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[kinglazrus]

What Comes After, Ch. 1

Written for Ecto-implosion 2023! Inspired by the amazing art of @ghozteevee, which you can check out here!

Masterpost | AO3 | Next

WC: 5016

The binding of the threads

There is something waiting to meet you, but it can wait a while longer.

—✧✦✧—

There is a hand attached to an arm attached to a body. It stretches up, fingers splayed into the darkness, forming a skeletal silhouette against the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, straining against the limits of blood and bone. Limits that exist only in the mind encased in the skull wrapped in the flesh of the thing. But flesh is not the right word. It is not flesh, which is soft and fatty and alive; it is skin, thin and pale as paper, stretched over jutting bones.

Sometimes, when the hand turns like so, the star’s glow seeps into the matrix of jagged veins branching out across its palm. There is no blood in these veins, only light, which creeps from the hand to the arm to the body to the heart of the thing.

The hand drifts, turning its scarred palm toward the window, where a spider is hard at work. The web has yet to take proper form. Currently, a single thread stretches from the top left corner of the window down to the bottom right. The spider dangles from it, lowering itself to the sill as it weaves the second strand. Its squat, brown body is illuminated by the rising sun.

Does it see itself reflected in the window with its many eyes? If so, does it recognize itself? Does it, too, sometimes forget what it is? Perhaps. But it doesn’t need to know what a spider is to be a spider. All it needs is to weave its web and feast on any unfortunate creatures that find themselves trapped there.

Wind buffets the spider, making it sway back and forth. Its legs tremble as it reaches out, but the window is too far, and the breeze keeps pushing the spider away.

The hand reaches, and the body follows, tumbling out of the warmth of its bed. Paint flakes away under the bony fingers as they dig into the windowpane and lift. A mouth attached to a throat attached to empty lungs falls open and breathes in the brisk morning air.

The breeze flows into the room, pulling the spider in. It finds purchase, finally, on the hand attached to the thing.

The thing blinks. It stares at the jagged curve of its fingers digging into the window pane, whose wood has cracked and splintered. When it pulls away, slivers drag out of its fingertips. It barely even stings, but it’s still something for the thing to feel. It breathes again, filling its aching lungs.

The spider waits patiently for the hand to lower it to the sill. Its legs twitch, almost like it’s waving, and it goes back to its web.

—✧✦✧—

The alarm that drags Danny into awareness is not his own. It isn’t loud enough to startle, but the steady ringing digs into his mind and hauls him back into his body. He blinks, not out of any real necessity, but because he’s made a habit of reminding himself to do it, particularly when he’s at home.

According to his phone, which lies on the nightstand next to his bed, it’s just after six in the morning.

Danny groans and tips his head back, pressing his hands against his eyes. Sunday morning, his last chance to sleep in on the weekend, and he’s awake at 6 a.m. The sun hasn’t even fully risen yet, although it’s well on its way. The sky is growing lighter, and it looks like it’s going to be a clear, warm day. Which is sickening, since it’s almost October.

He could go back to bed, but who is he kidding? He wasn’t sleeping, anyway. Might as well see what all the noise is about.

The lab door is already open when he gets down to the first floor, and his parents’ voices float through it. As Danny descends into the basement, he catches the tail end of their conversation.

“I don’t know what could cause this,” his mom says, in a way that is not at all foreboding.

“Most of these are pretty scattered, but look at these two,” his dad answers.

His mom hums. “That’s obviously the portal, but this other one? That’s somewhere in Polter Heights.”

“We could ask Vladdy about—” His dad turns just in time to see Danny reach the bottom of the stairs. “Oh, Danny! Come to see what the fuss is about?”

Calling the jumble of equipment his parents are standing in front of a computer is a bit of an oversimplification. While there is a regular keyboard, it’s embedded into a console, which is as wide as Danny is tall, that’s covered in all kinds of dials, switches, and blinking lights. Four monitors are bolted to the wall above the console, two of which always show the same thing: a radar of the Ghost Zone, or at least the area immediately surrounding their portal; and another that covers all of Amity Park.

The city radar is lit up in a way Danny’s never seen before. White spots flicker in and out all over the screen, seemingly without reason, but after staring for a few seconds, he notices a pattern. While the lights dance over the whole city, more appear in the south-east. The longer he watches, the easier it is to draw a line around the active area. An oval that covers almost a third of the city, and at one end is their house, Fenton Works.

Danny spots it easily because it’s one of only two lights that aren’t fading. While the others appear at random, shining for less than a second before they fade, the light over Fenton Works holds steady. Another solid light marks the other end of the oval.

“What’s happening?” he asks. His ghost sense hasn’t gone off, which must be a good sign. He looks to the portal embedded in the furthest wall of the lab. The doors are firmly shut, and the warning light above it is dim.

“White spots are areas of densely packed ectoplasm, usually portals, although these aren’t very bright. So, if portals are forming all over the city, they’re either very weak or very small,” his mom explains. “But this shouldn’t be happening.” She points to the spot over Fenton Works. “Natural portals have complex signatures, but the Fenton Portal, as a stable point, has a unique signature that we can isolate from other portals. We had to calibrate the city scanner to ignore our portal because it kept setting off the sensors.”

“Maybe it’s broken?” Danny suggests.

“Danny.” His dad has never sounded so disappointed. “Fenton Tech doesn’t just break.”

But no technology is perfect—Tucker would kill him for saying that—and Danny opens his mouth to argue. Nothing comes out, though. He’s “borrowed” his parents’ equipment enough times to know how well it works. They might have a lot of mishaps in the testing phase, but once a piece of Fenton Tech is done, it’s done. “Okay, fine, it’s not broken. But wouldn’t that many portals be, like, really obvious?”

His parents blink at him.

“Have you not looked outside?”

Apparently not, because they sprint across the lab and charge past him up the stairs. He follows them up to the front door and, as he already saw from his room, the sky is bright and clear.

“That can’t be right,” his mom says.

“Maybe it is broken,” his dad says, in the same tone one might tell a child their beloved pet is dead.

Danny gives him a consoling pat on the back. “Sorry, Dad. Maybe we should shut off the alarm?”

With the front door open, the noise spills out into the street. It shouldn’t be loud enough to bother the neighbours, but Danny rather enjoys it when the police don’t come by to deal with noise complaints. It happens so frequently that he’s on a first-name basis with most of the officers in the area.

He also likes not having a headache, and if the alarm goes on any longer, it’s going to drill a hole right through his brain.

“Okay,” his mom says. “We’ll take the RV and see if we can find anything. Danny, can you tell Jazz we’re out when she gets up? She wanted me to look over her paper on cellular processes, but I don’t know if I’ll have time now.”

Danny stiffens. “Jazz is home?”

“Last night. You didn’t see her?”

“I was out. Why is she home?”

“Honestly, Danny. You need to pay more attention to things.” Because Danny’s the one who doesn’t notice things, yeah. His mom shakes her head. “Her roommate has family visiting. She offered to give up her room for the week so that they wouldn’t need a hotel.”

“Right. I’ll tell her.”

At half past six, Danny shoves a note under Jazz’s bedroom door. He waited a whole half hour for her to wake up; it’s not his fault that she didn’t before he had to leave. And he does have to leave, right now. He has a lot of important things to do that aren’t here. What a shame.

—✧✦✧—

Danny’s best friend Tucker enjoys a lengthy waking-up process on the weekend. He knows this from the many sleepovers they’ve had since preschool. First, Tucker becomes aware that he is no longer asleep. It happens slowly today, as he clings to a fading dream, the minutes slipping away. Second, he searches for the most comfortable position, turning first one way, then the other, flipping his pillow, and tugging his blanket up to his chin and kicking his feet out at the bottom. All without opening his eyes. Then, he snuggles as deep into his bed as he can and dedicates himself to its warmth for as long as physically possible. This can last anywhere from ten minutes to an hour, maybe longer.

Tucker’s record so far is three hours wasted just savouring this quiet time.

Today, he gets three minutes before Danny moans from the beanbag chair beside Tucker’s bed. “Jazz is home.”

Tucker awakens with a shout. He thrashes, tossing his covers away, and rolls to the opposite side of the bed, shouting again when he tips right off the edge.

Danny hears this all happen, but his gaze is locked on the Dumpty Humpty poster taped to Tucker’s ceiling, tracing the edges of the cracked-egg logo. Breakfast would be good right now.

“Danny!” Tucker pops up on the other side of his bed. “What—when did you get here?”

“Uh...five hours ago. Angela took your stash, by the way.” Danny waves toward Tucker’s desk.

The stack of plates and cups piled on the corner had been impressive, although nothing compared to the hoard scattered around Danny’s room. It’s a good thing food tainted with ectoplasm doesn’t grow mould, otherwise his room would be a biohazard.

Actually, never mind. He’s enough of a biohazard as it is.

“You owe me twenty bucks.” Danny glances over at Tucker, who is crawling back onto his bed.

His sleep shirt is a baggy t-shirt covered in black roses. Not Tucker’s, then, but something he stole from their other best friend, Sam. His shorts, decorated with constellations, aren’t his either. Danny had wondered where that pair went.

Tucker sprawls across his bed, flaunting his stolen goods. Not that Danny’s any better. He’s pretty sure the sweatpants he wears right now are Sam’s, based on the cut. And he doesn’t own a hoodie that’s the same eye-straining blue as an old Windows error screen with a sad emoticon face on the chest, but here he is, wearing it.

“Ugh. Dumbest bet I’ve ever made.” Tucker jerks his chin in Danny’s direction. “I think there’s a twenty under my shoe over there.”

The shoe is behind Danny, under Tucker’s desk. Just the one shoe. As promised, a crumpled twenty is stuck under the heel.  Danny unfolds it and starts flattening it against the edge of Tucker’s desk leg.

“My mom didn’t say anything about you suddenly appearing in my room when you weren’t here yesterday?”

“Tucker, I love your mom, but she’s an adult. Adults don’t pay attention to that kind of stuff. Also, I pretended I was asleep.” He would have liked to actually sleep, but couldn’t with how his thoughts kept spinning. Jazz is home. Jazz is home. Jazz is home.

“So.” Tucker’s bed squeaks as he rolls onto his side to peer down at Danny. “Jazz. Have you seen her since…?”

“No.” Danny runs his thumb over a corner of the twenty that refuses to lay flat. “She’s home for a week. Can I crash here?”

“All week? Your parents won’t notice?”

He shoots Tucker a deadpan look.

“Right. Obviously, yeah, if you really need to. But, dude? I think you should try talking to her, first.”

What a novel idea. Amazing that Danny hadn’t thought of that already. Not once in the months since Jazz graduated and moved out, or the half year before that, when he tiptoed around the house avoiding her.

If only they just talked.

“Don’t give me that sassy look,” Tucker says. “But fine, don’t talk to her. At least try being in the same house.”

“Tried that already. Didn’t work out too well.”

“Danny.”

His hands drop into his lap. It’s not that he’s trying to be difficult, but he already knows how it’ll go. He’ll wait until Jazz is somewhere open and preferably facing the door, like the living room or kitchen. His steps will be unnecessarily loud as he approaches, giving her plenty of warning before he appears, but it won’t matter. She’ll still make that face when she sees him.

“One night,” Tucker says. “We can hang out all day today, and you can stay here the rest of the week, but you need to spend tonight at home.”

Danny wants to spit his reply, but it comes out with soft resignation instead. “Fine.”

—✧✦✧—

Just as Danny suspected, Tucker’s parents don’t say anything about him showing up without warning when they creep out for lunch. Maurice, Tucker’s dad, even reaches out to ruffle Danny’s hair, but when Danny sees the hand coming from the corner of his eye, he flinches away. He doesn’t mean to, but it’s instinctual, and he tries to brush it off. Neither Maurice nor Angela comment on it, although surely both of them saw it happen.

Adults just don’t like to see things.

Danny and Tucker spend the day playing video games and scarfing down day-old pizza. He doesn’t hear from his parents, but he gets one text from Jazz.

Jazz | Today 4:56 p.m. Need a ride to school tmrw?

Tucker reads the text over Danny’s shoulder and slowly raises his eyebrows, as if to say, “I told you so.” Which is ridiculous, because Tucker didn’t tell him anything except that he had to spend one night in the same house as Jazz. But he didn’t say how long that night had to be, and it’s so easy to lose track of time when playing video games.

It’s well into the night when Tucker yawns for the fifth time in as many minutes and rubs his eyes. “Dude, see what happens when you wake me up at ungodly hours?”

He’s sprawled out on his bed again, having given up on the game some time ago. Danny sits beside him, cradling a controller in his lap. He isn’t really playing anymore, just going around shooting things. His only goal now is running down the clock so that he can spend as little time as possible at home tonight.

“I woke you up at 11 a.m.,” he says.

“Exactly. A.m. That was cruel. It’s not even”—Tucker squints at his phone—“midnight, and I’m falling asleep.”

He frowns. The screen goes dark, and he taps it to wake it up again. 11:34 p.m., it reads. Tucker’s head slowly turns toward Danny, whose eyes are firmly locked on the TV.

“Do you remember if there’s a secret on this level?” Danny asks. “I’m only missing one, and I’d really like to finally hundred percent this game.

“Dude,” Tucker says.

“Can’t take that long to find, right? Half an hour? An hour?” Maybe longer if he missed it and has to backtrack. Wouldn’t that be a shame.

Tucker drives his heel into Danny’s hip and shoves him off the bed.

Danny squawks as he tumbles to the floor. When he hauls himself back up, Tucker is glaring at him. At least Danny thinks he’s glaring. It’s not particularly vicious. Lacks that oomph. It’s adorable, actually.

“One night, man. One night. That’s all I asked for.” Tucker shoves Danny again, this time kicking his shoulder, but he’s prepared this time. He sways, if only to humour Tucker, who smirks for a moment before glaring again.

Like he said, adorable.

“It’ll still be nighttime when I get home!” Danny says. And really, when does it stop being nighttime? Not until the sun rises. That’s a good seven hours away.

“And Jazz will be asleep.”

“Yeah, that’s generally what people do at night. I think you should do that. Right now. You look tired. Let the sounds of virtual gunfire lull you to sleep.”

“Danny.”

Oh. Oh, no, Danny was wrong before. Now Tucker is glaring, and it’s not adorable. It’s scorching.

“I can’t go home,” Danny says.

Tucker doesn’t say anything.

“I can’t be in the house when she’s there.”

He just glares.

“It’s not about me! It’s about her! She doesn’t want—I can’t—”

And glares.

“Okay, fine. Fine! I’m going.” Danny shuts off the console and the TV, then takes a big step away from them—and checks for any other electronics—before changing. The ring that expands out of his chest sparks and snaps. It splits in two, electricity arcing between the rings and his body. His skin buzzes where the rings pass.

It’s surreal to watch the bolts of electricity transform his body, replacing his hoodie and sweats with a black and white jumpsuit, almost bringing him back to the moment he died. The only thing missing is the bloody mess on his left arm.

When the rings fizzle out, Danny turns to Tucker with his hands on his hips. “Happy?”

“Moderately. Good night!” Tucker is probably trying for some dramatic plunge into darkness when he turns off his lamp and throws himself back against the bed, but Danny’s ghostly aura ruins the effect. It illuminates the room in a soft glow.

“You’re still here,” Tucker says.

“Just want you to know how much I hate you.”

“That’s nice. Now go exist in the same building as your sister.” Tucker flaps a hand in Danny’s general direction. He hesitates another minute before finally leaving, phasing through Tucker’s wall and taking off into the sky.

It’s a nice night for flying, though, and Danny never said he would go home right away.

—✧✦✧—

Fenton Works is quiet. Jazz is in her room, waiting for her brother to come home. Maddie and Jack are asleep, exhausted from a day of scouring the city, searching for portals they had no chance of finding to begin with. The third bedroom lays empty, its occupant dawdling somewhere halfway across the city.

So no one sees it when the lights on the computer in the basement change. When the flickering stops. When a dozen faint spots are scattered across the city.

No one sees when those lights converge into two brilliant points, so bright the whole screen goes white before fading into black. And finally, the alarm shuts off.

—✧✦✧—

There is not enough room in all the worlds for the things that want to emerge. Their bodies press against the seams of infinite realities, but they cannot break through. While they are beyond simple concepts like physicality, it would not be wrong to say they thrash, and howl, and gnash their teeth as they push into the void In Between, stretching out, out, out but never reaching the end, because there is no end. And yet, that eternity is not enough.

They are many, and they are one, and they are far too much and need more.

But they were also prepared for this. Not all of them, but a part, one that calls itself they-she-it, calls herself clever, calls itself Mother.

There is not enough room for all of them, but there is enough room for a thread, already cast. As the thread that weaves and binds and pulls and puppets thrusts its way into existence, it meets something not unlike itself.

Another thread, caught in something that is many things but also one. The Beyond stares with holes that are not eyes, opens a gaping maw that is not a mouth, and lets the two threads meet.

It is still too much.

Reality tears itself open to make room.

The sky cracks as the universe shifts. With it, Danny Fenton’s chest is carved open. His vision shatters into light and shadow as the space around him splits, filling him with spiders, and hornets, and the deep below, and oh so many things that push against his skin from the inside but still cannot break through.

As the tear closes and the acidic light it leaks disappears, Danny plummets. Lightning crackles around him, arcing off his skin in blinding waves, and sinks into the earth when he hits the ground. He lands on something that isn’t hard but isn’t soft, just enough to keep his skull from cracking like the sky. Slowly, the shards of his vision start to mend, darkness expanding, light shrinking into twinkling points.

Eventually, the world settles around him. The pressure in his body remains, making his ribs creak as something pushes from the inside, but the burden on his mind lessens. The static fades, taking with it the sound of fluttering wings, shifting earth, and crackling fire, until Danny can hear his thoughts again.

There is nothing quite like pain to make him feel human again.

“What the hell?” he asks the stars overhead. Not glow-in-the-dark, this time. Real stars, which twinkle at him, sparkling with mirth, and do not answer.

His back aches from the rough landing, although it’s still better than breaking open against the pavement. A line of heat swoops across his torso, stretching over his shoulder and cutting across his spine.

Danny sits up, hissing when his back peels away from whatever broke his fall. The alley reeks of burnt flesh, a smell not dissimilar to Sunday barbecue. He studies his new burn with a sigh.

His jumpsuit has been melted through, and the skin beneath is a blistering white rimmed with red. Second degree, then, widespread but not deep. He probes it gently, mindful of how sensitive the skin is right now, and traces the burn’s path from his navel to up and over his shoulder. Craning his neck, he tries to see where it ends, but it stretches past his vision. He can feel it, though, burning against the small of his back.

Danny touches his shoulder and hisses. While the burn narrows to a point on his stomach, it stretches as wide as his splayed hand when it crests his collarbone, creeping along the curve of his neck and just over the slope of his shoulder. He breathes deeply through his nose, trying to ride out the heat building beneath his skin.

This wouldn’t have happened if Danny had been paying attention. He tries now, raking his gaze across the sky, then down through the alley, searching for his attacker, but it’s hard when the walls keep shifting and the shadows stretch to impossible depths, filled with a void so dark Danny could stick his hand in and lose sight of the limb completely.

But there is no enemy waiting for him.

Not a ghost hunter, then. They tend to follow the motto “shoot and suppress,” and descend upon him the moment he hits the ground. At least that was his experience the last few times he was struck down by a ghost hunter. They could be trying for stealth, but even through the ebb and flow of stone and shadow, Danny knows he is the only living thing awake at this hour.

Although, living is up for debate. Danny is constantly weighing his inhumanity against the corporeal needs of his body, like Anubis weighing the goodness of his heart. What’s heavier: lungs without air or a stomach that hungers? Eyes that don’t blink but still burn from lack of sleep? It’s a balancing act that Danny still hasn’t mastered with his clammy skin and sharp teeth.

Thing, however, is entirely accurate no matter what side the scale tips toward.

And Danny is searching for a thing. While a ghost hunter would have come for him by now, a plain old ghost is more likely to shoot him for fun and leave before he can retaliate. And they must have left, because he doesn’t feel the telltale shiver of his ghost sense.

Danny’s jaw clenches. Someone attacks him in his haunt and doesn’t even have the decency to play the game right. Someone bold, then, or incredibly stupid. Could be a new ghost, but it’s been a while since someone new really tried fighting him, and ghosts don’t usually resort to potshots; they’re a far too dramatic bunch for that.

Someone familiar, then. Confident enough to hurt him, wise enough to flee, and, in all likelihood, friendly enough to rub it in his face when he’s less inclined to beat them for it.

The list of possible offenders is long.

Blisters are already rising along the deepest part of the burn, clusters of bubbles decorating the centre swath. Danny’s hand is hovering just over the blisters when the name pops into his head.

Ember.

Something clicks. Not only in his mind, but in the alley. A single, sharp noise that echoes between the shifting walls and makes Danny flinch. He looks up, not quite sure what he’s searching for now. There’s nothing to see, anyway. Only the stars, dim as they are. He can’t tell if they’re laughing at him anymore.

Danny’s thoughts take a moment to catch up with him.

Ember.

Suddenly, everything sharpens into focus. The alley walls stop moving. The shadows lose some of their depth. The box he is sitting on solidifies. It’s like the world around him had been caught in a state of flux but is now settling back into place.

“Really, Ember?” No answer comes, of course. She saw her opportunity, got her shot in, and now she’s running away before he can retaliate. Danny’s annoyance spikes. Not at the burn—it’s surface-level, after all, and will be nothing but another scar in a few days—but at Ember’s absence. They have a deal. Her, Danny, and the others.

It’s hardly surprising that she, of everyone in their little group, would leap at the chance to ruin his night and leave him hanging. She’ll probably come around in a week or so to crow about it and check out the new scar, maybe sooner.

The whirlpool in Danny’s mind spits out the occasional thought, but does not tell him when he and Ember are supposed to hang out next, or if they even have plans. Something about guitar lessons? When he dips into the eddy, it threatens to drag him down, down, down to where the static and crackling and crushing earth lies.

What time is it? What day is it?

His phone flares to life when he raises it from his pocket, and the sudden brightness in the dark alley sends a spike of pain through his skull. He groans and drops it, pressing a hand to his temples. A few seconds pass before the throbbing fades.

Blurry vision, dizziness, and confusion.

“Concussion,” he mutters, still massaging his temples. Wonderful. Fantastic. Ember not only roasted him, but also knocked a few more brain cells loose. Just what he needs. He doesn’t remember hitting his head, but that’s not a point against having a concussion.

Looks like this outing is over. Even without the concussion, he would probably stop. Breathing deeply pulls at his new wound. Unfortunately, accelerated healing does not spare him from pain.

He snatches his phone from the ground, steeling himself for the brightness, when something skitters across the back of his hand. Danny yelps and flings his arm wide, phone slipping from his grasp. It hits the alley wall with a crack and falls to the ground, dead.

“Really?” Danny scans the pavement, looking for the spider that startled him, but it’s long gone. “I was very nice to one of you, earlier,” he calls. “Shit.”

So much for texting Tucker or Sam for help, although maybe it’s for the better. Tucker will be mad Danny didn’t go home right away. What time is it, anyway? His phone met its untimely demise before he could see. The dark screen taunts him, a web of cracks branching out from the corner. Another soldier lost in the line of duty. It will be missed.

Maybe it’s early enough that he can swing by unannounced. 

No, Danny decides. No point bothering Sam with this, and he doesn’t want to face Tucker’s ire again. Ember’s burns are hell for a moment, but the worst will be over by morning. Treating it now would be a waste of bandages.

He staggers to his feet, giving the world a moment to stop spinning, and glances at the box that had broken his fall. It sits just out of reach of the streetlights, in the exact middle of the alley. Weird place for someone to throw it away. The lid is caved in from his landing, but it still holds most of its shape.

“Thanks, I guess,” he says. Great, now he’s talking to boxes. “Enjoy getting picked up by the Box Ghost, or whatever.”

Danny stares at it a moment longer before shaking his head and taking off, leaving the file box behind. It doesn’t matter, though. The threads are already tied.

[kinglazrus]

The King is Dead, Long Live the King

Phic Phight | AO3 | FFN

Summary: Human criminals aren't so threatening when you're a powerful half-ghost. When Danny gets kidnapped, he decides it could be a fun Friday night experience and goes with the flow. It's not his brightest idea.

Or: Danny gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to sacrifice him to Phantom.

Word count: 4068

Big thanks to @wastefulreverie for helping me beta this fic!

—

Danny considers himself a realist. He and his friends have a rather good balance when it comes to their outlooks on life. Tucker tends to look on the positive side of things. Sam often focuses on the negative. Danny, meanwhile, likes to take a moment in and ponder it. Take his time figuring out if what is happening is truly good or truly bad. There's a balance to these things, you know. His life is all about balance. Hero and civilian. Human and ghost. Kidnappee and... well. He hasn't figured out the opposite of kidnappee, yet. The obvious answer is kidnapper, but he can confidently say he has never done any kidnapping in his life. At least not intentionally

The guys that threw a hood over his head and dragged him into the back of a van, however, can't say the same.

"It's a little dusty in here." They must have used a flour sack or something. Painted it black, since he can't see any light. Some traces of whatever the sack used to hold remain, and Danny finds powder entering his nose every time he breathes. He's trying not to sneeze—doesn't want to get snot all over the bag covering his face—but it's getting harder and harder not to.

Someone grabs his shoulder and shoves him forward. If it weren't for his body's ghostly composition, Danny thinks his spine might have snapped in half.

"Ow," he says, not that it really hurts, but he wants the kidnappers to know that it could have hurt. If they want to get anything out of him, hurting him would be a little counterproductive. They haven't said anything to him yet. He assumes there's more than one since someone has to be driving the van while another is busy tying his hands behind his back.

