compressed way special to the Ghost Zone’s laws of space.

Danny’s eyes widened, and he let out a sound of pure, concentrated excitement. “This is it,” he said, and it was partially a question but mostly seemed to function as a statement to convince himself. 

Danny shot immediately to the nearest island, a chunk of land covered in a swampy rainforest and thick ferns. From the brush, a large thing burst forth, chittering and cawing. 

Danny took in the huge, feathered raptor— feathers of blue and green, as with all ghosts, but otherwise so… different. It was so different, seeing it in the… well, not flesh, ectoplasm, but the point still stood. Danny hovered above that island, frozen with awe, and the creature stared back at him with eyes that were not slit and were observant, and it clicked its lizard-like mouth around its sharp teeth and flared its feathers with some degree of fright… and Danny could think of nothing better than that moment of pure, extreme joy and awe and sheer wonder. 

Skulker saw all that on the teen’s face and thought again, this time with heat: I could skewer him right now. Their little agreement was over, the debt of providing a good chase repaid, and now it was time for the halfa to become prey once again. A laser charged up—

Beep, beep, beep. The laser cut off with the notification, and Skulker gave a surprised grunt. 

Danny made a noise. “You scared it off,” he groaned, but even that couldn’t get him down, because he went plummeting off towards the fern forest with a joyous laugh. 

Gorilla feeding time, Skulker’s suit informed him in the meanwhile. 

“No,” he barked uselessly, already jetting away, “I thought I’d gotten rid of this—!” 

The last thing the mechanical ghost saw was Phantom, plunging into the underbrush, crowing with laughter, dinosaur dreams fulfilled.

[sylph-feather]

Summary: Danny had known the rules— that being beaten would lead to transfer of the crown, instructed to him by their ominous guardians— but he hadn’t exactly considered all the implications of that.

For: @ghost-strawberry

Prompt: (Danny is ghost king hc) Danny loses a fight with Sam and the title of ghost king is transferred to her, despite Sam not being a ghost.

Words: 3,344

“Haha!” Sam barked triumphantly, standing over her defeated enemy in a display of dominance while stomping a scary combat boot, “I won.” 

Danny let out nothing but a low keening sound, slumping on the Nasty Burger table and leaving his arm in its defeated position. 

“Darn,” Tucker chimed in, “I thought that with all the ghost fighting and workouts you’ve been doing, Sam finally would stop being the reigning arm wrestling champ.” He paused, melodramatically draping a hand over his forehead and intoning, “alas.” 

Danny only repeated the same mournful noise, all the sentiment of my arm is going to bruise and Sam will never let this go packed into a drawn out moan. 

Before Danny could construct his complaints into something that took the form of language, there was a great burst of green fire that ensconced their cheap, plastic table. In the time it took to flinch, the ghostly flames had already washed over the group— and… done… nothing? 

No, that wasn’t right— it hadn’t hurt them, to be more accurate. Their table, and the tile around it, looked like someone had carved a circle into the floor, taken everything within that circle (read: the trio, several overly greasy foodstuffs, and three shakes) and dropped it right into the Ghost Zone, if the swirling green abyss was anything to go by. 

(Back in the human realm, the patrons of the Nasty Burger were left with their own overly greasy foodstuffs visible in their mouths held ajar as they stared at the smoldering circle that once held three teens and cheap fast food chain restaurant seating— horribly cheap plastic booths on a table that maybe had the suggestion of meeting bare-minimum sanitary requirements. A lone green flame died out, and acrid smoke wafted away. Same shit every day, a tired cashier thought). 

Before them: the Coroners. Dark-colored ghosts with a litany of dark colors with glowing green antlers that twisted into the suggestion of the shape of a crown, and gnarled hands that all had the same mark of a skull on each knuckle. Between the name and the appearance, they were very ominous, to say the least. 

Danny recognized them from the last time he met them: his own coronation. 

Sam and Tucker, who were not there for that ritual because it occured after the fight with Pariah, were just as confused and scared as Danny was the first time. “It’s ok!” he yelped at his friends who were readying their on-hand Fenton weaponry. “I know them. They’re the Coroners.”

Sam shot him a look that said that is anything but encouraging, and Danny winced. 

“They… do… the coron-ing,” Danny said slowly, because he didn’t know how else to phrase it. “Like, the monarchy ruler stuff.” 

“Down with the monarchy,” Sam intoned almost instinctively, but still pocketed the lipstick laser once again, settling down and taking a more casual sip of her strawberry shake. 

Tucker, meanwhile, just kept his shaky hands locked around the box of fries, determinedly not looking at the wraith-like creatures that had deer skulls sticking out of dark garb. 

Sam paused in her slurping, considering the Coroner’s job in her mind more thoroughly. “I guess it makes sense, ‘cuz the Ghost Zone doesn’t have a pope to do it,” she admitted. 