Two kidnappers, then. At least two. He felt more than one set of hands grabbing him as he was dragged off the street, but he didn't get a good look at anyone before they tossed the bag over his head. He could just phase out of his bindings, and the hood, and the van in its entirety, but Danny has been bored lately. Being a ghost hunter isn't much fun after you've outgrown your usual rogues' gallery. Regardless, they still try to put up a fight. Skulker comes after his hide at least once a week, and the Box Ghost never misses an opportunity to annoy him. But after the enemies Danny has taken on, they're small fry. He could use a little excitement.

Getting kidnapped is definitely a little exciting.

Kidnapper One finishes tying Danny's hands. They must have used some kind of cord. It bites into his flesh and already his fingers are going numb. That could be bad. Limbs can fall off if their circulation is cut off for too long, right? Danny remembers reading that somewhere. He doesn't know how long this little ordeal is going to take. Hopefully not that long. Having his hands fall off doesn't sound pleasant, and it would probably be a pain in the ass to regrow them. He knows it's possible, thanks to that time when Skulker managed to steal his little toe, but it's not a pleasant experience overall.

He would also have a hard time hiding the fact that his hands are gone from his parents. How would he even do that? The toe was easy; he made sure to always wear socks until it had grown back. But hands? He has a few sweaters with long sleeves. Or he could stuff some gloves and sew those onto his sleeves. Or get Tucker to do it since sewing using telekinesis is hard. Taking notes at school would be a pain.

If he's lucky, maybe he'll only lose a finger or two.

"Hey, what would you rather lose: a foot or a hand?" Danny asks.

No one answers.

"I think I would rather lose a foot. You could still run and everything if you get a good prosthetic, although it might take some work. I need my hands, though. Thoughts?"

"What the fuck is wrong with this kid?" Kidnapper Two says. At least Danny assumes it's Kidnapper Two. The voice comes from in front of him rather than behind, but the guy who tied his hands could have moved.

"Wow, that was just—wow. That was just rude. I'm actually really hurt right now. I thought we were bonding."

"Um... sorry?" Kidnapper Two says.

"Thank you. So, hand or foot?"

The silence stretches long enough that Danny thinks he won't get a reply until a voice comes from behind him.

"Hand," Kidnapper One says.

"Are you serious? Foot is clearly the right answer. You lose a lot more when you lose a hand," Kidnapper Two says.

"But I like hiking."

"You can hike with a prosthetic."

"I'm not saying you can't! But it would be harder. It's probably more taxing physically. I don't know, I want to hike. Hand."

"Will you two shut up?" a third voice comes from the front of the van.

Danny decides to call this person Taxi Man. He can call them Kidnapper Three, stick with the theme and all that, but he doesn't think they have earned the title yet. Kidnappers One and Two did all the work, grabbing and binding him. What has Taxi Man done? Nothing. Zero effort. Anyone can drive a van. They aren't even driving frantically. Danny hasn't slid into the wall once the entire time. They should have hired his dad as the driver, to make things extra exciting.

Kidnappers One and Two, thoroughly chastised, fall silent. Too bad. Danny was just starting to like them.

The silence drags on, filled only by the rumbling of the van. He wishes he had a better internal clock, but as it is he can't tell if they have been driving for a few minutes or nearly an hour. Either way, he's starting to get bored again.

"So, is the, like, what you do on the weekends?" he asks. The lack of conversation is more stifling than his hood. Seriously, what kind of hosts are these people? The least they can do is give him a little chit-chat to make things interesting. He has Taxi Man to thank for that, though. "You text your bros like 'Hey, u down 2 kidnap?' That was a real two in there, I hope you heard it. Is there a group chat? I bet there's a group chat."

Danny wants to lean back. Sitting on the metal floor hurts his tailbone a little bit. Too many bad falls during ghost fights.

"If there is a group chat, can I join? I think I've earned it. We're in this together now. We can split the ransom and everything. There's this guy, Vlad. He'd pay big money for you to hand me over to him. He's totally obsessed with me in like an 'I want to kill your father and take his place' kind of way."

More silence. Then, "Do you need help?" Kidnapper Two asks.

Danny flexes his fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Maybe his hands really will fall off. "Yes."

"You do remember why we're here, don't you?" Kidnapper One asks.

"Well, yeah, but I'm really worried. What if this guy is a pedo or something?"

"Dave. That won't matter after tonight."

Dave. What a lame name for a kidnapper. Totally ruins the vibes. He should go with something scary like Hans. Or Gruber. No, wait. That's just the guy from Die Hard.

"Oh, right," Hans says.

"Wait, what about tonight?" Danny doesn't like the sound of that. He also doesn't like that no one answers him.

The drive lasts a little while longer. They make some turns. Stop at a few lights. Do other typical driving things, Danny doesn't know, he can't see what the hell is happening. But eventually, they come to a stop and the engine cuts off. Someone grabs his shoulder and hauls him up onto his feet. Danny stumbles as he's shoved toward the back of the van. He might have fallen out if it wasn’t for the hand that grabs the back of his shirt.

"Hey, you're stretching it," Danny whines, even as he dangles forward at a precarious angle. This is his favourite shirt. He can fix his face if he breaks it on the concrete, but his shirt? Can't fix that.

Someone grabs Danny's elbow and guides him down to the ground. There is a loud creak—probably the sound of a door opening. Somehow, everything gets darker. Danny didn't think that was possible, what with the hood. Apparently whoever painted it didn't do a very good job of blacking it out and he just didn't notice it until what little light he had left was gone. Now that they're inside—presumably, since the din of the street is gone now—it really is pitch black. In the distance, he hears humming.

Danny hums along. It's a catchy tune, very low and droning. It sounds like the kind of music Jazz plays to help herself fall asleep. He never got why she did that before, but he does now. As he stumbles along in the dark, smothered in the warmth of his hood, with the low murmur of distant voices, he feels rather relaxed. If he's lucky, his kidnappers might let him settle in for a nap.

The humming grows louder, loud enough for Danny to notice it's not humming at all but chanting. A dozen voices moan over each other as they repeat something in Latin. Danny isn't fluent in it, but Pandora has taught him a few phrases, so he's familiar with the sounds of the language. He tries to translate some of it, making out the word "phantasma" a few times.

Hey. That's his name.

A door creaks. The chanting grows louder. It flows over Danny, echoing voices melding into one as whatever space they're in spits the words back at them. It's haunting and beautiful in its own way.

The hand on his back guides him forward until his toes bump against something hard. He lurches, nearly falling flat on his face, but the hand grabs his shoulder and holds him steady. Once he has recovered, Danny feels out the space in front of him with his foot. there's a step, a small one. It's curved, rather than flat, and has a slight overhang at the top. Carefully, Danny steps up. Whatever it is creaks beneath his feet but holds steady.

"Stop here, please." Kidnapper One's voice echoes as they speak.

Danny obeys. Something rustles. The noise is followed by a weight on his head. A sheet, he thinks. But with some fidgeting, whoever is holding the sheet works his head through a hole and the weight settles on his shoulders. Not a sheet, then. Perhaps it’s a shawl. Or a poncho of some kind. The hands leave him once the poncho is settled. Danny focuses on every little noise he can. A clunk. A scraping noise, but not an unpleasant one. It brings back memories of chalk drawings on the sidewalk.

"Did I do it right?" Hans mutters.

"That looks like the book," Taxi Man says.

"Alright, cool. Marcel, continue."

Again, with the boring names. Marcel at least sounds unique, but Dave? Dave? They couldn’t even come up with fake names? Unless those are the fake names. That would be a stroke of genius. Danny still prefers Hans and Kidnapper One, though. They have a better ring to them.

"There's a table in front of you. Lie down on it," Hans says. At first, Danny wonders how on Earth he is going to manage that without his hands, but Hans has apparently thought of that. They turn him until he can feel the table. From there, it's a bit of an awkward scramble—with Hans' help—getting onto it and laying down, but he finds a pillow under his head once he's flat.

This is the nicest kidnapping Danny has ever experienced, even if Taxi Man is an ass. They gave him a warm poncho and a place to lie down. That nap idea is sounding better and better. Hans and Kidnapper One are pretty great guys. If that group chat really doesn't exist, Danny is going to make it happen.

The chanting around him rises to a crescendo, filling the space. Someone snatches the hood off his head and the chanting cuts off.

Danny blinks as his eyes adjust. Three people stand around him, two men and a woman. They are encircled by a small gathering of people. Everyone wears identical black cloaks with white accents on the hems, even Danny.

The woman standing to his left holds a long, vicious-looking knife in her hands.

"Oh," Danny says. "Well. That's not nice."

—

In hindsight, letting himself get kidnapped out of boredom wasn't a great idea. Danny should have gone to the arcade or something. Better yet, if he wanted something exciting to do, he lives above a lab. There are all kinds of fun things to get into down there. Most of those things can also kill him, but that's part of the fun, isn't it? That's what got him into this situation in the first place. The half-ghost situation, not the kidnapping situation.

"You just straight-up want to kill me," Danny says. Now sounds like a good time to start panicking. At least it would if Danny were a normal teenager. Then again, a normal teenager would have started panicking the second they were snatched off the street. Danny is just cool like that.

He takes a moment to get a good look at his kidnappers. The cloaks don't make it easy. They're loose-fitting and flowy, giving them great breathability but also masking their bodies fairly well. From the neck down, the only distinction he can make is breasts or no breasts. He mentally apologizes to all the women in the death circle. There's no delicate way to say it, it's just very obvious who does or does not have breasts. That's the problem with one-size-fits-all unisex clothing.

The three standing next to Danny—the ones who did the actual kidnapping—have their hoods pulled down and their faces exposed. The woman keeps looking between Danny and the knife as if she can't wait to stab him with it. She must be the Taxi Man. She seems like the kind of person who despises fun ice breaker games like Would You Rather.

When it comes to the men, one is significantly taller than the other, with broader shoulders. Catching a glance at the man's feet, Danny sees his ankles exposed by the too-short cloak. One-size-fits-all strikes again.

The shorter one shrugs. "Sorry." Ah, so that one is Hans. Makes sense. He has a kind face.

"If it's any consolation, we put it to a vote first. We really thought about it," Kidnapper One says.

"It was unanimous," Taxi Man supplies.

"Wait, before we go any further, I just have to ask." Danny looks at Taxi Man. "Are you okay being referred to as 'man'?"

She stares at him. "What?"

"Like, in general. Some people don't like being called dude or guy and all that stuff. I just want to make sure, are you cool with that?"

The knife twitches in her hand. She must really want to stab him right now. "Sure, whatever. I don't care."

"Okay, cool. Didn't want to be rude." Danny goes back to his favourite kidnappers. "Can I at least know why?"

"For centuries, a battle has been waging beyond the comprehension of mortals. A Tyrant and a King caught in an eternal battle. The founder of our order witnessed the first recorded battle over a thousand years ago, in the times of Ancient Greece. The Tyrant had seized control of a powerful city-state meant to expand his power by taking others as well. But before he could, the King came, vanquished him, and left. He did not even stay to receive thanks for his great deed.

"Our founder witnessed this battle and claimed they were gods. Many people did not believe him, but others had also seen the great battle and together, they formed our order Two centuries later, the Tyrant appeared again. And, again the King came and defeated him. For centuries, the Tyrant and King have waged war against one another. Their battles are great and many. Until recently, it had been some time since the King and Tyrant were last seen. Some believed them to be dead, but those faithless few have been proven wrong, for our King has returned! All hail Lord Phantom!" Kidnapper One cries out.

"Hail! Hail!" The chant echoes around them.

Danny doesn’t like the sound of that. They’re talking about him, or his ghost half, but he doesn’t understand. The Tyrant? He gets the king bit, a little. He is the Ghost King, but he certainly wasn’t a thousand years ago. He wasn’t alive a thousand years ago. Except for that one time he and Vlad went gallivanting through time, fighting over the Infi-Map. The Tyrant thing suddenly makes a whole lot more sense. And here Danny was hoping that jaunt through history could be a fun adventure with zero consequences. With his luck, he should have known better.

"But the battle has drawn on, far longer than it should. Neither the King nor the Tyrant has prevailed. Today, however, we fix that."

"Cool, cool." Danny hums in disinterest and examines the room instead.

Beyond the questionably fashionable cult people, there's not much to the room. It's big, empty. Some kind of old warehouse with windows high up on the walls. There's a catwalk overhead that leads to an office overlooking the room. Whatever used to be here is all cleared out now, but he notices marks on the floor where machinery used to be. Deep scratches and pits from things being bolted down.

He lies on a wooden table. It's finely crafted and painted a vivid purple. Leaning over the side of the table, he notes that the table is placed on a raised platform. Rounded, like he thought, also wood and also painted purple.

"Nice craftsmanship," Danny says.

"Thank you." Kidnapper One preens. "I'm a carpenter." That explains the stocky build.

Around the platform is some kind of chalk drawing. It circles the entire thing, strange symbols etched over the concrete.

Perhaps now would be a good time to run. It was silly fun before, but there are knives and an altar now. Danny doesn't remember signing up for a cult and he isn't interested in joining one now. From the corner of his eye, he catches Hans bending down and picking something up from the floor. Danny ignores him, though.

"So, this has been fun, but I think I need to get going." He sits up and swings his legs off the table. Kidnapper One and Taxi Man back away, stepping off the platform. Danny cracks his neck and readies himself. They have put so much effort into bringing him here, he may as well put on a little show. Who's going to believe some crazy cultists if he pulls a few ghost moves on them, anyway?

He goes intangible.

The cultists murmur with excitement. Danny barely pays them any mind, though, more focused on the fact that the cloak and restraints didn't fall off.

"What the hell?" Danny lets the intangibility drop, then pulls it up again. Still, nothing happens. "Hey, what's going on? What kind of—"

Danny is yanked backwards. His head bounces off the wooden table. While the warehouse spins and black spots dance in his eyes, an arm curls around his head and pins him in place, bent over backward. A hand, Hans' hand, forces his mouth open. Something slowly tips over Danny's face.

A drop of liquid touches his lips, blistering the instant it makes contact. Danny thrashes, trying to escape Hans' grip. He twists and jerks his head, but all that does is put his eyes under the stream as it drops. Danny screams as liquid blood blossom hits his face. The mixture is cold but it burns, hot and cold, freezing and melting his skin at the same time.

"Shit," Hans mumbles. The stream redirects. It splashes across his nose and cheeks before finally entering his mouth. Danny has to swallow it. If he doesn't, he might drown in the middle of a dusty warehouse. He doesn't want to, though. Everything burns. His lungs, his throat, his tongue. His screams turn to gurgles as the liquid fills his mouth. Hans forces his jaw shut. Danny can't see it, but it must be Hans.

Left with no other choice, Danny swallows. Every second is agony. He feels the mixture flow down his throat, searing him from the inside out. It settles heavily in his stomach.

Finally, Hans backs away. Danny collapses onto the floor, sobbing and gasping for breath. He can't see. He can't speak. He can barely breathe.

"Lord Phantom!" Kidnapper One shouts. His voice booms throughout the warehouse. "You have fought long and hard, but you have been weakened, bound against your will."

The chanting picks up again. Danny's name echoes all around him.

"We offer this boy, your mortal prison, as a sacrifice in your name! We have seen his feats of power and know him to be the one who enslaves you!"

Danny crawls forward, feeling for the edge of the platform. He must be close. Through the grey haze that his vision has become, he can just make out the edge of the wooden stage. He launches himself at it. The air before him sparks.

Danny screams again as electricity courses through him. The runes on the floor glow with power.

"Hail! Hail!"

"Hail! Hail!" The cultists cry.

Someone crouches in front of Danny, reaching over the runes. He raises his head, blood and tears dripping from his eyes. Taxi Man lifts him with a hand to his throat.

"As he breathes his last breath, so may you breathe life again! Hail the King, Lord Phantom!"

The knife comes down.

—

The room is dark. It's still daytime, but the sky outside is black. The only illumination comes from the circle of runs. The glow is dim. The pale light reflects off the sacrificial blade. A drop of blood falls from the tip onto the runes. They pulse.

The cultists all stand back and watch their sacrifice. A deep wound carves the inside of his arm, a remnant of his futile attempt to escape his fate. The knife still found a home in his chest. Now he lays splayed out on the dais, one arm outstretched. Blood drips from his fingers, falling onto the runes. With every drop, the runes brighten, until the growing pool of blood beneath him spills over the edge of the dais.

The runes flare, blinding everyone. The room rumbles.

"It's happening." Marcel steps back in awe.

An arc of light bursts off the body. It happens again, and again, until waves of silver light drown out the runes. They explode from the boy's bloody chest and burst into starlight. The light lashes against the barrier, pushing and pushing until the runes burst into dust. The next wave of light washes over the cultists and they drop to their knees screaming.

A chill fills the room.

Marcel struggles to lift his head. The runes have gone out. The body lays still, motionless, a shadow against the dais. A figure hovers above the altar, wreathed in silver light and wearing a black crown around his throat. Otherworldly green eyes look down on Marcel.

"You wanted the King." Phantom speaks with a hundred voices. His mouth doesn't move, but the noise fills Marcel's head. Every word rumbles with power. It feels as if his skull will crack open at the next syllable.

"So here I am." Phantom's arm stretches out. The worshippers drop to the floor, ectoplasm spilling from their mouths. It burns as it bubbles up through their throats, searing their tongues and lips. The only sound they can make is guttural screams. Marcel chokes, waiting for death. It doesn't come, though. Between one blink and the next, Phantom disappears.

When Marcel looks down, the body on the dais is gone.

—

Prompt by @five-rivers: For centuries, the cult has anticipated the glorious rise and return of Lord Phantom. That time is at hand. All they need to bring him fully into the mortal world is the perfect sacrifice: Danny Fenton.

[kinglazrus]

The Punishment Fits the Crime

Chapter 1: A New Sense

Phic Phight | Next | AO3 | FFN

Prompts used are listed at the end of the fic.

Story Summary: Ghosts are naturally drawn to death. Danny, however, finds himself drawn to those who have wrongfully died. He always said he would never hurt someone who doesn't deserve it. It's not his fault that he keeps finding people who do.

Or: Danny is a vengeful spirit.

Chapter Summary: There are a lot of dead animals in Amity Park.

Word count: 4648

Chapter warnings: animal death, implied animal mutilation (non-graphic). See Ao3 for a full fic list of content warnings

—

It begins a month after the accident, with a dog on the side of the road. Danny is on his way home from Sam's place when he finds it. His walk started normally. Somewhere along the way, he took a turn off his usual route. He can't explain why. There's nothing special about the road he turns down. It goes in the opposite direction of Fenton Works and will make him a few minutes late for his new curfew. But it's a nice night and he's been late for curfew every night since his parents implemented it, so he doesn't care all that much. He lets his feet guide him, carrying him a couple of blocks further East than he needs to go, to an area he doesn't explore much except from above.

The streets turn residential, lined with proper houses with driveways and backyards bigger than Danny's living room. That's where he finds the dog, lying in the ditch. He doesn't know how to check a dog's pulse but realizes he doesn't need to. One look at it and he knows it's dead. There is no blood, at least not that Danny can see. No gaping wound or twisted limbs. The dog is small and young, and, if not for the way it's splayed out, could easily be mistaken for sleeping. But he knows that it's dead. Has a feeling.

If Danny looks closer, he can see a streak on the pavement, the only wet spot on otherwise dry ground. There's not much of it. A normal person might not have seen it at all in this dim light, but Danny is far from normal. Whoever hit the dog dragged it out from the middle of the road before driving off. They stopped. They saw what they did. And they left. There's no sign of the car that did it. The dog is cold, so it must have happened some time ago, around sunset. Despite this, Danny finds himself scouring the street, examining every vehicle within his sight. He doesn't know what he's looking for. A dented fender? A bloody license plate? The dog is too small to have left much of a mark on whatever vehicle ran it down. The thought makes his stomach turn, but there's nothing he can do about it.

The dog has a collar, but no tags. It's not a stray, and it wasn't supposed to be outside. Danny scans the street. This time of night, not too many people are up. A few houses down, however, he sees a living room light on. Danny carefully scoops the dog into his arms, holding it against his chest, and heads for the house. He knocks on the door. A minute passes before someone answers. A middle-aged man dressed in a robe, wearing reading glasses on his nose. His eyes widen when he sees Phantom floating on his doorstep. When he spots the dog in Danny's arms, his face crumples.

"Oh, dear," the man says.

"Do you know the owners?" Danny asks. "I found it on the road. Someone hit it."

"Poor thing. Yes, I do. Let me take her." The man holds out his arms.

Danny hesitates. There's no reason for it. The man seems kind enough, and he knows the owners. There's no need for Danny to waste any more time with this. And yet, he doesn't want to let go.

"She'll be alright," the man says. "I'll take care of her." He smiles at Danny, small and probably meant to be reassuring. It doesn't make Danny feel anything, except confusion, but he relents and passes the dog over.

For the rest of his walk home, Danny puzzles over the man's last reassurance. How odd for him to think Danny was worried about the dog's body. It is odd, isn't it? Danny is a ghost. He's indeed part human, but the man isn't aware of that. He should know better. When it comes to the dead, Danny cares more about their spirits than the bodies they leave behind.

—

It happens again a couple of months later. After a rough day of outrunning Skulker—missing a math test because of it—Danny takes to the skies to clear his head the first chance he gets. That chance, unfortunately, doesn't come until after sunset, but the sky is clear and the stars are out, so it's worth it. He flies away from the city, out to the countryside where the light pollution won't impede his view as much. He veers off from the highway and settles over an open field, ready for a good hour of stargazing to help take his mind off things. Until something makes him look down instead of up.

It happens suddenly. One second, Danny is tracing Orion's path across the sky, and the next his head has turned toward the ground. Lights far below him catch his eye. They move fast, at first, but quickly slow down and turn, heading back the way they came. After a few seconds, they stop and stay in place. Abandoning the stars, Danny flips onto his stomach and drifts down to the ground. As he gets closer, he can make out the sources of the light. A pair of quads that someone had been driving around the field. They're parked now; their headlights shine on a spot in the dirt.

Danny isn't close enough for the drivers to have noticed him, but he can hear them just fine thanks to his improved senses.

"Dude, you scared it to death." The voice is young. A teenager, perhaps. Probably a pair of them. Danny supposes they must live nearby, to be out tearing through a field at this hour.

"Told you I could," the other driver says. "My brother used to do it when snowmobiling. You get them running fast enough and like, their heart just gives out or something. Crazy."

"Yeah, but... that's kind of mean."

"It's just a rabbit. Who cares?" The second driver gets back onto his quad and starts driving. The other one, who spoke first, lingers for a few seconds before he follows. Danny waits until they're a good distance away before getting close enough to see what they were talking about. A rabbit, dead, in the middle of the field. It lays a few inches from a set of quad tracks. Danny might not be a straight-A student, but he can piece together what happened fairly easily. One of the riders chased the rabbit with his quad until the poor thing had a heart attack. He killed it for no good reason.

Something sparks in Danny's gut. He turns his head toward the quads. They're still tearing around the field, maybe chasing another rabbit. Danny spares a glance up at the stars, then back toward the teenagers. It would seem that his evening plans have changed. Tonight is a good night for haunting.

—

"Did you guys see that article this morning?" Tucker asks first thing at school the next day.

Danny glances away from his locker long enough to say: "Hello, good morning, it's nice to see you, too." He quickly goes back to digging through his things, searching for all the late assignments he needs to hand in that day. Who would have thought that ghost hunting would take up so much of his time? His parents would be proud if they knew.

"Now, when you say article..." Sam trails off.

"Okay, fine. It was a forum post—on that website that I sent you guys last week. But it was referenced in an article on the Ghost Gazette this morning," Tucker says.

"I don't think that's a reputable source," Danny says. It's an online zine, from what he recalls, and it's existed long before ghosts actually came to Amity. Much like his parents and their opinions on ghosts, the GG gets a lot of things wrong.

"I told you I was keeping track of all ghost-related news in and around the city. I think it could help us when it comes to ghost hunting if we can see where ghosts are attacking the most and how far outside the city they go."

Sam grabs Tucker's shoulders and turns him to face her, looking deep into his eyes. "And we are very proud of you for taking some initiative. Good job." She pats his head.

"Oh, shut up. But I think ghost activity might actually be moving away from Amity Park." Tucker pulls up the forum post on his PDA and holds it out for Sam to read.

"This isn't much evidence," Sam says.

"What is it?" Finally done rearranging his textbooks, Danny pulls away from his locker and shuts the door, giving Tucker his full attention.

"A couple of teens encountered a ghost last week way outside the city. They were out quadding when it started following them. Chased them all the way home, apparently."

Danny fights back a smile. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"Not to mention, Amity Park can't be the only place with ghosts. We might have a stable portal here, but natural portals can open up anywhere. Once you get news of ghosts like Technus or Skulker terrorizing the next town over, then we can worry. For now, I think we're in the clear. Keep up the good work, though!" Sam beams at Tucker, who grumbles under his breath.

"This is so patronizing."

Danny is about to offer his own teasing comment when something smacks the back of his head. If he saw the hit coming, he would have dodged. He can do that now. He couldn't before, his reflexes too slow and his situational awareness at a minimum. Now, though, after a few good months as a ghost hunter, Danny's skills have improved in one or two areas. Unfortunately, none of those areas include magically knowing when Dash Baxter is about to pass him in the hall from behind.

The smack rattles Danny's brain and sends him stumbling. The stack of late assignments slips from his arms. The papers drop to the floor and scatter across the hall, sliding over the smooth tile. It's almost impressive how far away they end up.

"Someone's moody," Sam says, glaring at Dash.

"He's always moody." Danny drops to his knees and starts gathering the pages back up.

"There's a big game against Elmerton next week," Tucker says.

Danny and Sam stare at Tucker.

"My locker is by the band room."

He seems to think this explains everything. Danny and Sam keep staring.

"The band is playing the game this week. They've been talking about it. I hear things."

"Tucker, your social status can only go so low. Don't push it," Sam teases.

"Oh, shut up! You wish you could play an instrument."

"I can. Violin. It can be nice and dreary to play a piece in the middle of the night."

"I want to play an instrument," Danny mutters.

"You'd break it," Sam and Tucker say at the same time.

Danny pins them both with an offended look, but he can't deny it. Despite having his powers for months, he still drops things on accident all the time. If anyone gave him a trombone, a clarinet, or anything like that, he would break it in a day. Maybe he could learn the drums. The image of a drumstick flying from Danny's hand mid solo and hitting someone in the face quickly dashes that thought.

Piano, maybe? Nothing to fling or drop there.

Danny gathers up the last of his homework and straightens the stack. A few sheets are still out of order, but he can fix that once they get to a classroom. For now, he glares at Dash across the hall.

"Maybe I could break something. As a treat." He and Tucker exchange wicked grins. Danny's palm shines green, the light reflecting off Tucker's glasses. He points a finger over his stack of papers at Dash's back.

"Danny, don't!" Sam smacks his hand down.

"Oh, come on," Danny whines. "Let me singe his jacket. Just a little."

"Danny, we've talked about this before. You have power now."

Danny rolls his eyes as Sam slips into lecture mode. He could just walk away, but that might make her angrier. Better to bear with it until she's done and get revenge on Dash later when it's only Danny and Tucker around.

"I know you don't like to hear it but having the kind of strength you do, you can't go around using it for petty revenge. It's not right."

Danny shoots her a lopsided smile. "What's wrong with a little petty revenge?" His grin widens when Sam glares.

She looks ready to keep berating him but must see that Danny won't drop the subject so easily. "Just don't stoop down to his level, okay? You're better than that."

"No worries, Sam. I wouldn't hurt someone who doesn't deserve it."

—

Danny pauses at the mouth of an alley. He doesn't quite mean to, but it happens. Just as it did with the dog, and the rabbit, and the few other animals he has stumbled across since then. Somehow, Danny has come into the habit of stopping against his will; he already knows what he's going to find before taking a step off the sidewalk. Sam and Tucker don't realize that he has stopped right away, going a few paces ahead before they notice he isn't following.

"Hey, Danny," Tucker says. "Something wrong?"

"Probably," Danny replies. What will it be this time? A rat someone stepped on? A bug that got squished? Danny hasn't felt a pull toward one of those yet, but bugs get killed all the time. Danny found a bird just last week with a BB gun pellet in its chest. It was a small thing, too. Not even the kind of bird that's known to be a pest. It makes him smile thinking about the way the man who shot it shrieked when Danny pelted him with harmless ectoblasts. Semi-harmless. He might have had a couple minor burns by the time Danny was through with him.

"How wrong? Because the movie starts in ten minutes," Tucker says.

"Tucker! But yeah, he's right. Is it a ghost?" Sam says.

"Sort of but also no. This will only take a second." Danny starts down the alley. After a moment's pause, he hears Sam and Tucker following him. There's a lump at the end of the alley, where the cracked pavement gives way to a dusty back lane. Too small for the average dog. Much too big for a rat or anything similar. Cat, then, Danny guesses. He hasn't felt the pull for a cat, yet. Its silhouette is odd, however. As far as he's aware, most cats don't have rectangular shapes jutting out of their backs.

A lump forms in Danny's throat. When they get close enough to see what it is, Sam gasps. An orange cat with a screwdriver sticking out of it.

"Oh my God," Sam says. "What sick fucking—" She cuts herself off and turns away, a hand pressed over her mouth.

Tucker stops at Danny's shoulder and grimaces. "Shit. That sucks. I hope that cat didn't belong to anyone."

"Tucker!" Sam keeps her back to them as she shouts.

"I mean, it's still sad if it's a stray! Obviously, it's sad. But it's sadder if some kid is missing a pet because of this. Should we... I don't know, do you call someone for this? No offence but it's a cat. It's not exactly a human body.

Danny, out of habit, scans the alley and the back lane, looking for the person who did this. They're long gone, however. Nothing more than a few dusty prints left behind. There's nothing for them to do.

"We could bury it," Sam says.

"We could bury it," Danny repeats. That is a thing they are capable of, yes.

They end up missing the movie. Danny pulls the screwdriver out, grimacing at the sight of sticky blood on the metal. Dropping it in the alley doesn't feel right, so he tucks it into his hoodie pocket to figure something out later. Sam sacrifices her sweater to wrap the cat in something warm. Tucker gives her a funny look for it, but he doesn't say anything. It bothers Sam enough for her to reply anyway.

"It doesn't matter that it can't feel. It deserves some kindness."

Kindness won't bring it back, Danny thinks. Then again, nothing he wants to do will bring it back, either.

They take the cat to Sam's house. She has a large garden with plenty of space. Since it's Sam's, they don't have to worry about her mother's gardener stumbling across the body. Sam gets a shoebox to put the cat in and they find a place to bury it.

"Under the roses?" Tucker suggests.

"What about there?" Danny points to a plant with long leaves and orange flowers. "It matches the fur."

Sam shoots him a grateful look. Neither of the boys understands her at this moment, but they'll do what she wants because they love her. Danny and Tucker dig a hole between the plants while Sam arranges the cat in the box, still wrapped in her sweater. They lower it down and stare at the box for a few seconds.

"How did you know it was there?" Sam asks.

Danny shrugs. "I don't know. Could be a dead person thing."

"Technically, I think this makes it a dead animal thing," Tucker says.

Sam tilts her head. "This has happened before?"

"Yeah." Danny nods. "I thought it was a coincidence at first, but not anymore."

After a few more seconds of silence, Sam pushes the pile of dirt over the box and together all three of them smooth the patch out.

"Come on," Danny says with a hand on Sam's shoulder. "There's a later show we could go to. Might help you take your mind off of this."

"I just can't believe it. Who would do something like that?" Sam shakes beneath Danny's hand.

Danny and Tucker share a glance over her head. Sam isn't much of a crier. And, as teenage boys, neither of them is well-versed in what to do when confronted with a crying girl. Danny, at least, has some experience with his sister, but she doesn't cry much either. She's more the bottle it up and pretend everything is fine type, which is so ironic. In the end, they wrap their arms around Sam and hold her while tears stream down her face. A second set of sniffles joins Sam. When Danny pulls his head back, he sees Tucker wiping his eyes.

"Okay, so I care a little bit," Tucker says.

They stay like that for a while, until Sam and Tucker can dry their eyes, and go to the late show. Danny spends the walk trailing a pace behind them, lost in thought. While Sam and Tucker cried, he didn't feel that same sorrow. He thinks of the dog, of the man he gave it to. He thinks of the expression the man wore, so similar to the ones Sam and Tucker wear now. Something Danny can only describe as sorry. Sorry and sad.

How odd is it, then, that every time this happens, Danny only feels angry?

—

As soon as the credits start rolling, Danny pulls out his phone. It was buzzing the whole movie. When he turns on the screen, he is met with a wall of texts.

"Shit." He missed curfew by two hours, the whole length of the movie. Danny hadn't even thought of checking the time, more focused on distracting Sam. Scrolling to the start, he skims the messages. A reminder from Jazz was sent ten minutes before curfew, around the time they got to the theatre. Another reminder two minutes after. A warning message from his mom that he will be grounded if he's late again. Another text from Jazz. A text from his dad that basically says the same thing as his mom's, but with a smiley face at the end of it that feels oddly threatening even though Danny knows it's not. The most recent text is—surprise, surprise—from Jazz and is only a few minutes old.

From: Free Therapy | 12:58 p.m. Danny are you okay? At least text me so I know you're fine.

Danny is about to text back when the typing bubble pops up under her name. He waits, watching the bubble come and go. Two minutes pass before she finally composes her message and hits send.

From: Free Therapy | 1:07 p.m. You know you can tell me anything, right? You don't have to act out like this

Danny's lip curls. He tucks his phone away without writing anything back.

"Sam's coming over to my place tonight. You gonna join us?" Tucker asks.

Danny slumps down in his seat, tipping his head back. Most of the other moviegoers have left the theatre by then. Out of the corner of his eye, Danny spots an employee waiting with a broom and dustpan in hand. He stands up and stretches, offering the worker an apologetic smile.

"I wish, but I forgot to text my parents that I'd be late. I think they would kill me if I stayed out. I should probably just get home. Sorry, Sam." Danny tacks on the apology. She looks better than she did, but Sam has always been an animal lover. She doesn't even like the idea of dissecting dead frogs in biology class. He can't imagine how hard this was for her.

"I'm fine," Sam says. "Text us if your parents kill you, so we know you won't be at school on Monday."

"Rude."

They part ways outside the theatre. Danny rocks back on his heels, watching Sam and Tucker walk away. Only once they're out of view does he set off for home. His phone has buzzed a couple more times since the movie ended but he hasn't bothered checking. He's willing to bet a month's allowance that it's Jazz pestering him about how much of a troubled teen he's becoming. She's always had a hard time keeping her nose out of Danny's business. Even their parents aren't as worried about Danny's recent "attitude changes" as she is, something Danny is thankful for. Hiding his secret is hard enough with a nosy sister. Nosy parents would make it ten times worse.

At the last intersection before his street, Danny stops. He can already see the bright lights of the Fenton Works sign glowing in the distance, traces of neon orange and green spilling into the street. One more block until he's home. Danny's shoes scrape against the concrete as he makes his turn. As he heads further down the street, the glow of Fenton Works fades behind him. He follows the regular route that he takes to school for three minutes, making it a quarter of the way to Casper High before he stops at a side road. It's rarely travelled now except by the occasional pedestrian, of the homeless or vandal variety.

One too many ghost fights in the area have left the pavement riddled with potholes and impossible to travel by car unless you happen to have a GAV at your disposal. The city deals with so much ghost-related damage that it can't afford to keep patching up this one dead-end road anyway, so it has been left unattended. Danny only feels a little guilty about that. He won't lie and say he hasn't intentionally steered a few of his foes into this area before. For the first twenty yards, the road is lined by empty lots on either side. It's easier to fight when there's less collateral damage to worry about. Besides, the area was abandoned long before ghosts arrived. They just made it worse.

Danny ignores the big box store at the end of the road—some chain that tried to make it in Amity Park but ultimately failed. Instead, he focuses on the gathered silhouettes that stand out against the distant white walls. The sounds of laughter and clinking bottles drift toward him. Danny takes a step forward, kicking a loose stone out of his path. It skips across the pavement, the skittering noise drawing the group's attention.

"Hey!" someone calls from the throng. Danny waits until they all notice him, unfolding from their tightly gathered pack. He makes out three figures of varying builds, with a few common factors. They're all taller than him, and most of them have arms thicker than Danny's thigh.

One of them grabs something from their pocket. An instant later, a light shines, pointed straight at Danny. From this distance, the light from a flashlight phone doesn't even touch Danny's sneakers. But it does wonders to illuminate the thugs that have caught his attention. The brown of their letterman jackets stands out in particular. So, Danny has run across a gaggle of Elmerton punks. Not surprising, considering the football game tomorrow. It's an Elmerton High tradition to prank Casper the night before a big game, or so Danny's upperclassmen say. Except these boys are a long way from school. Danny doesn't like it.

"Just some kid," another of the Elmerites says. There's a round of snickers. One of them tips their head back. The starlight glances off the neck of a beer bottle. After that last comment, they decide Danny isn't worth their attention and return to their huddle. Danny decides that's the perfect time to find out why exactly he's here.

He ghosts over the pavement, barely making a sound as he crosses the distance between them. He steps up to the nearest gap between their bodies, still unnoticed, and stares at what called him here. Ravens, four of them, lying in the dirt. Wings bent. Necks broken. Plucked feathers litter the ground. Someone drops their beer bottle. It cracks on a raven's beak. Someone else takes a step forward, right onto the talons of one of the dead birds. Danny twitches at the crunching sound.

Shoving his way into the middle of the group, Danny kicks the leg standing on the raven's foot.

"Holy shit!" Shouts ring out as the boys jump back, away from Danny. He sees their expressions twist from shocked to incredulous as they take in Danny's size. The boy Danny kicked leans down and sneers. "What's your problem, kid?"

Shit Boots, Danny decides to call him, on account of the fact that his boots are shit.

"Geez, will you look at his fuckin' eyes? Looks like my cat." The boy beside Shit Boots—hereby dubbed Flashlight—sticks his phone in Danny's face. Danny has to blink a couple of times at first, but his eyes adjust quickly. One of the benefits of ghost biology. "Creepy."

"Oh, look." Shit Boots grabs the front of Danny's hoodie and pulls it out, showing his friends the Casper High logo. "He's a raven, too."

"Maybe we should pluck his wings, too," a third boy says.

Danny faces the newly dubbed Big Mouth—who actually has a small, pinched mouth, but the name fits in its own way—and smiles. "So, you did this. Right? That's what you're saying right now?"

Big Mouth guffaws. Danny has never liked that word, but it perfectly describes the deep laugh that bursts from the boy, boisterous and dumb. He didn't know a laugh could reveal the intelligence of its owner, but that is what's happening now. A big dumb laugh for a big dumb boy and his big dumb mouth. Should have kept it shut.

"So what?"

He really should have kept it shut.

Danny doesn't know when his hand drifted to his hoodie pocket, but now that it's there, his fingers close around the handle of the screwdriver.

"That means you deserve it."

—

Prompts used:

Submitted by @faedemon / @moipale: Ghosts are naturally drawn to death. When people die in Amity Park, Danny keeps finding the bodies. (PR263)

Next

[kinglazrus]

In Case of Emergency

Chapter 1: Emergency Contact

Phic Phight | Next | AO3 | FFN

Prompts used are listed at the end of the chapter.

Summary: Lancer is grading papers when he gets the call. "I'm calling from Amity West. I have an underage patient here who has named you as their emergency contact." Lancer rushes over, of course, fretting all the while about what accident Danny Fenton has gotten himself into now, because it could only be him. Except, when he arrives, it's not the Danny he expected to find.

Or: Danny Phantom ends up in the hospital and needs a guardian with him.

Chapter word count: 1662

—

William Lancer is grading papers when he gets the call. The number comes up unknown, so he lets it ring a few times before answering. He has contacts saved anyone who would need to call his cell—friends, family, coworkers, et cetera—and their ID would have shown. For it to be an unknown caller leaves only two likely options: a scammer or an angry parent who somehow scrounged up his number. If it's the former, he can ignore it. But William also doesn't like to be rude. At the very least he will answer the call long enough to tell them to buzz off and forget his number.

If it's the latter, then he needs to figure out which child is losing a letter grade on their next assignment for having rude parents. Oh, if only. The urge is tempting, especially with some more difficult parents. If it is a parent, they deserve to sweat for a few rings before he answers, and then he can ream them for tying up his personal line with school matters.

He lets it ring four times before answering.

"Is this William Lancer?" someone asks. Hurried, somewhat urgent, but no note of anger. That coupled with the first name eliminates the possibility of a parent. Very few parents bother to learn William’s first name.

William puts down his pen and answers. "This is he."

"I'm Dr. Alejo calling from Amity West. I have an underage patient here who has named you as their emergency contact."

"What?" A minor? A student? William stands up so fast that his chair flies back and crashes into the wall. He hurries around his desk. "Who? I—oof." A jolt shoots up his side and the phone slips from his fingers. He fumbles to catch it with one hand and massages his hip with the other, giving his desk an affronted look.

"—tom," the doctor finishes.

Tom. Tom? William can't think of any student named Tom. No, not Tom. He missed the first part of the name, probably misheard the end of it. Ton. Fenton.

"Danny?" William asks.

"Yes, sir. He requested you."

That is all William needs to hear. "I'll be right there." He dives back to his desk, snatching his keys from the top door, and is out of the classroom before the doctor can say another word.

The hospital is far from the school, and the fact that it's the five o'clock rush doesn't help. Forty minutes is a long time to spend in silence. William tries the radio after the first couple of red lights leave him with spinning thoughts. He flicks through the channels but can't focus enough to know if he's listening to music or commercials. It becomes another layer of noise on top of the hurricane in his head and he shuts it off soon enough.

Danny Fenton is in the hospital and William is his emergency contact. Was there another lab accident? It's possible. It would explain why his parents aren't being called if they were there, if they were hurt, too. And Jasmine. William can't remember if she's eighteen yet or not. Maybe, maybe not. She's not his student anymore—graduated early and went to college. Even if she is an adult now, she's out of state.

The Fenton children have an aunt, William thinks, although he's not sure. He doesn't make a habit of knowing his student's extended families unless they're also his students. Like Mikey and Lester, who are cousins. Or Star Delisle and Lance Thunder, niece and uncle. William remembers Lance. Nightmare student. Always worried about his hair during gym class. Unsurprising that he changed his name to suit his field of work. Maybe Tiffany Snow's name is made up, too.

William doesn't know if Danny has anyone else.

He resists the urge to step on the gas when he hits the last block, nearly runs the last light. His good sense gets the better of him, though, and he stops when he sees the yellow. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. This is fine. Everything is fine. The doctor hadn't sounded worried, not life-or-death worried. At least William didn't think so, but they only exchanged a few words, and he missed half of them thanks to his desk.

When the light turns green, William slams his foot on the gas and lurches across the intersection, tearing into the parking lot that waits just on the other side. He walks, walks, not sprints—although it is a very brisk walk with pumping arms and huffed breaths—through the door and right up to the front desk.

"My name is William Lancer. I was called as an emergency contact for Danny Fe–"

"Mr. Lancer!" a shout pulls his attention to the left hall. A woman in dark red scrubs and a doctor's coat stands at the entrance. She glances around the room, shooting the nurse at the desk an apologetic look, and strides over. "William Lancer?"

"Yes," he says. "Dr. Alejo?”

"Good. Come with me. And be discreet if you can."

"Discreet?" Shouting his name from across the room wasn't exactly discreet. And neither is the way she keeps glancing over her shoulder. At first, he thinks she's checking to see if he's following her, but after the third time, he realizes she is looking behind him. The next time she looks back, William does the same and finds nothing out of the ordinary. Nurses. Doctors. A patient walking the hall. Some lingering visitors.

They cross a red line after a few turns and here, Dr. Alejo grabs William’s arm and steers him around the next bend toward an elevator.

"I'm sorry, I'm confused. Is– is Danny okay?" William asks.

Dr. Alejo hits the down button before looking up at him. "So you really know him?"

"Excuse me?"

"Danny? You know him?"

"I– uh. Of course, I do. He's my student."

"Oh. I'm sorry. That must be hard."

William blinks, taken aback, and a little insulted on Danny's behalf. Not that she's wrong. Danny is a challenging student, but he works hard. "Is he okay?"

"I guess that's pretty relative, isn't it?"

William doesn't think so. A simple yes or no will answer his question.

"He's–" Dr. Alejo snaps her mouth shut when the sound of footsteps approaches. Someone in scrubs darts past their hall. The elevator opens then, and Dr. Alejo pushes William inside before anyone else can pass. She hits a button labelled B.

“I couldn’t look him over in the clinic, or anywhere upstairs. Too many people,” she says. “So, I brought him down here. It's a bit of a weird situation. I didn't even know ghosts could bleed, but they can control plants, and the weather, so why not?"

She laughs. To William’s ears, it sounds a bit hysterical, but he might be projecting because Dr. Alejo just used the word ghost to refer to his student and he can't quite process that. Danny. Ghost. There could be a hundred reasons for that. His parents are ghost hunters after all.

That number quickly narrows when the elevator doors open, and William sees a sign pointing left and right. First to the loading bay, and second toward the morgue.

Please go left. Please go left.

Dr, Alejo turns right.

"I would have told you to park by the loading bay, so you could enter through the door down here, but just as well. It should stay clear in case an ambulance comes. Oh, don't worry," she says when she sees William’s stricken expression. "The loading bay has an entrance for the first floor, too, so no one should be coming down here. The basement entrance is just for when people come to pick up bodies."

She opens the morgue door and disappears inside.

William hesitates. What is he going to see when he steps through that door? His student, cold and dead, laid out on a metal slab? But... Dr. Alejo didn't say he was dead. She said he was fine, relatively. William is here as an emergency contact, not someone to identify the body. He doesn't remember taking the few steps toward the door. The handle is cold under his palm.

"Danny!" Dr. Alejo's voice comes through the door, caught between a whisper and a shout. "If you ran away I swear I'm going to hunt you down! You better not have ripped your stitches!"

A click followed by a thunk. A deadpan: "Really, Danny?"

William turns the knob and opens the door. It takes a good while to process the sight before him. Dr. Alejo stands before a wall of metal doors, holding at shoulder height open. She gives the opening a familiar look, the same kind of look William gives his students when they are being particularly rowdy or disobedient. The same look he gives one student in particular.

"Sorry!" a familiar voice says from inside the cabinet. "I just heard someone coming and panicked."

"So you hid?"

"Yes."

"In a body drawer."

"Is that really what they're called?"

"Can't you turn invisible?"

A moment of silence. "Yes. Yes, I can."

"Can you explain what's going on here?" William asks.

Dr. Alejo lets go of the door and steps away. A head emerges. Familiar, yes, but not the head he expected. Not the Danny he expected.

"Um, hi, Mr. Lancer. Care to be my guardian for a few hours?" Danny Phantom peeks out from the body drawer and smiles.

—

Submitted by @ecto-american: When Danny gets admitted to the hospital as Phantom, he’s asked if he has anybody who could come be with him since he's a minor. Not sure who else to pick, he requests Mr. Lancer to come.

Submitted by @ave-aria: Lancer & Danny, reveal fic.

Next

[kinglazrus]

Where You Belong

Phic Phight 2022 for @ghostlyhabato

AO3 | FFN

Summary: Danny wonders about the nature of his existence and gets a lesson in what it means to be a ghost.

Word count: 2325

—

Ever since Danny was little, stars have soothed him in a way that nothing else can. His mom sometimes tells him about childhood tantrums where she tried for hours to calm him down. Nothing ever worked. Nothing except taking him out to the back porch to see the night sky. His tears would dry. His cries would quiet into soft murmurs. His face, scrunched and red the way any toddler's face gets when they cry, would smooth out and fill with wonder as he stared up at the stars. All his life, they have provided him with a kind of comfort he can't explain.

Now, for the first time Danny can ever recall, he looks up to the stars and still feels a yawning emptiness inside of him. They are beautiful, tonight. So beautiful. Especially from this high up. When Danny first got his powers, he feared flying up too high, even though desperately wanted to. The thought of the chill air, high winds, and lessened oxygen frightened him. Over time, however, he worked his way up, until he realized the cold didn't bother him. The wind could pass right through him. And oxygen... Danny had learned a while ago that breathing, for him, is more of a habit than a necessity.

Thanks to all of that, he can easily fly high enough into the air that light pollution doesn't matter. He can see the stars in all their glory. But the gnawing feeling in his chest remains.

This is where Clockwork finds him at three in the morning. The only thing announcing his presence is the puff of icy air that leaves Danny's throat. He thinks it's one of his many enemies at first, but when he catches sight of a purple cloak at the edge of his vision, he relaxes. Despite being Clockwork's ward ever since the future incident, they rarely interact. Still, Danny enjoys the bond they share. It feels familial.

Not like father and son—they don't speak nearly enough for that. But to Danny, Clockwork is like a weird uncle he sees on special occasions who also happens to be able to control time.

They float in silence for a while, long enough for the stars to shift. In the distance, the first rays of sunlight break over the horizon. It will be a few hours still before that light touches Amity Park.

"What brings you out of the Ghost Zone?" Danny asks.

"The same thing that always does."

"Ah, tacos." Danny doesn't need to look to know Clockwork is giving him an unimpressed stare. "One of these days you will be here for tacos. When that day comes, I'll be ready."

"Care to tell me why you are out here at this hour? You do have school tomorrow."

"Gee, Mom. Thanks for telling me." Danny turns toward the rising sun and basks in the glow. "You already know why I'm here."

"So what if I do?"

Danny considers playing stubborn. If he does, well, they can sit in silence and watch the sunrise together. The emptiness inside him might grow, but it's been growing for a while now, already. Hanging on to these thoughts for a little longer won't make any difference. If he doesn't, if he gives in, then.... then... He can't think of a downside. It annoys him. He wants there to be a downside, so he has an excuse not to talk.

He peeks at Clockwork. While Danny turned to face the sun, Clockwork still has his face to the stars. His eyes are closed. A content smile graces his lips. Danny's eye twitches. Clockwork came here knowing which option Danny would choose. That makes him want to go with whatever the opposite choice is, but Clockwork would know that, too. He knows everything. it's kind of his whole schtick.

"You infuriate me," Danny says.

Clockwork cracks an eye open and glances at him. "I know.

Danny groans. What are the chances that he can wait out the Master of Time? Clockwork must have duties he has to get back to. The only thing is, being the Master of Time and all that, he can do his duties whenever he wants.

"Yes, I can."

"You can't read minds!" Danny snaps.

"Perhaps not. But there is a timeline where you said your thoughts aloud just then. I don't need to hear your thoughts; I just need to hear a version of you speak them."

"Like I said, infuriating." Danny bites down on his tongue for as long as possible, determined to waste as much of Clockwork's time as he can.

Clockwork chuckles.

"Can you stop that? I'm trying to be upset and brooding and you're ruining with your... with all of you. Just stop."

"If you insist."

The silence returns. Peaceful. Quiet. Annoying as hell when he knows Clockwork is still floating beside him. Danny flips onto his stomach and opens his mouth.

"You are a ghost," Clockwork says before a word can leave his lips.

"Wrong. I was going to ask—"

"Tomatoes are my favourite vegetable."

"But what about—"

"Mariana's Trench. It's peaceful there and I enjoy the darkness."

"Okay, but what—"

"Penguins."

"Well, were you ever—"

"No."

Danny goes quiet. Finally, Clockwork faces him rather than the stars.

"Is something wrong?" Clockwork asks.

"Is your answer really no?"

Clockwork smiles. A genuine smile, rather than a smirk. "Yes. I was never a human."