Tucker relaxed, and snorted. “Ghost pope.” The idea (mixed with the special breed of hysterical comedy that comes with  stress) elicited great humor. 

Fear abandoned, now they just looked confused. Danny was too— because, “why are you here?” He frowned down at himself. “Are you, uh, rebelling? Or do you have an important message? Or…?”

That was one-third of the Coroner’s jobs: rebellion. Or, more accurately, inciting rebellion. To understand, one must understand two-thirds of their job: the second third was that someone had to pass down the Ring of Rage and Crown of Fire. After the defeat of Parkah, the ancient ghosts were very grateful that Danny had taken it from Pariah Dark after his reign of tyranny, given that he had destroyed them… because of the first third of their job. See, the Coroners were also supposed to act as some representative electoral body of ghost-kind in deciding who passed a somewhat okay-ish ruler, and if that didn’t work out, they usually incited rebellion against said tyrant, or inevitably did so when a once kind ruler became glutted with greed and violence. 

So Pariah trapped them, which (admittedly) was a rather sensible plan, and (also admittedly) a major design flaw in the ring and the crown. After all, given the requirement for the initial rights to ring and crown were to battle and defeat its previous user to gain access (it could be peacefully passed, but that option had never happened), and really, nothing of the Coroner’s judgement would make an impact outside of someone saying no— that is to say, the ring and crown wouldn’t just poof. Thus, it seemed reasonable to assume that the battler would continue, well, battling for that power. 

The last third of their job is significantly less exciting— as Danny put it: messaging. It simply was to act as ghostly servants; knights, mailmen, whatever the King and the ghosts that needed the King may require. Danny largely told them to use their own discretion in solving conflicts, because he was just one teen barely keeping his grades above Cs, and then left them to it. 

So yes, Danny was kind of worried that somehow, such a dramatic summons would be some kind of ominous warning on the way he was being a king— which, to be fair, he was barely being a king at all— due to the aforementioned second-third of their job.

The largest one with the most elaborately twisted antlers pointed a long, bony finger at Sam. Its voice, which sounded both grand and incredibly spooky, boomed thusly: “this human has bested you in battle. Thusly, according to the sacred laws of the Ring of Rage and the Crown of Fire, she shall be bequeathed the title of ghostly monarch. Ye, Danny Phantom, halfa, who have bested Pariah Dark, have lost to Sam Manson, human, and cede your title as ruler.” 

In a circle, the thirteen wraiths whispered, “and the cycle continues.” It was murmured slightly out of sync, but it gave less of an impression of untidiness or lack of professionalism, and more of an ominous feeling, like there were many more voices than just thirteen. 

Danny was slightly less freaked out than Sam and Tucker by it, given they had said a similar thing when he was coronated, but with far less spooky fanfare, and more normal, excited fanfare. Mostly, Danng was spooked more by the suddenness of the thing, and the prospect of it. 

In the hands of the largest one that was clearly the leader, the Ring of Rage and the Crown of Fire appeared in a dramatic swooshing of green flame. 

Danny’s eyes widened. “She.” He paused, because he couldn’t really argue with that. It was— technically, sort of— a battle. And in the Ghost Zone, might made right and all that. Still. 

Sam and Tucker stared, jaws agape. Between all the new info and now this revelation, their brains essentially bluescreened. 

Danny, even though he was previously initiated, wasn’t in a much better state— all he managed to get out aloud was an incredulous, “it was arm wrestling?”  

One of the smaller wraiths, its crown of horns barely nubs, drifted forwards to their Nasty Burger island that was adrift in the Ghost Zone, and asked in its voice of crackling dead leaves, “is this the manner in which you were beaten?” 

Sam, herself, recovered from the mental “404” page, and her first reaction was to release a huge guffaw of laughter. 

Danny slid forwards onto the table, thoroughly spent between embarrassment and confusion. All he articulated was a very, very long groan. 

“May we, uh,” Danny said slowly, turning towards the head wraith and looking at the glowing points set in the skull’s sockets, “have a moment to discuss?” 

Tucker made a vague noise between worry and agreement. 

“So long as the queen wishes,” it bowed to her, deeply reverent. 

“Wait,” Sam ordered, smile growing on her face. “If I were queen,” she said slowly, “would I be able to get rid of this monarchy?” 

“Tis not a monarchy, my lady,” one of the thirteen said, antler crown bobbing. 

The whole table of teens processed this for a moment. 

Tucker burst into incredulity first: “you literally called her a monarch just a few seconds ago!” 

“A title, nothing more,” a Coroner corrected. “Nay, you do not hold much sway over them, rather, it is they who hold sway over you, sending message to help resolve conflicts, be they fullscale fights or quarrels.” 