Danny mulls over Clockwork's answer for a while. He expected Clockwork to say no. Even if he looks somewhat human, there's an energy about him that Danny can't explain. Ghosts like Kitty, Johnny, and Technus don't have that. But others do. Nocturne, for example, and Vortex. The few times he has met them, Danny can feel that same energy around the Observants. Strangest of all, however, is the traces of it he finds on Skulker whenever they clash.

Danny didn't notice it for a while. When he first got his powers, the only distinctions he could make between ghosts—from sense alone—was if they were or were not ghosts. Dead person? Ghost sense! Not a dead person? No ghost sense. Except Clockwork, and many others, aren't dead people.

"What makes someone a ghost?" Danny asks.

"A lot of things, actually." Clockwork waves his arm and four portal appear in the air before them. Each one looks out on a different ghost Danny has fought at some point in his life. Ember, Undergrowth, and Ghostwriter. The fourth portal contains a blurred haze that Danny can't make out yet. "I've been meaning to give you this lesson for a while, but time slips away so easily."

"I find that hard to believe."

"You would be surprised how quickly the passage of time gets away from you when you have lived as long as I have." Clockwork makes a beckoning motion and the first portal, watching Ember, comes forward and grows larger. "Humans have this erroneous habit of referring to anything that comes from the Infinite Realms as a ghost."

"But... we are, aren't we?" Danny asks.

"Indeed, but not the way you think. When humans think of ghosts, they think of dead things. They aren't entirely wrong. Dead people and animals can become ghosts, but they aren't the only kind of ghosts. They are Spirits."

Danny shakes his head. "I don't get it."

"Think of it this way. A blue jay is a bird, but not all birds are blue jays."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Dead people are ghosts but not all ghosts are dead people."

"Exactly." With a flick of his fingers, Clockwork dismisses the image of Ember. Undergrowth comes forward next. "All living beings have a spirit. When they die, that spirit goes to the Infinite Realms. Some, as you know, become ghosts. But others disperse. They are finished with living—in any form—and cease to exist. But their essence has to go somewhere. The Infinite Realms absorbs that essence. Sometimes, there is a likeness in them, and that combines with ectoplasm and forms an Embodiment. Any guesses on what that means?"

"They embody something?" Danny asks.

"Ideas, typically. They come together into a single body and tend to have highly focused powers."

"Like Vortex and Nocturne." Danny thinks hard on the last time he fought either of them. Everything about them is different, from their aura to their appearance, to their abilities, but they give off the same feeling of unity. It's the only word Danny can think of to describe it. Vortex feels like a storm. Undergrowth feels like cool rain in a forest. Nocturne feels like a quiet night. They are what they are and nothing else. "I think I get it. Skulker feels like them."

"He is young for an Embodiment. It will be some time before his true power emerges."

"You mean it's not just hunting things?" Danny asks wryly.

"The third type is ghosts like me." The image of Ghostwriter comes near. "We don't have a particular name, and many times we are erroneously lumped in with Embodiments. But we have existed for eons and have reality-altering powers. I couldn't tell you what makes us because I don't know. We have simply always existed."

Danny eyes the image of Ghostwriter. "Are you sure? Ghostwriter seems... He's just a guy who's a little too into his stories."

"He can also alter the fabric of reality with a few keystrokes. You're lucky your only interaction with him went so well. There are other timelines where it didn't."

That had been a good interaction with Ghostwriter? Everyone hated him. He hated himself. He can't imagine how that could have been worse. Then again, with the power to alter reality... Danny shudders. He really did get off easy.

"Okay, so, there's basically no such thing as ghosts," Danny concludes. He swipes his hand through the third portal Ghostwriter's image dissolves into nothing. "Humans just call a bunch of things ghosts when they aren't."

"No, that's not what I said."

"Well, then what are you saying? Because I'm not any of those things! I'm not dead. I don't embody anything. I'm definitely not some ancient being as old as time. Look at me!" Danny stretches his arm out, transforming the limb halfway. "I'm not human, but according to your little lesson, I'm not a ghost either. I don't breathe, but I'm alive. I have ghost powers, but I'm not dead."

Danny curls in on himself, finally asking the question that has plagued him ever since his accident. "What am I?"

Halfa, other ghosts called him, but what did that mean? It's a name for a thing they don't understand. There is no one like Danny, except for Vlad, and he hates knowing he shares anything with that man. Just two freaks stuck between life and death.

A hand rests on Danny's head. He curls tighter, hugging his knees to his chest and hiding his face behind his hair. Clockwork pats his hair a few times. He isn't a physical being. The pats are too heavy, and he holds his arm so stiff that Danny can feel the awkwardness even without looking. As far as comforting touches go, Clockwork's pats fall dead last on Danny's list. Even Vlad's annoying hair ruffles are better than this. But it draws Danny out of his tight ball, anywhere. He lifts his head, at first to a face full of Clockwork's glove. Clockwork shifts his hand up and gives him a few more heavy pats.

"Weren't you listening to anything I said?"

Danny sniffs and rubs his eyes. "Yeah."

"Obviously not. What was the very first question of yours that I answered?"

"You're not here for tacos."

"Not that one."

Danny has to go over their conversation a couple of times before he can come up with another answer. "You'll stop because I insist."

Clockwork rolls his eyes. Danny considers that a great personal accomplishment.

"The third question, then." Clockwork puts on an exasperated air. A younger Danny might have fallen for it, but now, he's aware that Clockwork knows exactly how the conversation would go and is merely indulging him. It still brings a smile to Danny's face.

"I didn't actually get to ask that question."

"Ask away, then."

Danny takes a deep breath. "Am I a ghost?"

Again, Clockwork sets his hand on Danny's head. It's much softer this time, though. His thumb moves back and forth, stroking Danny's hair. He leans into the touch and closes his eyes. The gloves make Clockwork's hands bigger. With his eyes closed, it makes Danny think of his father, coming into his room to wish him goodnight when he was little. Always with a kiss on the forehead and a hand in his hair.

"You are a ghost," Clockwork says. He pulls the final portal forward. The hazy image inside clears. Inside, Danny sees himself. He sees the Behemoth. He sees Box Lunch, blob ghosts, the ectopuses, and Vlad's mutant animal ghosts. He sees so many different creatures that he has and hasn't met.

"I don't recall saying there were only a few types of ghosts. A ghost is anything that belongs in the Infinite Realms. And as long as ectoplasm runs through your veins, you belong here. There will always be a place for you here, Daniel. Don't forget that."

Danny closes his eyes again. He feels the weight of Clockwork's hand long after it disappears. By the time Danny opens his eyes, Clockwork is gone, and the sun is peaking over the curve of the Earth. Danny tilts his head back and looks up at the stars. They're fading, now, with the sun's light shining on them. He's not far enough up into the atmosphere to see them in the daylight. He smiles, anyway, and leans back, folding his arms behind his head.

He still has a good hour of starlight left. May as well enjoy it while he can.

—

Prompt: Okay everybody hated the 'ghosts are actually just aliens nobody is dead people' take, but like… are ALL ghosts dead people? Including Box Lunch? What about Youngblood's Parrot? The Behemoth? Pariah's Skeleton army? Fright Knight's horse Nightmare? If yes, explain some of the non-human, mindless, or other strange circumstances. If no… well, what makes a ghost a 'ghost'?

[kinglazrus]

The Punishment Fits the Crime

Chapter 2: Actions Have Consequences

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Chapter summary: Make sure there are no cops around before you assault someone.

Word count: 4056

Warnings: panic attack

—

Danny watches the scabs on his knuckles crack and bleed. It stings. Every time he flexes his hands, the healing skin tears back open. The splits in his knuckles aren't large enough to bleed a concerning amount; but when he picks at them, thin traces of blood seep out into the wrinkles of his skin. A layer of pink over pale white.

The elevator to his left dings as the car arrives. He hears his dad's voice before the doors even open. "Where is he?"

Danny, so used to hiding his wounds from his parents, instinctively tries to tuck his hands into his hoodie pocket. He can't, though, thanks to the handcuffs. The fabric bunches between his fists, caught by the chain connecting the cuffs. It looks stupid, but the elevator doors are open now, and the bunched fabric covers the words of his knuckles, so he keeps them like that.

His parents come barrelling out of the elevator, leaving a frazzled police officer behind. The cop is plastered into the corner of the elevator car, uniform rumpled and hat off-kilter. Danny shakes his head at the guy. He doesn't feel sorry for the cop—that's the one who arrested him, after all—but he knows the horror of being trapped in a small space with two very frantic Fentons.

Danny's mother sees him first. He smiles sheepishly at her, hoping that will somehow lessen the blow of the situation. It doesn't. Maddie swoops in, tears springing to her eyes, and takes Danny's face in her hands.

"Oh my God, Danny, what happened?" Her thumb caresses his cheek, tracing the edges of his black eye. "We got a call saying that you were in a fight." She reaches down to take his hands in hers. Danny tries to pull away, but there's nowhere for him to go. It only takes Maddie a second to notice the cuffs. She reels back.

"What are these?" She grabs Danny's hands and raises them up. A soft gasp escapes her as she takes in his battered knuckles and the handcuffs. She rounds on the nearest officer. "Why is my son in handcuffs? He's fourteen."

"Mrs. Fenton." It's the arresting cop. He has yet to recover from the elevator ride up to the third floor, cheeks still flushed.

"Dr. Fenton," Maddie corrects him.

"Doctor, sure. Your son was involved in a fight with three other boys. Some serious injuries were sustained. He assaulted them."

Well, when he puts it like that, sure, it sounds bad. The cop gives Danny a chastising look. Danny doesn't feel chastised, though. He feels... a lot of things, actually. Satisfaction, first of all. When the rush of the fight was over and Danny stood tall over his victim, a warmth rushed through him. The feeling of a job well done. It didn't matter that the cop was already wrestling him into the back of a cruiser at that point. He remembers looking at Big Mouth laid out on the cracked pavement and smiling. It wasn't until the cruiser door slammed shut and Danny realized what exactly was happening that he felt anything else.

"Some boys from Elmerton," the cop continues.

"And where are they?" Maddie asks.

"Two of them are here, detained for underage drinking."

"Not assault? Look at my son's face. What if I want to press charges?"

The cop shakes his head. "Ma'am, according to their accounts, your son attacked them unprovoked. Anything they did is considered self-defence."

"It wasn't unprovoked," Danny mutters.

"Danny?" His mom tilts his face up toward hers. He looks at her, but not into her eyes. The thin line of her lips tells him enough about what she's feeling. He doesn't want to see it in her eyes, too.

The second thing he felt after the fight hadn't actually been a feeling. It had been a realization. The knowledge that he should have been feeling something, at least anything other than satisfied. He spent twenty minutes in the back of the cruiser on their way down to the station. Alone, thank God. If they had put him in the same cruiser as those other two boys, he couldn't guarantee what condition any of them would have been in when they arrived.

He stared at the back of the cop's head for the entire ride and wondered what was wrong with himself. There had to be something wrong. Normal people didn't go around beating people up and feeling satisfied with it—unless you're Dash Baxter. But even that's different. Dash is a high school bully and a mediocre one at that. He gives people wedgies and shoves them in lockers, but he doesn't really hurt people.

He doesn't try to stab people with screwdrivers.

Danny knows he shouldn't feel good about this. He feels bad about feeling good. But he doesn't feel bad because he did it. It's like when he was little and stole Jazz's stuffed animals all the time. His parents always made him apologize, and he did. But only because he got caught, not because he regretted what he did. This is just like that. Except instead of stealing stuffed animals, it's breaking some guy's arms. He deserved it, too. What kind of person goes around mutilating birds, killing cats, or running over dogs for fun? They deserve to be hurt the way they make others hurt. It just makes sense.

"Danny."

He comes back to himself at the sound of his mom's voice. Right. Police station. He got arrested. He did something bad.

Maddie brushes Danny's hair away from his face. He still doesn't lift his gaze. If he lets his mom look into his eyes, she might notice what he's feeling. She has a way of doing that—it must be a mom thing—and he doesn't want that to happen. Doesn't want her to be disappointed in him for doing a good thing.

"They were hurting some birds," Danny says.

The cop sighs. "Which isn't a justifiable reason for assault, especially not sending someone to the hospital."

Jack gasps. Danny almost forgot about his dad. He peeks up through his fringe but has to look down at the floor almost immediately. Jack is staring right at him, his expression blank. Somehow, that's worse than all the judgemental looks he has gotten since arriving.

"What happened?" It's the first thing Jack has said since arriving, minus his exclamation from the elevator. Danny doesn't think that counts, though.

"According to the Elmerton boys, they were in town to pull a couple of harmless pranks on Casper High before today's game. Your son caught them and attacked. They say he had a weapon at first, but we didn't find one on him. Two boys—who are in the holding cells until their parents arrived—only suffered a few nasty bruises. The last boy..."

The cop's gaze settles on him. Danny refuses to squirm. He tilts his head back and meet's the cop's stare head-on.

"Both arms were broken. Shoulders dislocated. There is a cut on his cheek that could have been from some kind of weapon, but, as I said, we didn't find one on your son or on the scene."

Danny tries to keep the smile off his face. Honestly, he tries, but he feels that warmth again. Like an embrace. Like someone whispering thank you in his ear.

"What happens now?" Jack asks. His voice is as empty as his expression. Danny's smile falls when he hears it.

"That depends on the court's decision," the cop says.

Maddie makes a pained noise in the back of her throat.

"You have to understand, assault can be a serious offence. You said your son is fourteen? If the boys' injuries were any worse, there's a chance he could have been tried as an adult. Honestly, that's still a possibility if we find proof that he used a weapon. At the very least, he's probably facing some time in juvie."

Danny's breath catches in his throat. That's not right. That isn't fair. He didn't do anything wrong.

"The boy in the hospital also has the right to sue," the cop adds after a moment.

"Okay." Maddie closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She steadies herself, letting go of Danny's hand and sitting next to him on the bench. "What happens right now?"

"Your son hasn't been very cooperative so far. He hasn't provided his account of the events and hasn't answered our questions. It was a pain in the ass just getting his name and phone number. I'm inclined to detain him here, in which case there would be a hearing in less than five days."

"You can't do that! He has school, and—he's only fourteen. you can't keep a fourteen-year-old in jail," Maddie protests.

"Mrs. Fenton—"

"Doctor."

"—when the situation calls for it, we are within our right to keep an adolescent detained."

Maddie glances at Danny. For the first time since she arrived, Danny meets her gaze. He doesn't know how to convey what he's feeling to her without giving himself away. He knows this is serious. He knows they think he did something wrong. But those Elmerton boys were killing birds and Danny just felt so angry. He always feels angry, now. It burns through him. It started as an ember with that first body and now it lights his blood on fire. The world is full of people that need to be punished.

Danny digs his nail under one of his scabs and rips it off. The sting makes him flinch.

"Give me ten minutes," Maddie says. She stands up, pulls her phone from her pocket, and walks away. The cop watches her go, shaking his head, before turning to Jack.

"Dr. Fenton—"

"It's just mister, actually."

The cop's face pinches. "Mr. Fenton, while your wife is busy, let me go over how things will proceed from here."

"Right. Yes. That would be good to know." Jack ruffles Danny's hair as he passes, following the cop to his desk.

Danny stays on the bench, continuing to pick at his scabs. They keep healing over no matter how much he picks at them. One of the benefits of a ghostly constitution, although not at this particular moment. He wants the sting of tearing skin. He needs to remind himself to feel something other than grim vindication.

Other than the busted knuckles and the black eye, two of his fingers are also taped. They were bothering him earlier when he was first arrested, but the twinges of pain have long since faded. He keeps the tape on for show. If they're here for much longer, someone is bound to notice that his bruises are slowly shrinking. He doesn't need them catching on that his hand is fine, too.

Jack sits with the cop at his desk, nodding slowly along with whatever he is saying. Danny wishes he could see his dad's face, to gauge his reaction. Or see if what he's hearing is good or bad. Probably bad. Attempting to stab someone with a screwdriver sounds like a serious offence. Tucked in a corner by the elevators, Maddie stands with her back to the room and her phone pressed against her ear. Danny strains to hear what she is saying. Despite it being two in the morning, there's a fair amount of noise in the station that makes it hard for Danny to hear. The occasional word rises above the din.

Assault. Hospital. Arrested. Lawsuit. It's not a great series of words. It doesn't tell him what he wants to know, though. Who did his mom call? She goes silent. Danny watches the clock that hangs over the elevator and counts the seconds. At forty-seven, his mom turns and scans the room. She looks at Jack, first, and then at Danny. They stare at each other for a while. Whoever she's talking to must like the sound of their own voice to be going on this long.

Maddie ends the staring contest, lowering her gaze to the floor. The call must be winding down because she turns away from her corner and takes a step forward.

"I'll repay you somehow. Thank you, Vlad."

The breath in Danny's lungs turns to ice. His body goes cold. Time stops ticking. That name hits him like an ectoblast to the gut. Danny watches his mom hang up her cellphone and return it to her pocket. She hugs herself. Even from his place on the bench, he notices how she trembles. The frown hasn't left Maddie's face since the cop first explained the situation, but it's different now, more profound.

Something in Danny cracks.

—

It only takes ten minutes. Ten minutes from the moment his mom hands up to Danny walking out of the police station unbound. He follows close behind his mom while Jack trails after, his hand on Danny's shoulder. Danny can't tell if the touch is meant to be comforting or punishing. Jack's grip is hard, but that's just how he is. His hugs always feel like he's about to crush your bones to dust.

The RV is parked on the sidewalk in front of the station. One of the benefits of getting called down at two in the morning Danny supposes. Quality parking. He'll have to remember that the next time he gets arrested. Maddie unlocks the RV and pulls the back door open for him.

"Mom," Danny says.

She pauses.

"Who were you on the phone with?" Although Maddie doesn't know the extent of Danny's relationship with Vlad—can't so long as she doesn't know about their ghost halves—she does know that Danny dislikes the man. It's one of the few things they can bond over nowadays. Nothing brings a mother and son together quite like the mutual hatred of a family friend.

"Just a friend," she says.

"Oh." Danny isn't sure what he expected. He isn't sure if he cares about the lie or not. "And... now? What happens now?"

"We go home and go to sleep. It's late. But there's a lot we have to talk about in the morning."

Danny nods and clambers into the back of the RV. Jack gives his shoulder a pat before sliding the door closed. Sleep sounds good right now. Danny is suddenly very tired.

—

No one comes to wake Danny up when it's time for school. He used to be good about waking up on time, but since taking up ghost hunting it has become harder and harder to keep up with good habits. As a result, Jazz has taken to being his personal alarm. He appreciates it most of the time.

Today, however, he wakes at his own pace. A beam of sunlight warms his face, slipping through the crack in his curtains. He turns toward it and pulls his covers up to his chin, relishing in the warmth. Moments like this are rare nowadays. He soaks it in, clinging to sleep for as long as possible. Outside his room, life goes on. Cars pass on the street outside. Some clangs around downstairs. The sound of birds and neighbours chatting drifts through his window. But here, inside these walls, he exists in a moment outside of time where the only thing that matters is how long he has before this side of his pillow gets too warm.

Eventually, Danny has to wake up, prodded by his sharpened senses. The sunlight across his face goes from warm to hot. The rumble of passing cars becomes a nuisance. Soft birdsong turns to piercing notes.

Danny opens his eyes at precisely ten fifty-seven a.m. and his moment of peace ends. He stretches, flexing stiff fingers. Some soreness lingers around his eye, but his injuries will have finished healing in the night. When he checks his knuckles, he finds the scabs replaced by pale pink skin. Whether or not the scars will stay remains to be seen. You can never tell when it comes to ghostly biology. Either way, the marks are small and easily dismissed.

He lays there a while longer, tracing star sticker constellations on his ceiling with his eyes. They're sloppy, as far as constellations go. Draco is too short. The Ursas have swapped places. Orion faces the wrong direction. In Danny's defence, he put them up when he was eight. Back then, he cared less about accuracy and more about wanting to see the night sky at any time of day. He even painted his ceiling black before putting them up, although he didn't tell his parents he was doing any of this until it was already done. He snuck a can of paint from the shed and a stepladder from the kitchen. He hadn't been able to find any paint brushes, though, so he smeared the paint across his ceiling with an old t-shirt. His carpet and bedframe still have stains from where the paint dripped down.

His mom had been so mad when she found out what he did. it was the maddest he had ever seen her. She cared less about the mess—although he still got a good scolding for that—than she did about his own safety. He could have slipped and hurt himself. He could have breathed in too many fumes since he was painting with his door and window closed. She ended up grounding him for two weeks.

Danny thinks his punishment this time is going to be a lot worse.

His clock reads eleven twenty-five by the time he finally drags himself out of bed. The noises downstairs are still going. He checks his phone on his way down, skimming through recent messages.

From: Sammykins | 1:37 a.m. Hope you didnt get in too much trouble for being late. See you tomorrow

From: Too Fine | 7:19 a.m. we have to get sam's backpack from her house meet u on the way to school?

From: Too Fine | 7:42 a.m. u coming down?

From: Too Fine | 7:46 a.m. Nvm. Spoke to jazz. Feel better dude

Danny wonders what excuse she made for him. Does she even know what happened last night? He doesn't have any more texts from her, and she hadn't been awake when they got home. Maybe she doesn't know. Danny tucks his phone into his pocket and peeks into his kitchen. His mom is here, whipping something in a bowl. It looks chocolatey. There is a full rack of cookies cooling on the counter and a baking sheet on the stove waiting to go in the oven. The table is covered in baking supplies, including an empty baking sheet and a bowl of cookie dough that has yet to be portioned.

"Good morning, Mom," Danny says.

Maddie stirs faster.

After a moment's hesitation, Danny shuffles into the kitchen and takes a seat at the table. He grabs a handful of dough and picks through the mixings. Butterscotch chips. Crumbled walnuts. Mini marshmallows. Chocolate dust. Plucking a marshmallow from the dough, he starts nibbling on it while he forms the dough into a ball. Once it's smooth enough to his liking, he sets it on the baking sheet and presses it flat. By now, he assumes that school just isn't happening for him today. Jazz is the one who always wakes him up, but when his parents are home, they try to usher him out the door in time for school. He fills the baking sheet a third of the way before Maddie finally sets her bowl down and joins him at the table.

"I'm not going to juvie, am I?" he asks.

"I'm not sure yet." Maddie picks up one of the cookies Danny formed and says, "This is too big." She tears the cookie into halves, passing one of them to Danny while she keeps the other. They reroll the cookies in silence for a while.

Jack must not be home. Danny's dad never misses an opportunity to munch on cookie dough, especially when Maddie is experimenting. The house is also too quiet. Jack has a way of making himself known, whether he means to or not. Making loud noises when he's excited. Stomping around from room to room. Danny misses that noise right now. The silence presses down on him.

"Danny, we need to have a talk," Maddie says.

Silence is actually amazing. Danny loves silence. He could live in silence forever.

"I love you, but I don't understand what happened. You said they were hurting some birds? Why did you attack them?

"It was a prank."

Maddie pales. "You hurt them as a joke?"

"No!" Danny waves his hands frantically. "I meant—there's a big game with Elmerton today and they always pull a prank on us the night before. When I found them, some of them were drinking, and they were hurting birds. Not just hurting them, mutilating them. Their wings and necks were broken."

"Danny, that's..." Maddie closes her eyes. "That's horrible, but that doesn't make what you did okay."

"But they were killing them for fun!"

"So you think what you did is justified?"

"Yes! Obviously!

"Daniel James Fenton, don't shout at me."

Danny slams his hands on the table. "The birds didn't do anything to them. They were just being birds!"

"Exactly, Danny. They were just birds. You don't break someone's arms over a bird. I'm sorry, I know those boys were doing something wrong, but that doesn't make what you did right."

"Why not?!" Danny's eyes burn. He doesn't remember standing up, but he is now. The air around him is hot. The table rattles beneath his palms.

"Danny, calm down—"

"Why is it okay for them to do that and not get punished for it? You don't just—they're not allowed to hurt someone like that and get away with it!" Danny paces around the table, hands buried in his hair.

Maddie's head snaps to the side as the chair beside her topples over. The whole room is shaking.

"Why don't you get it?!"

The kitchen lights buzz in Danny's ears. It makes his skin crawl. The noise digs into his brain like beetles burrowing into his skull. The room is too loud. Too small. Danny is suffocating. Why doesn't she understand? He can't let people get away with something so horrible. Those animals are hurting. Even after they're dead, they're in pain, and he can feel it in his core. They pull at him, wail in his ear, beg him to help them find peace. They won't leave him alone. Why can't they leave him alone?

Why is everything so fucking loud?

"God damn it!" Danny grabs the bowl of cookie dough and smashes it on the floor. The bowl explodes, glass flying everywhere.

"Danny!" His mom screams.

He snaps back to reality. The kitchen is a wreck. It's not just the bowl that is smashed. Chairs are knocked over. The cooling rack is on the floor, and the cookies themselves have crumbled to pieces. The bowl his mom has been whipping is smashed at her feet. And his mom... Danny's stomach drops. His mom is huddled in the corner of the room. Blood drips down her shin from a cut on her knee. She stares at him with fear in her eyes. Danny takes a step back. It breaks whatever spell settled over Maddie. She moves, skirting around the table. Danny thinks she is running away from him; but rather than heading for the door, she heads straight for him and throws her arms around him.

Danny freezes. Maddie squeezes him tight, running a gentle hand through his hair. He tries to hold himself together, biting his lip and clenching his fist. His shoulders shake. No, no. he's stronger than this, better than this. He's a hero. He fights off ghosts and avenges dead animals. He doesn't cry in his mother's arms. Those thoughts persist until his mom presses his head down and whispers to him, "It's okay, Danny. You're okay."

When Jack finally comes home twenty minutes later, he walks into the kitchen to find Maddie cradling Danny on the floor. Danny is half asleep but clings to his mother with all his strength. Beneath his fringe, his half-lidded eyes glow green. Maddie looks up at her husband and slowly shakes her head.

—

Next

[kinglazrus]

In Case of Emergency

Chapter 9: Can the Dead Die Again?

Previous | Next | AO3 | FFN

Chapter Summary: Dr. Alejo decides ghost anatomy is stupid while Lancer waits.

Chapter word count: 2130

—

When Carmen Alejo was four years old, her older brother died. She was too young at the time to understand what happened. All she knew was that something was wrong with him and then he was gone forever. Her mother explained it as best as she could, saying it was like when Carmen's favourite toy car broke. She had left it on the patio table and a gust of wind pushed it off. The car broke in two when it hit the ground. Her father tried to put it back together, but it kept falling apart the second she played with it. It was an accident. Something unlucky happened, the car broke, and it couldn't be fixed no matter how hard they tried.

Carmen's brother had been broken, too. And, like the toy car, no one could fix him even though they did everything they could.

Carmen didn't open her first medical textbook until she was eight years old and set loose in a public library for the first time, but even as young as four she had decided: she wants to fix broken people.

Her goal over the years has always remained the same. The reasoning behind her ambition will never change; but she can't deny that as she has grown and learned more, she started to develop a fascination for bodies. She wants to know how they work, what keeps them together, what ruins them. Carmen, from a young age, has wanted to know all the ways a body can break so she can help put the next one back together. Or, even better, prevent it from being broken in the first place. It's why she chose pathology—forensic pathology—for her medical career. To look at broken bodies and understand them.

It's why she can't, for the life of her, stop looking at what few scans she has of Phantom's broken body.

Carmen checks the locker room twice to make sure she's alone before pulling out a binder she stole from the nurses' station on the third floor. The binder was empty when she took it, and she only hopes it was going to stay that way. She doesn't want to face the nurses' wrath if they find out she took something they need without asking. But she needs it, too. She has to put Phantom's medical file somewhere, after all. It's sparse, as far as medical files go. Carmen has no background information, no family history, and no medical history. She doesn't even have his age, only a guess at it.

What she does have are stills from Phantom's ultrasound and a few samples of his ectoplasm. It took her some time to put it all together. Between checking in on patients, updating files, and sneaking away to add things to Phantom's binder, she has spent most of the night and morning running around the hospital. There had been a solid thirty minutes around three a.m. where she managed to sequester herself in an empty lab and run some tests. It would have helped, however, if she had known what she was testing for. Ectoplasm isn't the same as blood, after all.

The results of the blood panel are mixed. According to the tests, Phantom has anemia, diabetes, acidic blood, no red blood cells, too many white blood cells, and a multitude of thyroid issues. They also say he's pregnant.

"Congrats," Carmen mutters to herself as she looks over the results for the umpteenth time. All-in-all, the blood panel was massive a waste of time. The ultrasound, however—

"Maybe that's a stomach?"

—has also proven to be a waste. She has scanned the images so many times she can draw them with her eyes closed, but that doesn't help her identify an internal system she knows nothing about. Some of it seems familiar. There's some kind of scrunched bit in the corner that looks like an intestine. Overall, the ultrasound is riddled with dark and bright spots. This either means Phantom is bleeding from literally everywhere or his guts are naturally soup. Like a thick stew with some chunky bits and lots of liquid in between. Considering the circumstances, it could be either, but Carmen is really hoping for gut soup.

The door to the locker room opens. Carmen snaps the binder shut and shoves it into her bag.

"See you," she says to her fellow intern as she rushes past. If they reply, she doesn't hear it. Right now, she just wants to go home and sleep the rest of the day away. She'll be right back at it tomorrow; and, hopefully, she will have a visit from her newest patient as well. Phantom had better show up. If he doesn't, Carmen will make him regret ever saving her life.

—

It feels like the sun shouldn't be out. William looks out through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Amity West's waiting room and expects a sullen sky. Clouds, rain, lightning strikes. If not that, then a setting sun. Or dim starlight, even. He looks outside and expects anything but a happy, sunny day. There's no sign of the thunderstorm predicted for that evening. That surprises William the most. It's barely after two but it feels like the day should be ending. The storm isn't expected until later that night. Maybe William will get his sullen sky then. Leave it to an English teacher to expect pathetic fallacy in the real world.

At this point, William should go home. There's nothing more for him to do here at the hospital, but Danny's parents haven't arrived yet. Last he heard, the hospital staff are still having trouble contacting them. William himself has tried calling multiple times. He had the school secretary call them hours ago when the ambulance hadn't arrived at the school yet. Not too long ago, he had even tried calling Jasmine, even though she is out of state, but she never picked up. The Fentons, wherever they are, are simply out of reach. That is why William stays.

Even though he is not family, even though there is nothing he can do to help, the thought of Danny being here alone makes him ache and he just can't let that happen.

He occupies himself with people watching in the meantime. Some visitors have been here just as long as William, or even longer. Doctors come and go, giving family members news, both good and bad. More than once, William has seen someone break down in tears. He doesn't know whether they were tears of sadness or joy. For their sake, he hopes it was the latter. At some point, he makes a game of watching the hospital staff, trying to guess what their job is. He focuses on the people only wearing scrubs, trying to pick out the nurses from the doctors, the interns from the attendings. What little he knows about hospital hierarchy comes from watching medical dramas, so he can't say his guesses are educated or even accurate, but it distracts him well enough. He plays until a flash of red catches his eye.

Dr. Alejo is exiting the lobby elevator. She isn't wearing her scrubs, though. Rather, it's her back that caught William's eye. Even though she has the strap around her shoulder already, she holds the bag to her chest, as if protecting it. William waits until she is halfway across the room before calling out.

"Dr. Alejo!"

She looks startled to hear her name, jumping in place. It takes her a moment to find him, but when her eyes fall on him, she frowns.

"Mr. Lancer!" She makes her way across the waiting room, lowering her voice to a respectable volume once they're close. "How's our patient? His check-up isn't supposed to be until tomorrow. Did something happen?" She scans the room, head swivelling back and forth. If she's trying to be discreet, she's very bad at it "Is he here?"

"Yes. No, sorry. Something happened. Not medically!" he rushes to explain when Dr. Alejo's eyes widen. "At least not that I know of. I said something that upset him, and he left yesterday. I haven't seen him since. He's not the reason I'm here."

"Oh." Her stare hardens. "He better not be thinking of skipping his appointment tomorrow."

"Right."

Dr. Alejo lingers, glaring at him. She stares for so long William thinks she's mad at him for letting Phantom go—not that he could have stopped the ghost boy. It isn't until he waves his hand in front of her face that he realizes she has zoned out.

"Doctor?"

She blinks. Her eyes clear. "Sorry. Just thinking of what hell to bring down on him if he skips. If our patient isn't here, then what brings you here? If you don't mind me asking. Family Emergency?" She takes a seat to William's left and motions for him to sit back down.

"Not quite. It was a student of mine. His family hasn't arrived yet, so I'm staying until they do," William explains.

Dr. Alejo nods. She rubs at her eyes and yawns behind her hand.

"Are you... Excuse me, but are you only just getting off work?" William asks.

"Intern life. I'm on a pediatrics rotation this week. I got to keep an eye on sick little kids all night." Dr. Alejo smiles in a way that makes it painfully obvious she does not enjoy that task. "My shift ended, oh"—she checks the time on her watch—"two hours ago. But I wanted to look at some of Phantom's samples."

"You took samples of him?" William asks.

"His ectoplasm," Dr. Alejo elaborates. "He left a lot of it on my floor, you know. I wanted to see if I could learn anything from it."

"And?" William leans forward.

Dr. Alejo barks out a laugh. "It's ectoplasm! I have no clue what to look for. I went over his ultrasound scans, too, and I'm still lost there. Saw something that could have been a stomach, I don't know. It's all very human but a bit to the left."

"About that..." William wonders if he should tell Dr. Alejo about Phantom. It's not his place to say, but she is Phantom's doctor. He nearly does, but then he thinks of Phantom's horrified face when William confronted him. William isn't sure if any trust exists between them. He hadn't considered the possibility before yesterday. Until now, he has trusted Phantom the same way anyone in Amity Park trusts their protector. But the fact that Phantom called on him in the first place... it implies something more. William hadn't taken the time to consider that before, too focused on the absurdity of the situation, but it strikes him now just how odd that is. Why would Phantom trust him?

On the off-chance that he still does, and that William hasn't scared him away forever, he decides to hold on to Phantom's secret. For now. At least until he can see the ghost again and talk to him properly about it.

"Why are you in pediatrics if you don't like seeing sick children?"

Dr. Alejo tilts her head, noting the abrupt change in subject. "I don’t think anyone likes seeing sick children."

"I'm sure you know what I meant.

"I'm going into pathology, but Amity West's intern program requires us to do rotations in other specialties to help expand our skills. I find it easier to deal with dead meat than dying people."

William needs a few seconds to digest that. It's a crude way of saying it, but he understands what she means, or thinks he does. "An interesting view for a doctor to have."

"I'm very unique, thank you." Dr. Alejo shifts in her chair, getting more comfortable. William is almost afraid that she's going to fall asleep on him. "Oh, sorry. I never asked. Your student, are they okay?"

"Oh. Right. Danny." Willian hadn't forgotten, per se, but Dr. Alejo distracted him enough that he could pretend, for a few minutes, that today isn't the worst day of his life. It was nice while it lasted.

"Danny?" Dr. Alejo asks.

"Fenton," William elaborates. Her gaze lights up with recognition, but William expected nothing less. The Fentons are infamous, after all. Everyone in Amity knows their name. The interest, however, comes as a shock.

She leans in. "Really? He's here, right now?" Seconds ago, she had looked a lullaby away from collapsing in a snoring heap, but now her eyes gleam. William hates to be the one to ruin her sudden good mood, but there's no easy way to say it.

"He is, but, well." William swallows the lump in his throat. He has to look away, lowering his head into his hands to hide his watery eyes. "You see, he died."

—

Next

[kinglazrus]

Make-Out Make Out

Phic Phight 2022 | AO3 | FFN

Summary: Danny finally realizes his feelings for Sam during the events of Claw of the Wild. This is how the rest of that summer goes.

Word count: 4261

—

Twenty bodies lay on the shrivelled grass dripping with slime. Danny, Sam, and Tucker stand before them in the grey morning light.

"Now what?" Tucker asks.

Danny's hands go intangible, letting the goo on his gloves slide off. A part of him is still convinced that was their breakfast the campers were floating in and not some special liquid. It's the right consistency for it.

"Now we get everyone in their beds," Sam says. "With any luck, waking up there will help convince them the past few days were just a dream."

"And then we get fifty more days of Lancer and Tetslaff. Yay," Tucker drones.

"Come on, Tuck. It won't be that bad." Danny recalls Lancer's piercing rendition of Row, Row, Row Your Boat. "Maybe. Let's just get to work."

Danny does most of the heavy lifting, seeing as he's the one with enhanced strength and the power of flight. Sam and Tucker work together to bring the girls to their cabin while Danny gets everyone else. It takes less than twenty minutes to get everyone situated. By that time, the sun has risen. Danny thinks. It's hard to tell through the fog, but the grey surrounding them is a little bit lighter than it was before. He figures that's the most they're going to get at Lake Eerie.

The only evidence remaining of Walker's kidnapping scheme is the suspended animation container. It squats in the middle of the camp, as dismal and grey as everything else around them.

"What do we do about that?" Sam asks.

"Good question." Danny frowns. They can't leave it, obviously, but there's also no way for them to safely dispose of it out here. Danny floats around the container, knocking his fist against the glass. His parents would love to have something like this. Since the container was made with Ghost Zone materials, they wouldn't even have to ghost-proof it. It's already inescapable for any ectoplasmic creature. Danny shudders.

"The Sleeper Awakes, what is that?"

Danny drops to the ground and prays Lancer doesn't see him. The metal bracing is tall, but Danny at eighteen isn't as small as he was at fourteen. It won't take much for Lancer to notice the glow of his aura and the stark black of his jumpsuit. Danny keeps his transformation rings low as he army crawls forward to peek around the side of the container.

Lancer stands at the threshold of the counsellors' cabin, gaping at the container.

"Uh..." Sam and Tucker stare at each other. None of them have a good explanation.

Lancer grabs his head. "Oh, I have such a headache. What did... Was that..."

"Mr. Lancer!" Danny calls out, interrupting his train of thought. He scrambles to his feet and joins Sam and Tucker out in the open. "It's, uh, the aquarium that you told us about. You know, so we could study the fish in the lake." He gestures out to the murky water beyond the cabins. "For... a biology badge?"

Sam elbows Danny's side and hisses in his ear. "That's for Boy Scouts you idiot!"

Danny shrugs. It's too late, now.

Lancer scratches his head as he looks from the container to the lake. "And the... porridge?"

"What, you haven't seen aquarium water before?" Tucker knocks his fist against the tank. The liquid inside jiggles. "Keeps the fish nice and healthy even though there's no filter on this thing. It's really good stuff."

"Right—I... yes. I must have, but..." Lancer stares into the distance. "Porridge. It's time for breakfast." He shuffles off toward the mess hall.

Danny holds his breath until Lancer is gone, letting it out only once the mess hall door closes behind him. "I can't believe that worked."

"Aquarium!" Sam slaps Danny's shoulder. "Danny, I'm gonna kill you if anyone tries to put fish in that thing!"

"Relax, I doubt there's any fish in this lake. It'll be like nothing ever happened."

—

It was not like nothing ever happened, but not for the reason the trio feared. That first morning after the fight with Walker, everyone woke up groggy and disoriented. As Sam predicted, they all had nasty headaches that kept them from thinking too hard about what had happened. Some of them paused when they saw the new aquarium sitting in the middle of the camp, but no one questioned it. Danny waited with bated breath for someone to say something. He spent the next week tiptoeing around the other campers, afraid to say something that might trigger a memory, but as far as he could tell, the plan worked. No one remembered, and if they did, they thought it was all a wild dream.

Camp continued as normal, except for one small change. Danny and Sam, more often than not, found themselves in each other's company. At a glance that didn't seem strange. They are friends, after all, and spend a great deal of time together. But they have always been a trio, with Tucker at their side. Over the next couple of weeks, however, they kept ending up alone in quiet, secluded corners. Even during group activities, they slipped away from the others to be on their own.

It started with gentle touches. Nothing out of the ordinary. Shoulders bumping. The backs of their hands brushing as they walk. Then came the handholding. During hikes, campfire song sessions, when they moved from one activity to the next, until they sat next to each other at the dining table one day and immediately entwined their fingers without a second thought.

The Walker debacle was over, and the rest of the camp was none the wiser, but it was not like nothing ever happened.

—

Canoeing on a calm lake sounds like a nice way to spend an afternoon. And it would be—if it were any other lake at any other camp. But at Lake Eerie, the water is black, and the sky is grey. A still lake means no wind, and no wind means the fog hangs over the lake with no inclination of moving. The sun can't even burn the haze away because of the heavy cloud coverage. They should try canoeing at night. The sky is always clear then, for some reason.

"Enjoying the scenery?" Danny asks.

Sam lifts her head from where it rests against the back of the canoe. "The dreariness appeases my goth sensibilities, but there is such a thing as too much grey."

"No, I don't think that's true." Danny leans over the edge of the canoe, making it rock. "See this patch right here?" He points to a spot to their right. "That's my favourite patch."

"It's prettier than all the others?" Sam asks.

Danny grins. "That's where Dash is." An ectoblast fires from his open palm. The ball of light shoots through the fog. It highlights a burly silhouette across the lake before striking the water with a splash. Dash and Kwan's cries of shock ripple through the fog. Danny snickers.

"Using your powers for good, I see," Sam says.

"I saved his life not too long ago. I think I get a little compensation for that."

Sam rolls her eyes. "Excuse me, we saved his life, thank you very much. I was pretty badass and cool before we got caught."

"You mean I wasn't badass and cool?"

"You mean with your whole 'you don't scare me—I'll wear that shock collar' bit? Real cool." Sam smiles at him.

He tries to smile back, really. They crack jokes about Danny's ghost fights all the time. Danny's fights. Sam and Tucker are always there to have his back, of course. They always have his back and do their fair share of fighting, but when it comes down to it, Danny is usually the only one in serious danger. Even when Tucker and the other campers got kidnapped. Danny had been worried and scared for them, but they weren't hurt. Sam, though... Sam could have been.

Danny sometimes lives through those few seconds over and over again when he lies in his bed at night. That's all it had been—a few seconds. A few steps. Walker, with the collar in his hands, turning away from Danny and reach out to Sam instead. He had never been so scared in his life, not even when he faced down Pariah Dark. He's used to being in the line of fire, but he's not used to his friends being in it.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Sam asks.

Danny shakes his head. "Nothing, I just—it's nothing."

Sam gets up, taking care not to rock the canoe too much. She kneels in front of Danny's bench and grabs his hand. "What's wrong?"

Danny bites his lip. It's silly. The danger has come and gone. There's nothing for him to fret about anymore. But if that's true, then why does he keep thinking of it? They're nearing the halfway point of summer, a month since Walker happened, and Danny can't let it go.

"When... when Walker had that collar," Danny begins softly. "Yeah, I wasn't scared at first. I know we talked about it right after it happened. You're important to me—so is Tucker. But..." He thinks hard about how he wants to explain himself. "It's different. Between you and Tucker. Not that it's any less! You're both my best friends and you're equally important to me, but it's... it's different. And when I saw Walker reaching out for you with that collar, and I couldn't stop him, I thought..."

Danny turns Sam's hand over in his. He cradles it between his palms like something precious. She has a lot of callouses on her fingers. He traces them with her thumbs. He knows where she got each one. The callous on the inside of her index finger is from pulling triggers all the time. The hard pad on her thumb is from the sharp edges buttons on Fenton Works tech usually have—a downside of the sleek metal design. There's a row of rough patches on the top of her palm from gardening, hours spent holding trowels and spades as she plants things.

Danny knows these hands as well as he knows his own.

"I mean, I knew I wasn't going to lose you. There's no way I would let that happen." There's no sun on his face, but Danny feels hot suddenly. He ducks his head, trying to hide the blush. "But I thought that I couldn't let something happen to you without... without telling you that I like you."

Danny watches the water. He means to wait for Sam's reply, but after the first few seconds of silence, he can't bear it.

"I mean, I know that's not the greatest time to think something like that. I was worried you would be hurt, obviously! I wasn't just thinking 'oh no, I never told Sam I loved her' because that would be kind of selfish if that was the only thing going through my head right then. But it really stuck out because I didn't even know I liked you. Obviously, I do, and I have for a while, but I didn't know it until the whole Walker thing and now—"

Sam snorts.

"Are you laughing at me?"

She is. She totally is. Sam sucks her lips in. Her shoulders shake from the effort of holding it in, but she is laughing at him.

"Hey, I'm kind of trying to confess here, and being laughed at doesn't help my confidence."

"Danny." Sam pushes herself up onto her knees and grabs the back of Danny's head. "You're an idiot."

She yanks him down and kisses him. Danny flails. Is this happening? It's not a fake-out of some kind? He finds himself scanning the water, just in case, but who would they be faking out anyway?

This is really. Holy shit. This is real. Sam is kissing him.

Sam pulls back. "I'm trying to make out here and not being kissed back really doesn't help me confi—"

Danny throws himself forward. Sam shrieks with laughter as they fall back into the middle of the canoe. He presses his lips to hers and she eagerly kisses him back. They break apart every few seconds, giggling as if they can't believe this is happening. In the back of his mind, Danny is thankful for Valerie and Elliot. He knows his first few kisses with Valerie kind of sucked; he's sure Sam's first kiss with Elliot couldn't have been much better. This is kind of awesome, though.

"Alright, campers!" Lancer's voice carries over the lake. "It's time to dock! Dinner is in twenty minutes, which gives you enough time to shower and change, and then you have an hour of free time before the starlight hike!"

Danny and Sam separate. He has to brace himself on the side of the boat to keep his weight off of her. Sam's dark hair splays out around her head like a shadowy halo. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are bright.

"You're really pretty," Danny mumbles.

Her face gets even redder. "We should head in."

Somewhere nearby, the other campers start rowing their boats in. The sound of splashing oars comes from all around them. Before Danny can get up, something thunks into the side of their boat.

"Watcha doing?" Tucker drawls.

Danny practically jumps out of the canoe as he launches himself back off of Sam. She jerks upright, sliding back to her seat near the front. Tucker grins at them from his canoe. Behind him, Mikey rolls his eyes.

"Oh, hey guys. Real choppy today. We kind of fell off our seats," Danny says. There is not even a breeze to ruffle his hair, much less work up the water. "Where's Lester?"

"He got stuck with Lancer since he can't swim," Mikey says.

"That's cool. Guess we better head in for dinner, huh? A shower sounds nice."

"Yeah. A nice cold one," Tucker says.

Sam clears her throat. "Tucker, I will put you into the aquarium."

Tucker lets out a strained chuckle and wipes a nervous sweat from his forehead. "Mikey, away!"

Mikey groans. Pulling at their oars, he slowly rows them away. Tucker's smug face disappears into the fog. Danny and Sam wait until they can't even see the silhouette of Tucker's boat before moving.

They separate at the shore, heading for their respective cabins. Danny has to fight to keep his feet his feet planted on the ground. It takes an impressive amount of willpower. Giddiness courses through him, making his body feel light. He wants to take off into the sky and scream his joy at the top of his lungs but that would turn too many heads. He settles for a goofy smile instead

—

The hike that night takes them to an outlook where Lancer makes them stop and stargaze. He has a whole lesson on constellations planned out. However, Danny knows more about stars than his teacher could ever hope to learn, and Sam has Danny, so she doesn't need to learn about stars from Lancer. They sneak away the first chance they get, disappearing into the trees and finding a sizeable pine to hide behind.

They almost miss Lancer's call to head back to camp. It isn't until Tucker calls out, "Hey, anyone seen Danny or Sam?" that they realized they have been missing too long. They re-enter the clearing through opposite sides, brushing twigs and pine needles from their clothes.

"Sorry, I had to go to the bathroom," Danny says.

"So did I," Sam says.

Paulina pulls a disgusted face. "Ew, out in the woods? So gross."

"Oh, good. I was worried a monster got you or something," Tucker says. Danny and Sam jab their elbows into his sides. He doubles over with a wheeze. "Worth it."

—

A twig snaps somewhere in the distance. Danny blames it on the local wildlife. There must be some kind of wildlife around here, even though Camp Eerie looks like that place all things go to die. He hopes it's wildlife, otherwise he and Sam should probably stop kissing right now if they don't want to get caught.

No other sounds follow, though. Good.

Sam presses him against the back wall of the cabin. His hands rest on her waist, against her bare skin. Never before has Danny been so happy that Sam wears crop tops all the time. Slowly, he raises his hands higher, until he can feel the hem of her shirt and beneath that, the fabric of her sports bra.

Before he can even think of doing anything indecent, a flashlight shines right in his face. Danny reels back with a cry of shock, releasing Sam to shade his eyes.  "What the hell?"

"Wow, that's bright." The light flashes away, illuminating Tucker. He stands at the corner of the cabin. "I was blinded for a second. What are you guys doing here in the middle of the night?"

Not quite the middle of the night. The rest of the campers are sitting around the fire telling scary stories. Anything they can come up with is rather underwhelming when compared to the start of summer. Danny and Sam both agreed they had better things to do elsewhere.

Namely, make out behind the nearest cabin.

"Looking for gross stuff to hide in Paulina's makeup bag," Sam says without hesitation. She has already smoothed out her clothes and hair. Danny stares at her in awe. How can she compose herself so quickly? It must be a super-power. He rushes to straighten out his shirt.

"Cool, can I help?" Tucker asks.

"Uh–"

"Hey, look, a frog!"

Danny and Sam share a helpless look, resigning themselves to Tucker's presence. Or they could simply tell him what they were doing. Tucker has been pestering them for years about their feelings. He would probably be ecstatic if Danny said he finally confessed. But Sam shakes her head with a devilish smile. Danny already knows what she's thinking without her saying anything.

For now, they'll keep things to themselves. There's something thrilling about trying to sneak around, anyway.

—

It becomes a game. How long can they be gone for before someone notices? Better yet, how long before anyone catches them? They never actually talk about what it is that they're doing. It's certainly not dating, but it's hard to have a proper date while you're at summer camp anyway. They like each other. They like making out. As long as they're stuck at Lake Eerie, that's all there is to it. The rest can come after, once summer ends and they're back home.

The hardest day comes when they wake up one morning to a heavy downpour. Lancer cancels all planned activities for the day and confines everyone to the mess hall.

"Do whatever, just don't wreck the place." He must have had something great planned for the day if a little rain bums him out that much.

The thing about the mess hall is that there isn't a lot of private space. Or any unless you sneak into the kitchen or hide away in the bathrooms. But the kitchen is off-limits and people need the bathrooms. They end up hiding beneath a table in the corner of the room. The tablecloth does a decent job hiding them, not that they need it that day. Danny sits with his arm wrapped around Sam's shoulder, her head resting on him as they listen to music. With Dumpty Humpty blasting in their ears and the rain outside, it makes a nice atmosphere. They still steal the occasional kiss, but today is a good day just to spend time together.

"You think Tucker knows?" Danny asks.

"I did at first, but he would have brought it up by now," Sam says.

Good point. "He's the one who finds us the most, though."

During hikes. When they're at the lake. Any time Danny tries to sneak out of his cabin at night. For the last two weeks, Tucker seems to always be there when Danny and Sam find a moment alone.

"Who else is going to look for us?" Sam says. "And to be fair, we have kind of been leaving him out. He's still our best friend. We should probably talk to him anyway.

Another good point. She's so smart. That's why Danny loves her.

Danny's breath hitches.

"Danny?" Sam prods his shoulder.

"I'm fine." His voice cracks. Wow. What a way to have such a revelation. Under a dining hall table at Lake Eerie of all places. The setting is underwhelming, but the scene...