Danny groaned, suppressed memories bubbling up: the many times the Coroners had come to him with arguments regarding ghost territories, many attempting to use Danny as a weapon or a diplomat or bodyguard or— so on. 

Thus far, a handful of months into his kinghood, Danny had stopped one “fullscale fight” that bordered on a war. (...This was also related to territory, however). 

Either way, that was a long way to say: the statement that it was just a title held up. The ring and crown didn’t actually really get him any political leeway with the ghosts— it was more of an… intimidation tactic that some ghosts fled from, because the ring and the crown were no more than power boosters. 

Asides from that, all he got were updates on all the troubles in the Zone that supposedly needed him (most of which actually didn’t). The Ghost Zone was a lawless place, so a title of king was not worth much outside of sheer power display. 

For the most part, the things had just served to place a target on his back, specifically, because any lost battle would mean they were his no more, and that the power would be passed to the victor. 

Sam, seemingly on the same line of thought as he, hummed, “would ghosts know I was the… Ghost Queen?” At declaring herself monarch (even if it was apparently in name only), her face did a bit of an involuntary, complicated twisting motion. 

Danny picked himself up from his pathetic slump, and aimed an intrigued-but-confused look at Sam. 

Tucker caught on a bit faster— “so if the ghosts think Danny’s still the king, they fight him— but there’s no risk involved in him losing.” 

Sam nodded, smiling a little sappily. 

Danny just made a mushy “aw,” sound, seeming to consider it. 

It was hard to read the expressions of the ghosts that surrounded the trio’s private, floating chunk of the Nasty Burger establishment, because said ghosts wore skulls… but they seemed baffled, though reluctantly accepting. It was all in the tilt of their heads and the pause of their voice as they said, “great Queen, whatever thou shall ask of us.” 

Sam nodded again, then paused. Her face cracked into an eager grin— a dangerous grin. “Do I get cool powers from this?” 

After receiving the crown, Danny had gotten a boost in his own powers; nothing new, just everything that was there was doubled. Double the size, the intensity, the spookiness, the everything. Needless to say, being goth and being active in fights as she was, Sam was excited for ghost powers. She was momentarily lost in visions of a sweeping gothic outfit, one of pure black with smokey edges, decked out in spikes, etcetera— in other words, “edgy.” 

Tuck, meanwhile, had a far more practical askance: “hold on. She’s a human, right?” 

Of course, it wouldn’t be the first instance of humans vaguely receiving or being influenced by ghost powers in some way; Undergrowth had done it, there had been that time with ghost mosquitos, and the one with that Egyptian staff, and the whole incident with the dragon-rage amulet… not to mention the halfas themselves, obviously. Still, it was not all that hope-inspiring to consider that all of them save for the halfas were essentially some degree of possession (or, at the least, something infectious and negative). 

Aloud, Tucker continued to contemplate. “It’s not exactly reassuring to call them ghost powers, with uh, death. Involved.” It was a choppy sentence, but it got the point across; Danny was a special case, but even a half death wasn’t exactly desirable. 

The glowing eyes of the coroners seemed to wink in amusement, insomuch as points of light could display emotion. “Ghost powers , says the queen.” 

“Ghost powers,” the others echo— not ominous this time, because they are chortling, seeming to be one step away from elbowing one another. 

Sam flushes a bit. “What’s so funny about that?” she grunts, offended. 

The coroners all bow deeply. “We meant no offense,” speaks one from the crowd, and it is followed by a wave of nodding before any of the trio can tell which one was even talking. “We simply find hilarity on your naivete.” 

“Elaborate,” she ordered with extremely thin patience.

“We were hasty in calling you the monarch yet,” the largest explained in its ancient, crackling voice, slow and thoughtful— annoyingly so. 

Sam pinches her nose, understanding with perfect clarity why Danny had complained dealing with these pretentious, cryptic weirdos. “Elaborate,” she commanded once again. 

“You are not the monarch yet, because you have not died,” it informed with great solemnity. 

The Nasty Burger chunk floated in stunned silence as the trio absorbed that. 

“Die?!” Tucker yelled, banging the table, upsetting both the fries and the silence. 

“You have a fascinating and naive way of phrasing it, but perhaps ghost powers is not so far from the truth,” one of the antlered creatures mused, not really addressing the obvious tension or concern. “For indeed, the ring and the crown do power the spiritual energy—“ 

“They’re just ghost batteries!” Danny interrupted, baffled and surprised. 

Sam herself then interrupted the interruption with a scoff, creating a horrible stack of domino-ing interruptions. “All this pizazz over just a power source that I can’t even use?” 

“You are incapable of using it as you are now,” a coroner pointed out. Something in all their eyes glinted ominously, and their antlers seemed to shine with ethereal light. “You are disconnected while living,” one said. As a group, they began encircling the private bit of Nasty Burger, wraith-like cloaks brushing against disgusting tile that was glossy with grease of burgers long past. “But we will fix that,” the coroners intoned as one. 