Danny peers down at Sam. Her hair is a mess because the humidity makes it all frizzy. The clothes she wears are only a step up from her pyjamas, a pair of sweatpants and a flannel shirt over her sports bra. Every once in a while, she picks flakes of her nail polish off before going back to drumming on Danny's thigh. She sings along to the song under her breath, her face scrunching as she matches the intensity of the music while still keeping quiet.

Yeah. Danny loves her.

—

The rest of summer camp goes on like that. The game continues, but it becomes less about not getting caught and more about spending time together. Whenever they go canoeing, they find the foggiest part of the lake to settle in. During camp activities, they keep to themselves. At night, they slip out of their cabins and watch the stars together.

Tucker still finds ways to interrupt them, though. It happens often enough that Danny starts feeling bad for leaving him out. But when Danny tries to apologize to him, Tucker just stares.

"What are you talking about?" he asks.

"Um, I didn't want you to think we had forgotten about you or something," Danny says.

Tucker cocks his head. "What do you mean?"

"Because Sam and I– because we've been–" Danny doesn't know how to explain it without spilling the truth.

"What about you and Sam?" Tucker's gaze is filled with such innocence. Such genuine confusion.

Danny has to power walk away, his ears turning scarlet. "Nothing! It's fine, we aren't doing anything. Carry on!"

He misses the sharp grin that Tucker's wide-eyed expression falls into the second his back is turned.

—

The last day of camp comes far too soon for Danny's liking, or not soon enough. He honestly can't decide how he feels. The summer has been fun, even if he spent it trapped in a cabin with Dash and Kwan. Then again, the fun will keep going once they're home.

Never mind, he wishes camp had ended weeks ago so they could get back to sunny skies. Danny doesn't want to see another cloud as long as he lives.

After breakfast, everyone works to load up the bus. Dash takes charge, grabbing people's bags and shoving them into the luggage compartment since he's the strongest. At least as far as he knows. Danny would like to see him try and carry the aquarium for half a mile when it's full of twenty people in suspended animation.

"Too bad we never found a fish to put in there," Danny muses. He would have liked to see what would happen.

"Oh, so that's what you were doing all that time out on the lake, huh?" Dash asks.

"Excuse me?"

Dash snatches Danny's bag from his hands and chucks it into the luggage compartment none too gently. "If you and Manson even think of making googly eyes at each other on the bus, the first thing I'm doing when we get home is wailing on your ass."

"Uh... why would we do that?"

Dash raises his eyebrows. "Really, Fentonio?"

Paulina comes up beside Danny and passes her bag to Dash. "Please, I'm tired of seeing nerds kiss."

"What?!"

Tucker snickers behind him. "Dude... you hid behind trees and stuff. Making out in a bush is not subtle."

Danny splutters. His gaze jumps from camper to camper. Everyone is staring at him and Sam, nodding at Tucker's words. Sam makes a miserable noise in the back of her throat. She drops her head against Danny's shoulder and lets out a muffled scream.

"Oh, my God." Danny hides his face in Sam's hair. "Why did no one tell us?"

Tucker waggles his fingers. "One hour of free movie time for every accidental stumble across your make-out sessions. It was the only way to keep their mouths shut."

"Tucker! Why!"

"You were trying so hard. It was adorable."

"Why did you keep interrupting us?!"

"Uh, because I'm your best friend and you didn't tell me? Come on, dude. I had to get some kind of revenge." Tucker pats Danny's shoulder as he passes him.

"If it's any consolation, you guys are actually, like, sort of cute together," Paulina says.

Danny and Sam lean on each other, wallowing in their shared misery as everyone else loads onto the bus. This is it. This is how he dies. Not from one of Skulker's bazookas or Val's rockets, but embarrassment.

Tetslaff's large hands come down on their shoulders. She pulls Danny and Sam apart and shoves them toward the bus. "Alright, lovebirds. It's boarding time." She shoves Danny into the first seat on the right, next to Lancer, while Sam ends up sitting beside Tetslaff.

"Why are we sitting here?" Danny asks.

Lancer stares down at him. "You know why."

Danny sinks in his seat and buries his face in his hands. Lake Eerie is officially his least favourite place in the world.

—

Prompt by @ghostgothgeek: Danny and Sam’s relationship blossoms after the events of Claw of the Wild. What happens during the rest of summer camp, and how much do their classmates remember? (PR278)

[kinglazrus]

In Case of Emergency

Chapter 4: The View from the Sidelines

Previous | Next | AO3 | FFN

Chapter Summary: Lancer watches the local ghost boy get some much-needed medical attention and ponders.

Chapter word count: 2099

—

William watches Dr. Alejo fuss over Danny Phantom. A ghost. The ghost. She orders him out of the body drawer. That can't be what it's called, can it? It's so... blunt. William feels disrespectful just thinking the phrase, but the doctor would know.

"How did you even get in there? You could barely sit up when I left," the doctor says. She has stepped back, giving Phantom plenty of room, but he has yet to move out of his hiding place.

"Funny thing about that." One of Phantom's hands grabs the frame of the drawer. The other is pressed tightly against his opposite shoulder. He shimmies forward or tries to, only managing a couple of inches before he grimaces and stops. "I think I wrecked my stitches."

Phantom offers Dr. Alejo a sheepish smile but receives a frown in return. It's an impressive frown, in William's opinion. Disapproving but not needlessly angry. It took him some time to master such an expression when he first started teaching. Before he did, he either came off as too stern or too forgiving. Dr. Alejo must have some kind of teaching experience. Perhaps that's part of her job here at the hospital. As William understands it, doctors still require a lot of hands-on training before they can treat people without supervision.

The silence is broken by a dripping sound. At first, William looks to one of the many sinks in the room for a leaky faucet. It takes him a few seconds to realize none of them—and there are many—are the source, and he gives Phantom a closer look. Stitches, Phantom had mentioned. The awkward pose makes more sense now that William spots the green seeping from under his hand, the one clamped over his shoulder

Another drop of ectoplasm falls to the floor. William tracks it, and his eyes widen when he sees the sizeable stain on the floor underneath the drawer, with something crumpled in the middle of it.

"You phased out of your stitches!" Dr. Alejo screeches.

"It was an accident!" Phantom protests. "It takes a lot of concentration to turn stuff intangible when it's not a part of me. I didn't know it was you coming back! I had to make sacrifices! It wasn't easy getting in here."

"Get out."

Phantom flinches, hurt flashing across his face.

"I don't know how quickly you'll burn through the lidocaine, and I only grabbed one dose of it. So unless you want me stitching you back up without anesthetic, get out and get back on that table." Dr. Alejo points to the table in question.

Phantom's expression takes a moment to smooth out. It occurs to William that the ghost thought Dr. Alejo was kicking him out, rather than ordering him onto the autopsy table.

"Isn't that a little insensitive?" William asks, eyeing the table. It isn't until both Dr. Alejo and Phantom turn to him that he realizes it's the first thing he has said since arriving.

"Thank you," Phantom says. "That's what I've been saying. Who brings a ghost to a morgue?"

"You haven't said anything like that."

"Oh. Well, I've been thinking it. It's a bit rude, in my opinion."

"Concussed people don't get to have opinions, now get back on that table so I can finish treating you."

Still, Phantom doesn't move.

"Do you, perhaps, need some help?" William offers.

Phantom's cheeks flush as he nods. Moving him ends up being an awkward affair. Dr. Alejo presses a gauze pad to Phantom's shoulder while Phantom wraps his good arm around William's neck. William backs away from the drawer, slowly dragging Phantom out. Every jostle is met with a wince. At first, William pauses whenever Phantom makes a muffled sound of pain, but he quickly realizes that getting this over with faster would be better for all of them. He ends up carrying Phantom bridal style to the table.

"If you ever tell anyone about this, I'll fill your car with blob ghosts," Phantom threatens. With Phantom back on the table, William returns to hovering at the edge of the room, still unsure of his role in all this.

Dr. Alejo quickly redoes Phantom's stitches. The lidocaine must have worn off because he winces every time the needle goes in. Once that's done, and his shoulder is clean and bandaged, Dr. Alejo moves on to the mottling of bruises on his chest and stomach. Green like ectoplasm, like the stained cloths piled in the garbage, like the cut above his eye that oozes slowly. The bruise covers most of his torso. It reminds William of an abstract painting. He can't help but stare.

"I knew I should have checked this first," Dr. Alejo says. She presses down on Phantom's abdomen, making him wince. "Do ghosts have internal organs?"

"We've got internal something. Sorry that I've never cut myself open to see if I've got intestines in here," Phantom quips.

A ghost on a morgue table, being looked over by a doctor, making jokes. This is by far the strangest thing that's ever happened in William's life. And he still doesn't understand why he is here.

"You need a guardian?" William asks.

Dr. Alejo doesn't look up from her work, but Phantom sets his gaze on William.

"The good doctor won't let me go home alone. Thinks I'm going to bleed out or, I don't know, stumble and hit my head or something. I don't think my concussion is that bad."

"Are you still seeing double?" Dr. Alejo takes her hands away from Phantom's abdomen and reaches for a tube on the table behind her. She opens the cap and squeezes some of the gel onto her hands, applying it generously to the bruise.

Phantom hisses in pain while she works. "There's like, one and a half of you. One and a quarter. It's like a shadow you."

"Your speech isn't slurred, and your memory doesn't seem impaired, which is good, but you've also been lying prone since it happened." Dr. Alejo glances at the body drawer. "Mostly. You could have balance and coordination issues that we haven't tested for yet."

"I got into the drawer just fine."

"Frankly, I don't trust the assessment of someone who would willingly phase out of their stitches. And some symptoms don't appear right away. If the double vision stays, you could need vision therapy or prescription lenses. I'd suggest going to an optometrist."

"Oh, sure. I'll fly right over there once we're done here."

Dr. Alejo applies the gel to several other bruises elsewhere on Phantom's body. Around the gauze pad covering his shoulder and upper arm, on his legs, his cheek. She cleans and bandages a few of his smaller cuts and doesn't step back until every last injury has been tended to in some manner.

"Okay. I'm going to get the portable ultrasound and see if I can get my hands on some antibiotics," Dr. Alejo says. "Mr. Lancer."

William perks up at finally being addressed after several long minutes of silence.

"I want you to help Phantom sit up and test his coordination. I'll double-check when I get back, but it'll make things go faster if you can help out. If there's nothing wrong, then I might not need to test him myself. Okay?"

William nods, already moving to help Phantom sit up while the doctor heads for the door. He has to loop an arm around Phantom's shoulders and push him up. The boy—because William can't think of him as anything else right now—grimaces all the while, holding back pained groans. A few slip out despite his best effort. By the time they get Phantom upright, he is panting and hugging himself tightly.

"Do you always get this injured?" William asks.

Phantom fiddles with the zipper on his hazmat suit, which is still pulled down. This close, William can see a variety of scars beneath the bruises. He didn't know ghosts could get scars. The biggest covers his uninjured shoulder. It looks like a lightning bolt—if lightning bolts were feathery. Pale branches stretch over paler skin, branching across the side of his throat. It's easily the size of William's hand. Leaning forward, he examines Phantom's back and finds that the scar continues there, blossoming out across his spine, all the way to his opposite hip. Unlike the other scars, which seem no different from a human's in the way they have healed, this one has traces of sickly green coursing through it, nearly the same colour as his bruises.

"Death scar," Phantom says.

William jumps back and flushes, embarrassed to be caught staring. He should know better than that.

"It's alright" Phantom's shoulder twitches. A shrug, William supposes, as much as he can shrug with his injured. "You probably haven't been this close to a ghost without it trying to kill you before."

Not an untrue statement, but William can think of a few times where he ended up in close quarters with a friendly ghost. "Not quite. If I recall, there was that time the school was trapped in an alternate dimension. You were with us for that. Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, that was a strange day."

"Stranger than this?"

It says a lot that William has to pause and think about that. A school getting transported to another dimension isn't as strange as a whole city ending up in the Ghost Zone, which has happened three times by William's count. On the scale of interdimensional travel, it falls on the less interesting side. Visiting a ghost in the hospital, however, is a novel experience.

"No. I suppose, in its own way, this is the strangest thing that's ever happened to me."

Phantom gets out a few good chuckles before he doubles over, arms wrapped around his stomach. "Please don't make me laugh. Whoever said laughter is the best medicine has never had internal bleeding."

William's hand hovers over Phantom's back. He nearly pulls away, until Phantom lets out another grown. In slow circles, he starts to rub Phantom's back. The skin is cold beneath his fingers, and he can feel the raised edges of the lightning scar. William does his best to ignore it. Phantom leans into the contact until he is slumped against William and would have fallen over if not for his arm. It surprises William enough that his hand stops in its steady motions. He resumes when Phantom makes a protesting noise.

They stay like that for a while. It reminds William of the many times he's had to comfort students in the past, for any number of reasons. Sometimes it was a bad grade, trouble with their peers, trouble at home. Ever since their last guidance counsellor fiasco, Casper High has had some trouble getting a replacement, which means William often ends up filling the gap. He doesn't mind it. He loves his students. To him, children are the most important thing in the world. They're the future.

He doesn't think about it often, but sitting here now, William finds himself confronted with the fact that Phantom is a child, a dead one. Who had been his teacher? His parents? Did he have siblings? No one in Amity Park knows how long Phantom has been dead, but William has always assumed it was recent. The boy is too similar to some of his students to be from another decade.

It isn't fair, is it? That this boy had to die so soon, has to sacrifice himself for the city, has to experience pain every day. He deserves to find some kind of peace.

"I've never seen a teacher cry before." Phantom stares at him with wide eyes.

Sure enough, when William reaches up to touch his cheeks, he feels tears. He wipes them away on his sleeve.

"What are you crying for? I'm the dead one."

"My boy, that's why I'm crying."

"Oh. Thanks, I guess. You're a good teacher, you know that?"

"I'm sorry?"

Phantom blushes and looks down at the floor. "I hang around the school sometimes and watch things. My high school teachers aren't– weren't always great, at least not most of them. But you're a good teacher. I wish... I wish I could have had a teacher like you before I died. Your students are lucky to have you."

William feels his tears coming back. It's a fight to keep them down, but he manages to blink them away in the end. "Thank you, Phantom."

"Danny." Phantom lays his head on William's shoulder and closes his eyes. "You can call me Danny."

—

Next

[kinglazrus]

In Case of Emergency

Chapter 2: A Different Kind of Pressure

Previous | Next | AO3 | FFN

Chapter Summary: Getting trapped under a fallen building sucks, but when does Danny's life ever not suck?

Chapter word count: 1930

—

Getting trapped under a fallen building isn't Danny's finest moment. It probably ranks top ten on the list of "Moments That Really Suck and Didn't Need to Happen, But Of Course They Did Because When Does Danny's Life Ever Go Right?" The name needs some work, but the point stands. It sucks. One minute he was fighting a ghost and the next... well. Danny isn't sure what happened next. He remembers being inside a building, and now he's under a building, and he doesn't know how he got from there to here, but here he is.

"Hey. Hey, are you okay?"

Danny has a hard time hearing the voice over the ringing in his head, but he manages alright. It helps that the woman's lips are about level with his eyes. There's not much light to read them by, and he isn't an avid lip reader in the first place, but the words "are you okay" are a pretty good guess considering the circumstances. That and his only other guess is "hard chew today," which would mean one of them has a concussion. Danny might have a concussion anyway.

"Pretty sure I'm supposed to ask you that." Danny tries to push himself up, to let the shield covering them expand. The green wall flickers, growing dimmer, and the pressure on his back grows. He freezes as something above them groans, the sound of scraping concrete echoing around them. Okay, no moving. He should probably be in a lot of pain right now. Thank God for adrenaline.

"Between the two of us, I'm the one with the medical license, so it's literally my job to ask if you're okay and you definitely aren't okay." The doctor beneath Danny blows a strand of hair out of her face. It floats up, tickling Danny's nose, then lands right back over her cheek. She tries again, getting the same result. The doctor wriggles.

"Hey, whoa, what are you–"

Her arm, pinned between them, shifts a little, and she wiggles even more.

"You really shouldn't–!" Her leg, pressed against Danny's, jerks. The shield flickers again as she kicks it and the full weight bears down on Danny for a moment. Dust rains down. His vision goes black. He hopes that's because of the shield failing and not because the weight of the debris is so painful that he blacks out for a moment, but it very well might be. He pumps more power into the shield, just enough to get it back up, and his burden eases slightly.

"Shit." Danny groans. Does a building weight more than a bus?

The doctor stills. "Sorry. That was an accident. Are you okay?"

"Just peachy." The creaking in his bones says otherwise, not to mention the growing cold spots on various parts of his body, but the doctor lady doesn't need to know that.

"Hey, not to make demands after you just saved my life, but do you think you could get us out of this? Pretty sure I've seen you fly through buildings before."

"That would be great, wouldn't it? Except I'm a little tuckered out right now."

"How tuckered are we talking?"

"Um..." A flash of white illuminates their bubble for a moment before Danny fights back the urge to transform. "Pretty tuckered."

"That won't happen again, right? The shield? Because I like not being crushed by a building."

Danny closes his eyes. His power levels were low even before he got into a scuffle with the ghost. Today has been one fight after another, and none of his familiar rogues, either. Danny couldn't even enjoy some pleasant banter with his favourite frenemies. Keeping the shield up is draining what little energy he has. It might be keeping them from being completely crushed, but it still takes effort to hold up so much. It's still him keeping them safe. The problem is he only has enough strength to keep one powering going. But the doctor has a point. They can't stay here for too long. Help would come, eventually, but Danny doesn't know how long that will take, which leaves them with very few options.

"I might have an idea," Danny says.

"Okay." The doctor nods. "Good."

"But I don't think you're going to like it."

"Less good."

"I could turn us intangible and gets us out of here before I run out of energy. But I can't keep the shield up while I do it."

The doctor's gaze jumps to the green walls surrounding them. "I'm guessing it's not, like, instantaneous. You drop the shield and poof we're out of here."

"Nope."

"Huh. You're right. I don't like that."

"It's okay. I can lift a bus, so. This should be okay for a few seconds."

"A building is heavier than a bus."

"I'm trying not to think about that." Danny closes his eyes and lowers his head. He needs... a lot of things. Pain killers. Not to be stuck under a building. For his arm to stop bleeding, because he can feel the ectoplasm sliding down his shoulder, hear the quiet drip-drop of it hitting the concrete beneath him, and it's making the pain harder to ignore. But right now, he needs a moment. Because what he's about to do is going to suck.

"Okay." Danny opens his eyes and meets the doctor's gaze. "I need you to pull your legs up, and shimmy down a bit, and do your best to curl up underneath me. That way when... when everything drops, if it shifts, it's not going to hit you. Got it?"

The doctor does as told. She draws her knees up and curls her head toward his arms. She's taller than him, not by much, but enough that Danny doesn't make the perfect cover. It will have to do.

"Ready," she says.

Danny takes a deep breath and drops the shield. The rubble falls, broken bricks and wood digging into his back. Danny nearly buckles under the weight of it. It takes all his willpower not to immediately throw the shield back up. Something groans. He can't tell if the grinding noise filling his head is the concrete or his bones cracking under the weight. His transformation rings flicker around his waist once more. Forcing them back hurts almost as much as holding up the rubble, and for a moment he thinks it won't work. He doesn't have the energy to go intangible. They're going to die.

Then he moves. He drops, arms buckling, and wraps the doctor in a tight hug. His body goes cold and everything crashes around them. With the last of his strength, Danny pushes, launching them upwards. Light bursts around them as they leave the rubble, and he forces himself further, past the haze of dust, dragging their bodies across the street, out of danger, until he collapses in an alley between two shops. His heart pounds in his ears and it takes a few moments for other sounds to fade in Cars. Distant sirens. The murmuring of a nearby crowd.

Danny tilts his head and looks out toward the street. Pedestrians mill about on the sidewalk, clustered together, staring at the collapsed building across the road. Danny and the doctor hadn't been trapped long enough for much to happen, even though it felt like forever. Holding a building on your back is just like that, apparently. Danny pushes himself up onto his knees, one hand to his head, and scans the sky. No sign of the ghost he had been fighting. He tries to reach out with his ghost sense, but it makes his chest throb and his vision swim. Okay. No more ghost powers today.

When he stands, he has to brace himself against the wall or else risk falling over. His head spins and he’s only a few seconds away from throwing up, but he can’t stay here. He needs to text Sam and Tucker, find a safe place to transform, treat his injuries, and pass out. Preferably in that order. The black spots flickering in and out of his vision seem to disagree with that. Danny slumps against the wall, smearing ectoplasm across the bricks, and examines the doctor. She looks okay, already on her feet. A little dusty but no visible injuries. Good. That's enough for him.

“Glad you’re safe, citizen. Maybe stay away from ghost fights for the rest of the day.” Danny waves over his shoulder and takes a few stumbling steps toward the back street.

A hand on his wrist stops him. “And where do you think you’re going?”

Danny turns back to the doctor. There are two of her reaching out to him, grasping his two left arms. That's new. He blinks a few times, closes his eyes tight, but the double vision stays no matter how hard he tries.

"Could you let go, please?" he asks.

"Could you make me?"

Danny feels his last dregs of power slipping away like sand through his fingers. It's all he can do to keep a few grains cupped in his palm, just enough to keep him from transforming in front of this stranger.

"You know I'm a ghost, right? That means I'm already dead. I'll be fine."

The doctor reaches up with her free hand and touches Danny's shoulder. His gaze follows her hand until he sees a flap of skin. He has to look away or else he really will throw up.

"It doesn't matter if you're dead. You're hurt. I can't in good conscience leave you like this. You need help, so... let me help you."

There is no way that's going to happen.

Danny keeps adjusting his seatbelt on the ride over to the hospital. It wasn't easy to put on since his left arm is barely functional, but he got it after a little fiddling. The only problem now is that it drapes across his injury—a laceration, the doctor called it. He has to press his palm over his shoulder to protect the wound, slow the bleeding, and keep his shoulder intact. He really is a mess.

"Do you actually need that?" the doctor asks when Danny wiggles his shoulders to move the seatbelt again.

"I don't know how you did that."

"I'm very persuasive."

"I don't know how you did that." Danny is insane. He must be. He is insane and severely concussed. That's the only acceptable explanation for why he got into this stranger's car while his powers are practically down to zero and he could change back at any moment. He tries to keep track of where they are going, watching for street signs and familiar landmarks, but that's a little hard when there are two of everything. It doesn't take long before he starts feeling dizzy and he has to close his eyes, resting his head against the window. Sleep sounds good right now. Just a quick nap. Twenty minutes tops. He can trust his body not to transform in that time, right?

A tugging in his chest says otherwise. Danny grimaces and shoves the feeling down. No sleep, then. But there's no reason he can't close his eyes for a little bit.

"You okay?" the doctor asks.

"Jus' res'ing my eyes," Danny mumbles.

Something rustles. The radio comes on, loud at first, but quickly turns down to a soft murmur. Danny can't hear anything more than a baseline, the singer's voice floating over his head. He latches onto the sound to keep himself awake but finds his focus slipping away as the doctor's quiet humming lulls him to sleep.

—

Next

[kinglazrus]

In Case of Emergency

Chapter 3: Too Close to an Autopsy for Comfort

Previous | Next | AO3 | FFN

Chapter Summary: Danny has enough bad dreams about being dissected. Waking up on an autopsy table is not going to help with that.

Chapter word count: 2061

—

The first thing Danny becomes aware of is the pain. It permeates his entire body. A pounding in his head. An ache in his shoulder. A plethora of burning patches across his torso. Not to mention all the little bruises and cuts he got before the building came down on him. He wishes it could all combine into one big ignorable ache, but no, he has to feel every little thing, and every little thing hurts.

Stupid ghosts. Stupid structurally unsound buildings. Stupid doctors not letting him go home.

Danny's eyes fly open. Stupid doctors. Where is the doctor? Where is he? A concrete ceiling greets him first, along with bright fluorescent lights. Danny squints as his eyes adjust and takes in his surroundings. A wall of cabinets lines one side of the room, although the doors have funny handles, like industrial fridges. He sees sinks, some kind of backlit board on an empty wall, a sanitizing station. Across from him, in the middle of the room, is a thick metal table with what looks like a grocery store scale and another sink.

Danny tilts his head back and finds the same scale hanging above him.

"Oh, God, I'm dead." This is a morgue. Those aren't cabinets, those are where dead people go, and Danny is a dead person. He is on a mortician's table and he is going to get sliced open and autopsied like a moron. What is it people always say? Stranger danger? Danny doesn't want to learn that lesson the hard and painful way.

"Sam and Tucker are going to kill me." Danny tries to sit up, but a stabbing pain lays him flat in an instant. "Fuuuuuuuck." He groans, curling an arm around his stomach.

Okay, Fenton. Think this through. He is in pain. Dead people don't feel pain, at least not this kind of pain. This is very much a living, breathing, human kind of pain where he feels like he's dying but isn't dead yet. Good. Dying is better than dead. Raising his good arm, he holds his hand above his head. His human hand. Another wave of panic crashes through him. Whipping his head from side to side, ignoring how the throb behind his eyes turns to an angry stab, he searches for any sign of the doctor. She's gone. He's alone. He can work with that.

Danny closes his eyes and concentrates. He barely feels rested, which means he can't have been asleep for long. Certainly not long enough for his ghost half to recharge. Reaching for his core, he pokes at it, getting a tremble in response. There's not a lot of power left, but he doesn't need a lot, just enough. Pulling on his core, he drags his ghost half to the surface, relaxing as the cold sensation washes over him with the change. It soothes his aches somewhat and being a ghost always numbs the pain more than being human does.

The change comes just in time. Danny hears a door open and shut, and when he looks toward the noise, he finds the doctor on a small landing, wearing a white coat and scrubs, and carrying an armful of medical supplies. She locks the door before hurrying down the steps, muttering something under her breath.

"Lidocaine, sutures, bandages, what else?" She dumps everything on the empty table across from Danny and picks up a box from the pile. From it, she pulls out a pair of plastic gloves.

"Scrub!" the doctor blurts out, dropping the gloves back onto the table. "Oh, no, that's not good." She tosses the gloves out before going to the nearest sink and washing her hands and arms, giving them a thorough scrub. Seventy-nine seconds in all. Danny counts.

"Can ghosts get sick? What about infections? I can't order antibiotics..." The stream of words continues until she finishes washing, grabs a fresh pair of gloves, and finally looks in Danny's direction.

The most nerve-wracking staring contest of Danny's life begins. He waits for her to say something, to scream out "You're a freak!", to confess that she has called the Guys in White and they are coming to take him away. Why does he have to be lying down? It makes him feel more exposed, especially in a place like this. This is, quite literally, one of Danny's worst nightmares. He has woken in a cold sweat, aching from the pain of phantom scalpels. On the worst days, he wakes up feeling empty, as if all his insides had been removed while he was asleep.

The seconds drag on until, finally, thankfully, the doctor blurts out: "You're alive! Awake, I mean!"

"I'm actually very dead, thank you." Danny can't help the tremble in his voice. The doctor could be faking, and he can't show that he has let on if that's the case.

That question flushes out the last of Danny's nerves. It seems that, by some miracle, she was gone when he changed back to human and she didn't notice a thing. Good. That's one less thing for him to worry about.

"You brought me to the morgue."

"Only place I could think of where no one would bother us. We're replacing some old equipment, so the morgue isn't in use right now. There's another one down the hall that's already been renovated."

"Thank you." Danny studies the wall of cabinets, unable to meet the doctor's eyes. "I'm not... I'm not exactly normal, as far as ghosts go. I'm sure you can see that. Most ghosts don't exactly bleed like this. Bad things would happen if the wrong people saw me. So, thank you."

"Yeah, that’s... the bleeding. That's exactly why I brought you here." The doctor stares at him and then shakes her head. "You have a lot of injuries. The laceration on your shoulder needs stitches. It will probably scar; sorry in advance about that. You need someone with a delicate touch to fix a wound like that without leaving a mark. You have some other cuts I'd also like to take a look at. Being caught under a building isn't a sanitary environment, either, so I want to clean your wounds thoroughly and make sure you won't get any infections." She pauses and tilts her head. "Can ghosts get infections?"

Danny's head reels. To be completely honest, he only caught some of what the doctor said. She rattled everything off so fast he didn't have time to absorb it all, except for a few words. Stitches. Laceration. Infection. Very fun words.

"If any ghost could get an infection, it would be me."

"Right, okay. Antibiotics, then. I'll get some. Somehow."

Danny raises an eyebrow at her. "You're a doctor, aren't you? Don't you have total access to that kind of stuff?"

"Well..." Now it's the doctor that won't meet Danny's gaze. It concerns him almost as much as the possibility of her knowing his secret. Moreso, since he is no longer worried about the latter. He has never been to the doctor before, but Danny is certain it's not good when your healthcare provider makes a face like that. "Hospitals keep track of those things, you know. But..." The doctor plucks a fresh set of gloves from her box and pulls on the fingers. "Technically speaking? I'm an intern. Pathology."

Danny processes that. "Pathology. Like, the doctors that do autopsies."

"Yeah."

Danny laughs. "Oh, that's just perfect. What else?"

"What?"

"Besides the big cut and smaller cuts."

"You have a head wound. It doesn't look like your skull is cracked, but there's some bleeding and a sizeable bump. If you were a regular patient, I would get you a head CT, but I don't think that's an option here. You almost definitely have a concussion. I'm worried about internal bleeding, too, because of the sizeable contusion on your torso. We would also need a CT for that. I might be able to sneak out a portable ultrasound if necessary."

"I don't know what half those words mean."

"Then I'm afraid you have a very serious head injury and possible brain damage if you don't know what 'we' or 'I' means."

"Shut up, you know what I mean. Isn't an ultrasound something for pregnant ladies?"

"Ultrasounds use sound waves to create an image of your internal organs. It's used on pregnant women, yes, but we use it for lots of other things, too." The doctor's hand hovers over her array of medical supplies. Danny can't see what exactly she's looking at, partly because her body blocks his view, but mostly because raising his head hurts and he would rather not do that right now. She turns back to him without grabbing anything, although the gloves she had been toying with are now properly on her hands.

"Before I start, is there anyone I can contact?" she asks.

Danny stares at her blankly.

"Next of kin? Sorry, that's what we say about dead people... living family? Ghost family? You're a minor. There should be someone here with you."

That is a thing hospitals do, isn't it? It hadn't crossed Danny's mind that she could ask. He didn't think it would cross her mind to ask. "Maybe I've been dead for thirty years, you don't know."

"Have you?"

"... No."

"Listen, I'll treat you no matter what, but if you do have a serious head injury, not to mention potential internal bleeding, then I can't leave you alone once we're done here. I have to get to work at some point today, but you need to stay with someone who can watch you if something happens. Help me get your jumpsuit off while you think."

Danny gives her an affronted look.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. How am I supposed to treat you through your clothes? Sit up, strip, and think."

Danny hesitates. No names come to mind, none that would satisfy the doctor, at least. He could stay with Sam and Tucker, the same way he always does when he gets seriously hurt, but they aren't adults either. Jazz... besides the fact that she's at college, Danny would rather not let her see how hurt he is right now. He almost suggests Tucker's parents, but that comes too close to exposing his secret. His own parents are a big no. Vlad, an even bigger no. Danny has known before that there are no adults that he trusts, but it's something of a slap in the face to really think about it. When it comes down to it, besides his friends and his sister, there's no one in his corner.

Wow, that's all kinds of sad, isn't it?

"You don't have anyone?" the doctor asks. She holds his sleeve while he struggles to work his injured arm out. It's not an easy feat, especially while he is still laying down, but when he tries to sit up, she pushes him right back down with a single finger against his chest. Danny can't stand watching as she presses the flap of skin down so it doesn't get caught while he pulls. He resorts to glaring at her, instead, because no, he does have people, just not adult people that won't tear him apart molecule by molecule if they catch him.

"I resent your pity." His arm comes free and Danny sags with relief. The doctor grabs his good hand and brings it over to his laceration, pressing it over the wound where her hand had been. The feeling of cold ectoplasm dripping over his fingers makes him grimace.

"You don't even need to be related to them," the doctor says with her back to him. She grabs a plastic pack and a needle from her supplies. "You're around the city enough, there must be someone you know who could help you."

Danny studies the ceiling. Help him. Not too many people have tried to help him since this whole ghost thing started. They have accused him of acting out, of becoming a troubled, at-risk teen, but helped him? He can't think of anyone who has done that. Except for one person.

"You'll feel a pinch." The doctor injects something into his injured arm Danny barely feels it, too focused on the name floating through his head.

"Actually..." It sounds crazy, it is crazy, but it just might work. "There is one person."

—

Next

[kinglazrus]

In Case of Emergency

Chapter 14: The Epilogue (For Now)

Previous | Sequel | AO3 | FFN

Chapter summary: This is not a resolution. This is a desperate bid for time.

Chapter word count: 1043

—

The Fentons arrive at the hospital just as William is leaving. It's four o'clock. The sky is grey, and the air is muggy. Finally, the predicted rainstorm is close to breaking. William pauses at his car, watching the Fenton's RV peel into the parking lot. It dings a few vehicles on the way in. Jack must be driving. Between Jack and Maddie, he is the faster driver, even if his driving is reckless. Somedays, William thinks the city ought to put out warnings if anyone knows Jack Fenton will be on the road. Reckless endangerment aside, if you need to get somewhere quick in an emergency, Jack is who you want at the wheel.

William winces with sympathy for the owners of the damaged cars but feels nothing for the Fentons. The RV screeches to a halt, the passenger door flying open before it has even stopped all the way. Maddie runs out. Jack follows her a moment later. They don't even lock the RV in their haste.

Seven hours. That is how long it has been since the school secretary first called the Fentons. Seven whole hours. They must have been busy with something important.

No, William doesn't feel sorry for them. They should have answered the phone.

He gets into his car, slamming the door closed a little harder than necessary. In the peace and quiet, William tips his head back and sighs. The bandage on his forehead is scratchy. He ended up needing a single stitch. Dr. Alejo concluded that he was stunned rather than knocked unconscious. He has no signs of concussion, but he will have a nasty bump for a few days. He was cleared to go home a mere twenty minutes after getting injured.

The Guys in White kept him for an additional hour and a half. They asked him the same questions over and over.

What happened when he was alone with Danny? We talked. I was comforting my favourite student. He has been through an emotional ordeal, you know, and needed someone to lean on. His family hasn't arrived yet. We only talked.

Did he say anything strange? No. He kept asking me when he could go home.

Did you see him when he attacked you? My back was turned.

Where did he go? I don't know.

Did he believe that was really Danny Fenton? I don't know.

William drags a hand down his face. What a day this has been. He might have to call out of work tomorrow and take a mental health day. After everything that has happened, he could use a break. He had promised Danny that everything would be okay, but he doesn't know how to keep that promise, especially not now.

With a sigh, William starts his car. "Time to go home."

The first raindrops fall as he pulls out of the parking lot. Within minutes, the oppressive humidity of the day turns to a bone-deep chill that William feels even within the safety of his car. He turns the heat up, but it doesn't help. Goosebumps raise along his arms and shivers plague him the rest of the way home. Every once in a while, he glances toward the passenger seat. The drive takes longer than it should, thanks to the evening rush. He ends up stopped at every light, boxed in by cars on either side. Even once he hits the highway, his car is surrounded. Despite the cold, William sweats every time he catches someone staring into his car. They are nothing more than bored passengers with idle stares, but his stomach twists into a tighter knot every time he notices them. It isn't until he's home, safely pulled into his garage, that he feels some form of relief.

The cold follows him inside.

William sets to work immediately, going to every window in the house and pulling the blinds shut. He starts at the back of the house with his office and moves on from there, making sure not even a sliver of light remains. From any angle, it's impossible to see outside. Most importantly, that means no one outside can see in. Just as he is debating how to cover the front door window, a car pulls into his driveway. He watches in silence, waiting for the figure inside the car to get out.

Dr. Alejo runs up the path to the front door. William opens it before she can reach for the doorbell and welcomes her inside. Her clothes and hair are soaked from the rain. She looks like a drowned kitten. Sounds like one, too, as she makes noises of frustration and wrings out her hair on William's front carpet.

"Please, make yourself at home," William says.

"Sorry," Dr. Alejo responds flatly. Leaning onto her toes, she peers around William's shoulder and scans the hall.

"This way." William leads her to his office. The air gets colder as they approach. He pushes open the door and motions for Dr. Alejo to go in first.

Danny waits for them on the couch. Dark bags rest under his eyes. They look like bruises against his pale skin. William isn't surprised. He did have to stay invisible for three hours, after all.

"Did it work?" he asks.

Dr. Alejo joins him on the couch, flopping onto the empty seat. Her wet clothes make the leather squeak. "Congratulations, you're possessed."

William is not naïve enough to say that Danny relaxes at those words, but there's a visible shift. He sinks into the couch and lets out a slow, controlled breath. There is still an immense amount of pressure weighing down on him—on all of them—but some of that burden has now lifted.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you so hard," Danny says.

William shrugs. "I'm alright. It helped sell the bit." He sits down on Danny's other side. The couch isn't quite big enough for three people to sit comfortably, but no complaints arise.

Danny leans over and rests his head on William's shoulder. "Now what?"

An excellent question. One that none of them has an answer to. William meets Dr. Alejo's gaze over Danny's head. She shrugs back at him. No matter. They will come up with an answer eventually. For now, everyone thinks Danny Fenton is missing. They have all the time they need.

[kinglazrus]

In Case of Emergency

Chapter 12: One Thing After Another

Previous | Next | AO3 | FFN

Chapter Summary: The dead rise and the truth comes out.

Chapter word count: 3273

—

The problem with being dead is that it's a lot like sleeping. Most of the time, you don't realize you ever were asleep until you wake up. This probably isn't a problem for most people. Most people want their death to be like falling asleep. No pain, no heartache. Just a quiet drift into darkness and then—nothing. The difference is, they don't get to know they are—or were—dead. They don't get to wake up.

Danny wakes up feeling like he went a hundred rounds with Pariah Dark, sans Ecto-Skeleton. He isn't even sure he's awake, at first. The last thing he remembers was pain and popping sparks, and now he's here. In a dark, cold room, alone. Seemingly alone. He almost thinks he is dreaming until something clatters to his left. Danny shoots upright, spinning toward the noise with a glowing palm outstretched. The pale light outlines the silhouette of a person. They are standing too far away for the light to properly shine on them. Danny hesitates. This could still be a dream. He raises his palm, molding the ectoplasm into an orb of light that brightens the whole room.

A morgue. The morgue. And, the silhouette standing to his left, the doctor. Danny rips the ball of ectoplasm out of the air, snuffing it out in his bare palm, but it's too look. They made eye contact. The sight of her grinning face is burned into his mind. Danny can't remember anyone ever looking at him like that. Not just happy but ecstatic, so overjoyed that they look like they might burst. There's a soft thump as the doctor steps forward. Danny reels back. His ghost half might give him better senses, but he still needs some light to see, and the morgue is completely dark. A windowless room in a basement.

Another thump. He slides back again, searching for something to brace himself on, and his hand meets open air. He flails, tries to catch himself, but it's too late. He leans too far over. With a yelp and a loud smack, Danny falls to the floor. Something soft flutters over him, landing on his head.

More noises. A clink. A thud. A click. And then, finally, a light right on his head. Danny squints as his eyes adjust. He grabs the sheet draped over him and pulls it down. A penlight shines inches from his nose. He smacks the hand holding it, knocking the flashlight away. It hits the floor with a clatter and rolls a few inches, but the beam ends up facing them.

Above Danny, the doctor leans over the autopsy table with that same grin on her face.

"Hello, Phantom. You're early for your appointment."

Danny's stomach sinks.

—

William has had a lot of time to think over the past twenty-four hours. First getting the call from Dr. Alejo, his frantic drive down to the hospital, and then the bizarre experience of watching a ghost get medical treatment. The equally bizarre—and worrisome—moment of learning that ghost is alive. Now, he is here, sitting in a waiting room waiting for a dead student's parents. And that student just happens to be the local hero, Danny Phantom. William's mind reels with the revelation. Despite having plenty of time to think it over, he can't seem to absorb the idea.

A part of him thinks he's fooling himself, making leaps of logic where there are none to be found. If the incidents had happened weeks apart, or even a few days, he may not have come to that conclusion at all. But he saw the bruises. He should have checked Danny's shoulder. He could have gotten the bruises from anywhere, but if he had the same wound on his shoulder, that would cinch it. It's too late now, however. If William is wrong with his connection, then Phantom will turn up again at some point and he can try and reconnect with the ghost.

If William is right, then it doesn't matter. Because Danny is dead. That is what makes it hard to accept. William has so many questions about this but he will never get an answer to any of them. He simply can't comprehend how Danny could be alive and dead at the same time and needs someone to explain it to him. It explains so much in hindsight. The tardiness. Skipping classes. Always losing his homework and falling asleep in class. Phantom is like a thread that stitches all of Danny's troubles together into a solid picture

William is in the middle of these thoughts when the power goes out. The lights flicker and pop, and then go out all at once. A nurse at the station shouts in surprise, smacking the side of her computer monitor. Concerned whispers rise amongst those in the waiting room. Before anyone can get too panicked, however, the lights come back on. In total, they were only out for thirty seconds at most. William watches the overhead lights for a moment. They hold steady. William shrugs and goes back to watching the door.

Ever since Dr. Alejo left, he has kept his eyes on the entrance. Waiting for the Fentons. He has to leave at some point. He doesn't want to, but the school day will be over soon and there are responsibilities he has neglected. But... what if the Fentons take another hour to get here? Another two? What if they don't show up for the rest of the day? As abhorrent as William finds that possibility, it seems likely at this point. What will he do, then? He wants to stay here with Danny until they arrive, but that's the thing. There is no Danny anymore.

William drags a hand down his face. Thirty years of teaching and he has never felt so tried in his life. It's not the first time he has lost a student, but this is different. This is Danny. He scans the waiting room one last time. It's been a couple of hours since he last spoke to a staff member, barring Dr. Alejo. In practice, William shouldn't even have been told about Danny's death without his family's consent. He thinks the nurse that informed him only did it because he made such a sad sight waiting to hear something.

Judging by the subtle glances that same nurse has been giving him every time she passes, he still makes a sad sight.

William eyes the door. If he just waits for another minute, surely the Fentons will arrive. Isn't that the way things go? The second you leave, the thing you want to happen finally does. But no. William is only fooling himself. The Fentons, for whatever reason, aren't coming any time soon. With a weary sigh, he pushes himself to his feet. He doesn't have his wallet or phone, having had no time to grab them before getting in the ambulance. It's a long walk back to the school so he had better start now.

He is on his way out the door when Dr. Alejo calls for him.

"Mr. Lancer!"

A sense of déjà vu washes over him when he sees her standing by the side hall with a bundle in her arms. He thought she had gone home already. After telling her about Danny's death, Dr. Alejo quietly excused herself and disappeared. He thought wrong, apparently. William lets Dr. Alejo come to him.

"I need to talk to you," she says.

"Is it urgent?" William asks.

"It's literally a matter of life and death."

William thinks that's a bit of an exaggeration, although they are in a hospital. He indulges her anyhow. After the first turn, he realizes they are taking the same path through the hospital they took yesterday. William has no interest in seeing Danny's dead body.

"Dr. Alejo, I don't think—"

"How much do you know about Danny?" Dr. Alejo asks.

William pauses. "Which one?"

Dr. Alejo takes a deep breath. "Either one."

"That's an odd question. Why would you—" William's eyes narrow. Dr. Alejo examines the ceiling tiles while he stares at her. She plays casual, tucking her hands into her pockets and rocking back and forth on her feet. She even starts whistling a tune. Several times throughout her little charade, her gaze darts to William.

"Do you– do you know?" He lowers his voice to a whisper, wary of the other staff moving around them.

Dr. Alejo squints at him. "Do you know?"

William grabs her arm and drags her forward, finding the staff elevators off the hall. "I know what I know. But do you know what I know?"

"I can't tell you that unless you tell me what you know."

"Well, I can't tell you"—William shakes his head—"Stop that! I think we both know what we know. What did you want to talk to me about?"

The elevator door dings. William never saw her call for it. She ushers him inside and hits the button for the basement.

"The power won't go out again while we're in here, will it?" he asks. The thought of getting trapped in an elevator on top of everything else that has happened today doesn't appeal to him.

Dr. Alejo shakes her head. "It was a one-time thing. There was an electrical disturbance of some kind. You'll understand in a minute."

William finds that unlikely, but as long as the elevator will not stall on them, he doesn't care. The elevator doors open and he steps out first, immediately turning toward the morgue. He can only assume that's why Dr. Alejo is bringing him down here.

"Are you allowed to do this?" he asks.

"I've done a lot of things I'm not allowed to, today."

William takes that as a resounding "no." They pass the first morgue—the functional one, if William remembers right—and head straight for the door at the end of the hall. Phantom's morgue. William's stomach twists. Passing that first door has assured him that he at least isn't down here to see Danny's body. Still, the thought of being here, so close, unsettles him.

Dr. Alejo probably wants complete privacy, and what better way to get it than to go to a room no one uses? She stops at the door, gripping the handle. "Before we go in, I need to know. Do you really know what I know?"

They take a moment to size each other up. Realistically, William can't say yes unless she tells him what she knows. But she can't. Nor can William tell her what he knows. The secret is too big. Isn't theirs to share. That in and of itself is why he can say yes. He sees the same determination in Dr. Alejo's eyes that he feels. The desperation to hold on to this secret no matter what because they owe it to Danny. Dr. Alejo must see the same thing in him. She nods, slowly. It's more of a tilt of her head but that's all William needs. He nods back.

Dr. Alejo opens the door.

This time, William doesn't hesitate to follow her inside. What he sees makes his heart stop. Danny on the autopsy table. Danny sitting up on the autopsy table, with only a sheet draped over him and a fresh scar on his chest. Danny hasn't noticed them. He stares at the scar, touching the tender skin with gentle fingers. It looks fresh. Somewhat healed, but fresh. Bright red and puckered. He did not have that scar before when William saw his bare chest as Phantom. Nor did he have it in the ambulance.

"Am I dead?" Danny asks. It sounds rhetorical. He has yet to look up and notice them, tilting his head as he examines the rest of his body. The bruises on his chest are gone. The injury on his shoulder, which William saw Dr. Alejo stitch up, is healed as well. A dozen new scars litter his body, all in places William knows were fresh wounds only yesterday. His eyes keep going back to the incision on Danny's chest, though.

"Not anymore," Dr. Alejo declares.

Danny jerks at the sound of her voice. He spots William and shouts. "That's my teacher!" Danny scrambles, grabbing the sheet covering his lower half and pulling it up to his chest. "Oh my god, Mr. Lancer, what—what are you doing here? Why is my teacher here?" Danny drags a hand through his hair. "I died. I'm dead right now and this is some kind of chemical fever dream. That happens when you're dying, right? A last burst of endorphins or whatever. This is the worst death dream ever."

"You're not dead," William says. More of a general statement than an answer to Danny's question, but it functions just the same. He steps further into the room. Danny isn't dead. He's alive and right there and healed.

Danny clings to the blanket as William approaches.

"Doc hasn't explained anything yet," Danny says. "Did I– was I... I remember being at school. And. It hurt. A lot. And there was..." He raises his hands in front of his face, flexing his fingers. "And now I'm here. You"—Danny points at Dr. Alejo—"are a very freaky person to wake up to. And it's rude to run away from someone right after they wake up like that. You better stick with dead people because I would feel very sorry for any patients of yours."

"Good thing you're my patient, then," Dr. Alejo chirps. "Keeping with the whole 'dead people' theme."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Danny says.

"So I just hallucinated seeing ectoplasm stitch your insides back up? Not to mention the ghost heart or whatever that was. And the ball of glowing green light from your hand."

"When did you see my insides?!" Danny hugs himself tightly, leaning away from Dr. Alejo.

"Where do you think you got that scar?"

"I'm still hoping this is a shitty death dream!"

William reaches out and touches Danny's shoulder. His skin is warm. There is colour in his cheeks. Breath in his lungs. Danny Fenton is alive. He wants to throw his arms around the boy and pull him into a bone-crushing hug but thinks better of it when he remembers the sheet. William backs away and turns around.

"What happened to his clothes?" he asks.

Dr. Alejo shrugs. "You can't do an autopsy through clothes."

Danny makes a choking noise.

"Here." Dr. Alejo tosses the bundle she is holding toward Danny. "EMTs had to cut off your sweater, so that isn't here. Blood got on your sweatpants during surgery since there wasn't time to change you into a gown. That's considered a biohazard, so we have to dispose of them. That'll have to do."

Danny grumbles. Dr. Alejo also turns to face the wall. There is rustling behind them as Danny changes, accompanied by a few low groans.

"How do you feel?" Dr. Alejo asks.

"Sore all over. But just sore. Done."

William and Dr. Alejo turn back around. Danny holds out his arms, showing off the patient gown and Dr. Alejo's red jacket. "Well?"

Dr. Alejo presses a hand to her chest. "I always wanted a little sibling to play dress-up with."

"You disturb me on so many levels." Danny hops up onto the autopsy table and pulls up his legs, crossing them "Do I get to leave now?"

"Yes," William says.

"No," Dr. Alejo says. "Danny, you were dead. You were declared dead earlier today and now you're not. There's nothing legal you would have to worry about for that yet, but medically speaking, this needs to be explained. I don't think the hospital is going to just let you go. There's also one other matter we need to worry about."

"You mean like the fact that you autopsied me?"

"You were dead, it's fine. I'm more worried about you being Phantom than anything," she says.

"What? That's crazy! You're crazy! I'm not a ghost! Why would you even think that?"

"Ectoplasm. Ghost heart. The fact that you were dead and now you're not. Your revival caused a temporary blackout across the whole hospital." Dr. Alejo pauses and taps her chin. "There's also the fact that you transformed in my car the first day I met."

Danny's jaw drops open. "You– you saw that?"

"I literally could not ignore it."

"But you didn't say anything!"

"You seemed stressed enough by that point."

Danny sputters. He makes several false starts at some kind of rebuke, but his words fail him. What on Earth could he say to that? William would be just as lost in his place. As if only just remembering William's presence, Danny faces him.

"She's lying," he says. "She's crazy. A ghost must have gotten to her. Call my parents. Call the GIW. She needs help."

"Danny." William uses his best disappointed teacher voice. It works, even in a setting as strange as this.

Danny shrinks in on himself and mumbles under his breath. "She could be crazy."

"I already know," William says. He fears they are going to have a repeat of last night. Danny gives him the same horrified look as he did then, only through bright blue eyes instead of green. If Danny were in better health, William is sure he would have fled. He doesn't, though. Despite his wounds being healed, he still looks exhausted. Danny had been dying and said he was tired; William can only imagine what 'sore' must be a stand-in for.

"You do?" Danny's voice is small and quiet.

"Yes."

"How?"

"The bruises."

Danny pulls the collar of his gown back and peers at his chest. The bruises are still gone, of course.

"I was there while they were trying to revive you. I saw them when they cut off your sweater. After what I saw last night, it didn't take much to connect the dots," William says.

"You were there?"

"I've been with you all day."

Danny plays with the zipper of Dr. Alejo's jacket. William desperately wants to know what's going through the boy's mind at this moment. Is he still upset about last night? Is he upset about right now? William would not blame him.

Finally, Danny speaks. "You don't sound shocked."

"I've had some time to adjust." He will need more time, of course. Before, Danny had been dead dead. It had been shocking, but as far as William knew, it didn't matter anymore. Now, however, it matters. Now, Danny is alive. Or partially dead. Half dead? He will have to ask, later during a less stressful time, what Danny prefers to call his situation.