Danny finally took some initiative, fluidly erupting from his seat and transforming into Phantom in a singular motion. It felt just a tad ridiculous to he hovering over a Nasty Burger table that was ridiculously out of place in the abyssal green of the Ghost Zone, but that only graced his mind for a moment. Instead, the primary thought was one he voiced aloud: “are you going to kill her?” Danny may have been a C student, but regarding threats he was not slow on the uptake— he’d been in enough fights to get a good instinct. For their part, Tuck and Sam took it too— partially cowering behind Danny while brandishing their own Fenton brand lasers. 

The dark spirits jolted to a stop, and tilting their many skull-heads quizzically— a nonverbal askance of why fight? All their minds were whirring, and the first theory from the group of coroners was this: “are you hungry for this power once again?” The group around chortled, a veritable cacophony like many dead leaves being kicked around by whistling wind. It was a taunt, clearly. “This is the natural order of things, halfa. You cannot deny it. You have lost. She has won, won spiritual power, power we take from you.” An enormous pressure of dread emanated from the threatening beings, seeming to push at Danny’s chest— it threw him off kilter in the emotional sense, but also the literal given that he was midair. “If you desire it returned to you, then beat her as she did you, as is the rites of the Ring and the Crown.” 

“I’m more upset she’s gonna die!” Danny barked, a little sarcastic and a lot tense, gesticulating wildly as though that could free his limbs from the lead of supernatural fear. As he did so, his hands became enveloped in his own charging ectoplasm— like a snowball dragged through snow to gather more icy slush to its mass, so too did Danny draw the pure ectoplasm from his surroundings. 

“I would like not to die,” Sam agreed quickly. 

“If it counts, I’m thirding that motion,” Tucker put in as well. 

The coroners pulled back, seemingly startled. “You… do not want this power. But you do not get to choose. ” Their antlers still held an ominous and powerful glow, which spoke to the fact that they had already made their choice in regards to the whole death thing. 

Sam drew in a breath, preparing her “hell no” tirade— when Danny exploded into motion, wrapping a gloved hand around Sam’s hand that didn’t have a lipstick laser in it, and propped them sloppily on the Nasty Burger table. He held his elbow on the table and their chained hands up. Before she could process what on earth he was doing, he painfully but desperately slammed their linked hands down against the table. 

Everyone was staring at Danny, ghosts and humans alike. Silence reigned— utterly baffled, confused silence. It was though a massive, unspoken huh? has slammed down onto the area. 

“There,” he said, reedy desperation coloring his voice. “I won the arm wrestle match.” 

Sam cottoned on pretty quickly— “oh no,” she groaned, “Danny, you beat me. You won .” 

Tucker shot her a look— the emphasis was a bit hammy— but said nothing, only watched hopefully as the coroners seemed to enter something of a loading state as they processed the turn of events. 

Then, startlingly, they quickly and fluidly bowed simultaneously. “Long live our shortest reigning queen,” they said with great solemnity, “and welcome back, our halfa King. Long may he reign.” 

Needless to say, the trio’s sigh of relief was about unparalleled. 

“If I am to reign,” Danny said slowly, recovering but still trying to sound poncy and official (rather than yell at them as he desired), “may we, in the future… discredit joking competitions?” It was delicately phrased, awkward pauses as he deliberately chose fancy phrasing, but it at least got the point across (even if Danny could swear that despite having skull faces and only pinpricks of light for eyes, the coroners were making faces at him). 

The coroners stares at each other, cloaks rustling but no sound passing between them. 

“Yes,” the largest said suddenly, “such a request is reasonable, for a half-human teenager.” With exasperation, it added: “you already were an exceptional case in your ruling.” 

“And in general,” a smaller one piped up snarkily from the back, to be shushed by what was likely a superior. 

“Right,” Danny clapped his hands together and huffed, relieved but still tense. 

“Now, how do we get out of here…?” Tucker questioned, trailing off and looking at the abyss. He traced his fingers on the table, then his face lit up— “uh, can I keep this? It’s authentic Nasty Burger merch, technically, and it’s nor like they’re really gonna need it when it’s been diverged from this reality, let alone their store—“

Before he could continue, there was a snap from one of the coroner’s gnarled hands, and a great bout of green flames engulfed said hunk of Nasty Burger— for the second time that day. 

When a very stunned Danny Fenton, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, and smoldering, partially aflame  with emerald Nasty Burger chunk snapped back into place within the mortal realm, a certain cashier stared balefully at the fused tiles and remnant ghost flame, thought same shit every day once again, and promptly asked: “do you want more to order?” 

And thus, the status quo was restored, for better or for worse.