"What are you going to do?" Danny asks.

"Nothing you don't want me to, I suppose."

Danny's shoulders sag. William had not realized Danny was holding himself so tense until the tension bled out of him. It's sad, William thinks. What kind of life must Danny leave if this secret tears at him so much?

"Your parents," William says, coming to a realization.

"They don't know, and I don't want them to."

"About that," Dr. Alejo interrupts. She grabs a binder balanced on the edge of a sink and flips it open. Her finger drifts down the page as she reads. "The surgeons reported finding ectoplasm in your body while they were repairing your bleeds. We have protocols for stuff like this ever since ghosts started attacking."

"And?"

Dr. Alejo snaps the binder shut. She makes eye contact with each of them, her expression grim. "They called the Guys in White."

—

Next

[kinglazrus]

In Case of Emergency

Chapter 8: Familiar Yet Not the Same

Previous | Next | AO3 | FFN

Chapter Summary: Lancer worries about a different Danny while the boy in question endears himself to yet another medical professional, even if he isn't aware of it.

Chapter word count: 2805

—

How does one go about finding a ghost? William doesn't have an answer to that question, but he needs one. He can't forget Phantom's face right before he disappeared. So much panic in his eyes. If William's assumption is right, he can't blame the boy. How must a secret like that weigh on someone so young? He has other concerns, too. What happened to Phantom to make him like this? Does he have a family that thinks he's dead? As an avid reader, a hundred explanations pass through his mind: experiment gone wrong, accident, someone who died but didn't stay gone. Experiment gone right. That last one makes him shudder.

The questions keep William awake all night. By the time his morning alarm goes off, his eyes burn from the lack of sleep. He is tempted to call out of work, so emotionally drained from yesterday's events, but he can't do that to his students. Plus, if he goes in, there's a chance he could see Phantom. It's slim, especially after last night, but not impossible. At the very least, he would like to catch a glimpse of Phantom, just enough to know if he's okay.

William hopes he is taking his meds and resting as Dr. Alejo instructed. He should speak to her some time today. Phantom being alive changes a lot when it comes to his treatment, or so William assumes. The dead can't die again, but Phantom can.

"Please be okay," William whispers to himself on his drive to work.

—

The school day begins normally. William doesn't have a class during the first period, so he decides to spend the hour in the office, taking care of some administrative matters. He has some messages from fussy parents, book orders to go over for next semester, and the librarian wants to start an afterschool program. Principal Ishiyama has the final say on every task, but William likes to go through everything himself before passing it along to her.

He sits with the secretary rather than in his private office. She is good company, even if they spend most of the time working in silence. Halfway through the period, the silence breaks.

"Note?" Ella says.

William doesn't look up from his work until he hears a ragged voice reply.

"Hi, Mrs. Carrol. I don't have one."

Danny Fenton stands in front of the administrative desk, head bowed. If William thought he sounded bad, he looks even worse. Bags under his eyes, a pallor to his skin. It's a humid day, thanks to the rain yesterday and the storm they are expecting again tonight. Too hot for anything other than t-shirts and shorts, but Danny wears a dark hoodie and baggy sweatpants. Despite how much Danny has grown over the years, he has yet to reach his father's great height. The hoodie—Fenton brand—looks several sizes too large for him. It makes William think of a child playing dress-up with his father's clothes.

"Are you sick, Mr. Fenton?" William asks.

Danny's head whips toward him, eyes blown wide. He takes a step back toward the door, a reaction that shocks William. He likes to think that he and Danny get along fairly well for a teacher and student, even if he does have to reprimand the boy from time to time. He wasn't lying yesterday when he said Danny is his favourite student. Only last week Danny had come to William during his spare for help on his poli sci essay.

Danny drops his stare after a moment, lowering his gaze to the floor. "I'm fine. Didn't sleep well."

"I see. Is that why you're"—William checks the clock—"twenty minutes late to school?"

Danny nods.

"With no note." Ella's voice is stern. "I told you to make sure you have a note next time."

"I remember," Danny mumbles.

William rises from his seat. "It's alright, Mrs. Carrol. He clearly isn't feeling well. I'm sure we can give him a pass this once."

Ella scowls. "Pardon me, Mr. Lancer, but Danny Fenton has the most tardies out of any student in Casper High, probably since the school first opened. He has gotten enough passes."

William reaches out to set a hand on Danny's shoulder, but the boy flinches away. William's hand hangs in the air a moment before he lowers it back to his side and tucks it in his pocket as if that's what he meant to do all along.

"It's fine. Mrs. Carrol," William insists.

She drops the subject, although the scowl doesn't leave her face. As William ushers Danny out of the office, he hears the secretary mutter, "That boy isn't worth the trouble." The door falls shut behind them.

"You didn't have to do that," Danny says.

"And yet, I did."

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Danny mutters.

William raises an eyebrow at that remark but holds his tongue. Danny had spoken under his breath and didn't mean for William to overhear. The comment stings, but Danny is going through something right now. William can let it slide.

"What class do you have right now?" he asks instead.

"Health, I think. Or gym. I don't know if it's a gym day."

"It is."

Danny groans.

"Mr. Fenton, if you're not feeling well, you should go to the nurse. Or I could call your parents for you."

"No!" Danny finally meets William's eyes. "You can't tell them!"

"Inside voice," William reprimands out of habit. He stops in his tracks when he finally registers Danny's words. "Is something wrong at home?"

"No. Yes. Sort of." Danny scuffs his shoe on the floor. It looks like he has gone back to avoiding eye contact. "I just don't want to disappoint them."

It's a common feeling among many of William's students. He checks the time on his phone. "There's fifteen minutes before next period. Why don't you go sit in the nurse's office until the bell? Gym class is all about physical health, after all. It wouldn't do to have you straining yourself, especially when you've already missed this most of the period."

"Are you sure?"

"It's enough time for a half-decent nap."

"I don't need that," Danny insists. He grimaces and presses a hand against his chest. "Maybe I do. Thanks, Mr. L." He heads off toward the nurse's office, leaving a stunned William behind him. Something about the way Danny said that just now... he shakes his head. Leaps of thought, while helpful at times, can also be a scholar's worst enemy. Nothing can set you up for failure more than making assumptions without concrete evidence. Still, he can't help but watch Danny limp out of sight.

—

William returns to the office.

"Ella, can you call Sam Manson and Tucker Foley down?" he asks the secretary. "And have Mr. Falluca cover the start of my next period. There are some workbooks in my desk drawer that he can hand out to the students."

"Yes, sir," Ella says. Her voice rings out over the intercom. "Samantha Manson and Tucker Foley are to report to the front office immediately. Manson and Foley to the office."

Two minutes pass before the first of them arrives. Looking through the window in his door, William watches Tucker trudge into the office, backpack over his shoulder. Ella points him towards William's office and Tucker's face falls. By the time Tucker slips through the door, William is seated at his desk.

"Mr. Foley," William greets him.

"Hey, Mr. Lancer. Uh, if this is about that virus in the computer lab, I swear it wasn't on purpose. And I fixed it right away!" Tucker says.

"I wasn't aware of any virus on the computer lab."

"Oh. Don’t worry about it, then." Tucker slinks toward one of the two available seats in front of William's desk. He shoves his backpack under the chair and gets comfortable, crossing his legs on the seat. "Am I in trouble or something?"

"Let's wait until Ms. Manson gets here before we begin."

A few minutes pass before William's door opens again and Sam ducks her way inside.

"Sorry. Gym was outside today; someone had to come and get me," Sam says.

"Was he..." Tucker asks.

Sam shakes her head.

"Mr. Fenton is in the nurse's office," William says, hazarding a guess at who they are talking about.

Sam jumps to William's desk, slamming her hands down. "He's here? Is he hurt?"

"He insisted that he's fine, just tired. I sent him to the nurse's office to wait out the rest of the period."

Sam glances and Tucker and the two of them exchange nods. William suspects Danny will be in for an earful the next time he sees his friends.

"So, why are we here?" Sam takes the seat beside Tucker.

William carefully considers how to say what he wants to say. Technically speaking, what he wants to ask them isn't appropriate. Danny said his piece and, as a teacher and authority figure, there are steps for William to take if he has concerns about Danny's home life. But there's something about the situation that bothers him. He has to be sure before he does anything drastic.

"I'm aware that Daniel is..." He searches for the right word but can't find it. "There are things going on in his life that most people are not privy to, but they see the results of those things and make assumptions. I would like to avoid that."

He watches their reactions carefully. Tucker's hand slips into his pocket, where he likely has some kind of electronic device. He doesn't pull it out, just grabs it in his hand and squeezes it tightly. Knowing Tucker's affinity for technology, it's not a reach for William to assume this is some kind of comforting action. Sam, meanwhile, straightens in her seat and lifts her chin. She looks very much like her mother at that moment, nose turned up, eyes criticizing. Unfortunately for Sam, William has had plenty of experience dealing with her mother and that stare is not as effective as she thinks.

"I know what kind of person Daniel's sister was. She would not, under any circumstances, put up with him being injured in their home. But he is injured. You three think you hide it well, but you don't. All I ask is that you watch out for him. And remember that there are adults you can trust, myself being one of them. I would like to help if I can, but I need you to meet me halfway."

Having said his piece, William leans back in his chair and folds his hands over his lap.

"Take a moment and think it over."

They take several, waiting out the last few minutes of the period. Neither Sam nor Tucker say anything, but they exchange loaded looks, speaking without words the way only the closest friends can. Even if nothing comes of this meeting, William is glad he can at least see that Danny has some kind of support system. The boy needs one. Not unlike another Danny that he knows.

"We don't know what you're talking about," Tucker says after a long silence.

William expected this, but he still feels disappointed. He makes sure the two students before him know as much, giving them his best disapproving frown. Sam remains unmoved. Tucker squirms.

"But... if we did—"

"Tucker!" Sam hisses.

"—if we did know what you're talking about, which we absolutely don't because Danny has never even gotten a paper cut—"

Sam slaps her hand against her face.

"—we would tell you that Danny is okay. Things can be rough sometimes, but he's always okay in the end." Tucker bites his lip and looks away.

"I see." William mulls over Tucker's words. Considering the circumstances—William could face serious repercussions for calling students down to ask about another's home life—he appreciates that Tucker gave him anything at all. "Thank you for speaking with me. I won't hold you back from class any longer. Mrs. Carrol can write you both notes to explain why you're late. Just don't forget what I said."

"Don't worry, Mr. Lancer. We won't." Sam's tone is not a polite one, yet it comforts William. Danny has good friends by his side.

"That's all I ask."

They enter the main office just in time to see Ella hanging up the phone. She eyes Sam and Tucker for a moment before focusing on William, wearing a look that screams I told you so. "That was Mr. Falluca. He said Danny Fenton hasn't arrived at his second-period class, your class, even though I said he would be there."

She looks upon them with triumph in her eyes.

"I bet he never even went to the nurse's office. Want me to call?"

"I'll go down there myself," William says. It seems he has to amend his earlier statement. Ella Carrol is good company only some of the time. Right now, he's a little sick of her voice, and her face. And pretty much everything about her. "Please write up notes for Mr. Foley and Ms. Manson here to excuse them for being late."

"We want to check on Danny with you!" Sam says.

"I'm sure he just fell asleep. Everything is fine. You can see him at lunch, or whenever your next shared period is."

Neither one looks happy about it, but they don't protest further. William nods to Ella before he leaves—he doesn't want to be rude—and heads for the nurse. He knocks on the door and enters. The school nurse, Anthony Wyatt, sits at his desk going through some papers. He looks up when William clears his throat and sits straighter.

"Mr. Lancer, can I do something for you?" he asks.

"Just here checking on a student."

Anthony points over his shoulder with his thumb. "Danny said you sent him down. I told him to take a bed until his next class. The kid must be pretty tired. He hasn't made a peep since."

"He didn't leave when the bell went?"

"The bell went?" Anthony tilts back in his chair and checks the clock above the door. "Oh, geez. I didn't even notice. I probably didn't even hear him go."

"Mr. Falluca said he never made it to class."

Anthony kicks off the floor, rolling his chair to the doorway that separates his office from the patient room. William follows him, peeking through the arch to look inside. A privacy curtain is pulled around the furthest bed, but it doesn't cover the whole thing, leaving Danny's red sneakers exposed.

"Must have fallen asleep," Anthony says. "Poor kid. Looks like he has it rough, you know? I kind of want to leave him to it."

As an adult in Danny's life, William agrees. As an educator... he still agrees. It's hard to do well in school when you have poor mental health. But, as the vice-principal, he should check and see if Danny is up for going to class at all that day. Just to say he tried if Ishiyama feels the need to ask why he let Danny skip all day.

"Mr. Fenton?" William asks, keeping his voice low just in case. "Are you asleep?"

Danny doesn't stir. Even when William reaches the bed and draws back the curtain, he remains oblivious. William sighs. There's no harm in letting Danny sleep one day away. He needs it. He will have to call the Fentons about this, though. If Danny is so exhausted that he needs to sleep at school then something has to change at home. They can't let this become a regular thing.

Now he has an insurmountable task ahead of him: figure out how to tell the Fentons that they need to pay more attention to their son without sounding rude. He doesn't know if he can manage it. First, however, he has a class to take over. Falluca must have things he needs to get done during his free period and William doesn't want to keep him away from that any longer.

He should go.

But he doesn't.

His feet stay grounded despite knowing he should move. Something about this situation is familiar. A sense of déjà vu washes over him. It takes him far too long to figure out what's wrong. When he does, everything seems to slow down while his mind works in overdrive. William feels like he's moving through molasses as he throws himself forward. He notices everything. The harshness of the lights above him. The squeak of his shoes on the tile. The panicked breaths leaving his body quicker and quicker. The still, so still, too still form of Danny Fenton.

William presses two fingers to the side of Danny's neck and feels nothing.

"Call an ambulance!" he cries to the nurse. His body moves on instinct, pushing Danny onto his back and starting chest compressions. "He has no pulse!"

—

Next

[kinglazrus]

In Case of Emergency

Chapter 7: Where Everything Starts to Fall Apart

Previous | Next | AO3 | FFN

Chapter Summary: Danny's thoughts begin to spiral.

Chapter word count: 2005

—

Lancer knows. Lancer knows. Lancer knows. Those two words repeat on loop, echoing in Danny's head as he soars over Amity Park through the wind and rain. It started as a drizzle not long after he left Lancer's house, but it wasn't long before the wind picked up and the rain grew into fat drops. Now it pelts against Danny, plastering his hair to his forehead, soaking into his clothes. The bandages on his shoulder feel heavy. It stings every time a drop hits his stitches. The rain, combined with a relentless wind, beats Danny down. He can barely see, barely think except for those two words.

Lancer knows. Lancer knows. Lancer knows.

Danny's chest sparks. Before he can realize what's going on, he plummets from the sky. He only has a second to brace himself, wrapping his good arm around his head before he hits the ground. A burning pain tears through his left shoulder as he skids across the sidewalk and tumbles into the road. Danny cries out, but can't do anything until he stops rolling. Once he finally does, he lays splayed out in the street. He should get up. Move. This isn't a safe place to rest, but Danny is so tired. If his pain was at an eight before, it has hit eleven now. Just the thought of lifting his head hurts.

By now, his double vision is gone. It was gone by the time he woke up from his nap at Lancer's place. His headache has returned with a vengeance, however. All that rattling around as he fell. He opened his mouth to catch his breath but ends up catching raindrops instead. He is forced to turn onto his side if he wants to breathe properly, but he's not even sure if he wants to do that. Breathing, like everything else, hurts, too. He has to move, though.

Danny drags himself out of the middle of the road—a bad place to sit at any time, much less during a storm like this—and huddles against a parked car. He felt fine back at Lancer's place, but his frantic flight pushed his limits. Turns out Lancer lives a lot farther outside the city than Danny expected. The morning commute must be a bitch.

The car doesn't protect Danny much, at least not from the rain; it blocks some of the wind. He waits until he has caught his breath before checking his shoulder. The sight of his favourite jacket startles him. Danny holds his arm out, surprised to see red sleeves instead of black. Through the rain and the pain, he hadn't noticed the transformation. It explains a lot, though. Danny unzips his jacket and works the sleeve down. The bandages underneath are dark. At first, Danny panics. It takes a lot of blood to turn a bandage that dark—he knows from experience. It's not blood, though. The bandage is black.

His relief is short-lived. Danny peels the tape off and pulls the bandage up, leaning out of the car's shadow and into the nearest pool of light from the streetlamps. The skin underneath glistens red. There's too much blood for him to see the state of the stitches, but he assumes it's bad.

"Shit," he mutters. "I'm such an idiot."

Every decision he has made since saving the doctor has been a mistake. Going with her, calling Lancer, he never should have done any of it. But that's what Danny does. He wrecks things. He wrecked the future, once. He wrecked the past by putting everything in motion with that stupid portal. And now he's wrecking the present with his own stupidity. Danny never should have gone with the doctor in the first place. He has enough experience treating his own wounds. Everything would have been fine. But it's too late. And now... Danny doesn't know what happens now. If Lancer calls the Guys in White, or Danny's parents, it's all over. He will spend his last days splayed out on a dissection table. At least he will get to see what his insides really look like. Danny's voice cracks as he laughs. What a mess he is.

It's hard to see through the rain, but Danny tries his best to get a good look at his surroundings, get his bearings. There's a familiar store nearby. A dessert place Tucker likes. If Danny remembers right, it's only a couple of streets away from Tucker's house, and not much further to Fenton Works. Maybe ten blocks in all. He can do that. He can make it that far. Bracing himself against the car, Danny pulls himself up and tries to transform. He only sees a spark of white before a stabbing pain rips through his chest, sending him back to his knees. He gasps, struggling to catch his breath—his stupid breath in his stupid lungs that he apparently doesn't have as a ghost. It hurts, God, it hurts. Not just the ripped stitches in his arm or the stabbing in his chest, but the look of horror in Lancer's eyes seconds before Danny fled. The man had only asked a simple question, but that was all Danny needed.

Lancer was too smart. He cared too much. Why did he have to care? Everyone else so easily accepts what they see on the surface. They look at Danny, his bruises, his poor attendance, and think that's a delinquent in the making. A troubled teen. They sneer and turn their backs. Just look at the other teachers, at Sam's parents. His own? Danny shakes his head. No, no, not them. They care. They care. He wishes Lancer didn't, though.

He hobbles to the end of the street, limping, and curling his arms around his stomach. What a sight he must make for anyone looking through their windows. The great Danny Phantom, humbled by a few tonnes of concrete. Pathetic. As he hobbles home, he wishes he could be in ghost form. Judging by the state of his powers right now, flying would be out of the question, and he can hobble just as well in either form. But the numbing effect of his core is always stronger as a ghost. The natural cold he exudes provides a modicum of comfort, although the rain is making him cold enough. Maybe even too cold. Danny shivers—something he doesn't do much anymore—and curls into himself. He has a long way to go.

Tucker's bedroom light is on when Danny finally reaches his house. A part of him wants to go inside and seek out the comfort of his best friend. That's what a smart person would do. Another part of him, a larger and louder part, wants to go home and collapse into his bed. He should let his friends know that he's safe but telling them that would mean telling them what happened today. Telling them about Lancer.

Danny moves on without so much as knocking on Tucker's window. He wants to hold on to that horrifying fact for a little longer. If he tells his friends, then they have to deal with it, acknowledge it. If he keeps it to himself, just for tonight, he can pretend everything is fine.

Today was great. Danny handed in his essay on time. He avoided Dash's ire for a full six hours at school. A herd of animal ghosts forced him to ditch the last period, but that was okay. He managed to take them down one by one. Caught the last ghost seconds before it could ram into a nearby building. He suffered the usual superficial wounds that animal ghosts leave. They're always a little more volatile, less predictable. Like wrangling a real animal, except half the time they can throw ectoblasts.

Today was great and now Danny is on his way home to reward himself with a good night's rest. Today was great.

Lancer knows. Lancer knows. Lancer knows.

—

The first thing Danny does after phasing through his front door is check the time. According to the living room clock, it's past one o'clock. That's ten hours since he last talked to his friends. Longer since he saw his parents. Guilt makes Danny's stomach turn. They must have been worried. Without Jazz home to act as a buffer between them, his parents have started paying more attention to him. It's nice, on the one hand. On the other, it makes hunting harder. It's not easy finding excuses for why he skips class and stays out late so much.

Danny limps his way up the stairs. He tries to keep his steps light, but exhaustion wears on him. His shoes thump against the stairs. Oh. He forgot to take them off at the door. Turning back, he finds a trail of soggy footprints marking his path across the floor. He winces at the sight of it. Tomorrow, when he's feeling better, he will take care of that. On the landing, he pauses to catch his breath, leaning against the newel post. Ten more feet. Just ten more feet and then he can go to bed and let sleep take him.

A door creaks down the hall. Danny goes invisible out of reflex. Good thing, too, because his parents' bedroom door opens, spilling light into the hallway. His mom sticks her face through the opening.

"Danny?" she asks.

He shrinks, taking a step back down the stairs. Even though he is already invisible, the paranoid part of him panics when Maddie scans the hall. Her gaze pauses on the stairs. She shouldn't be able to see him, but the way her stare lingers makes him squirm. Eventually, too long for Danny's comfort, she moves on and settles her gaze on his bedroom door.

"Is he there, Mads?" Jack's voice comes from the bedroom.

"Let me check." Maddie emerges into the hall fully, dressed in her pyjamas. She breezes by Danny on the stairs and knocks on his closed bedroom door.

"Danny?" she calls again. No answer, obviously. Danny holds himself as still as possible, not even daring to breathe. "I'm opening the door."

Maddie peeks inside. When she finds the room empty, she leans back and pushes the door open.

"He's not here, Jack," she says.

"I could have sworn I heard something."

"So did I." They sound worried. Danny should show himself. Someone tonight should get to know that he is okay. He leans forward, about to drop his invisibility, when Maddie continues. "I don't know what to do, Jack. Has he always been like this?"

Jack pokes his head out of the master bedroom. He dons a frown, following Maddie's gaze into the empty bedroom. "I don't know."

"I know he started pulling away when he began high school, but I thought that was normal. Teenagers do that all the time. Remember Jazz? She became so independent after she started reading those psychology books. But Danny... he isn't like that. He is always gone, always late, and never tells us anything. I found a pair of jeans with bloodstains in his laundry last week."

Jack grimaces. That's not the standard reaction a parent should have when hearing about something like this. He doesn't look shocked, just disappointed. As if he expected it. As if this isn't the first time his parents have found something like this.

"Did we just not notice?" Maddie continues. "I know our work can be consuming but we've tried, haven’t we? And he still—" Maddie cuts herself off with a sigh.

"We're doing our best, Mads."

"Jazz turned out so good. Where did we go wrong with Danny?"

Silence falls. Neither Jack nor Maddie has an answer to that question. With a final shake of her head, Maddie turns and heads back to bed. She takes the light with her as she closes the door behind her, leaving the hall dark once more.

Danny, still huddled on the stairs, stares at the floor with tears in his eyes.

As he said, he wrecks everything.

—

Next

[kinglazrus]

In Case of Emergency

Chapter 6: The Truth, Nearly

Previous | Next | AO3 | FFN

Chapter Summary: Lancer learns something he wishes he hadn't.

Chapter word count: 2071

—

Danny once again finds himself waking up in unfamiliar circumstances. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is the corner of a house through the passenger window. Off-white stucco walls, a mauve garage door—really, who picks mauve for that—and the edge of a brown shingle roof. Shit, he thinks a second later. I fell asleep again. He starts raising his left arm but has to stop when he feels a tug on his stitches. Switching arms, he lifts his hand. The comforting white of his gloves meets his eyes.

"Oh, thank Clockwork," he mutters.

"What's clockwork?

Danny startles. He hadn't noticed Lancer sitting beside him, although he should have expected it. He assumes that they only just arrived at Lancer's house, but when he looks over, he notices that Lancer is flipping through an essay, red pen in hand. There's a small stack on the console already covered in red ink.

"Have we just been sitting in the car while you grade papers?" Danny asks. He pushes himself up on one elbow and strains his neck, trying to catch the name on the essay currently in Lancer's hands.

"I have just been sitting in the car. You've been asleep for almost an hour." Lancer picks his phone up from the cupholder and shows Danny. According to the phone, it's past seven o'clock. Which means Danny has been AWOL for hours now.

When was the last time he messaged Sam or Tucker? Or Jazz? Danny winces. Hopefully, they aren't freaking out right now. It's not like he hasn't gone long periods without talking to any of them before, but he has gotten into the habit of texting them after his fights, so they know he's okay. With any luck, they won't know he got into a fight, and they won't be worried about him. Danny rubs the sleep from his eyes and drags a hand through his hair. What a day.

"So, what's a clockwork? I'm assuming that you weren't thanking the very idea of a clock's internal mechanisms just now, but I don't know much about ghost curses." Lancer lowers the essay to his lap and stares out the window, a distant look in his eyes. "Do ghosts have a language? I'd love to study it."

Right. English teacher.

"Clockwork is a ghost. He's a really powerful one. He hates it when I use his name like that." Danny grins, hoping Clockwork is watching that very moment and huffing in his little tower about disrespectful wards. Danny is a very disrespectful ward, thank you very much, and he takes pride in that. Since the Observants want to make him out to be a problem, he may as well be one. "But yeah. About the language. Ghosts do have one. It doesn't translate well to English, though. It doesn't use words the same way human languages do."

"It doesn't?" Lancer taps his pen on the essay, leaving little red dots all over it. "How does it work?"

That's an excellent question. Danny sucks on his lip while he thinks of how to explain this. "Uh, well, all ghosts have a core and an aura, right? They're unique to every ghost, like fingerprints. That part doesn't have anything to do with the language, though. If you're near another ghost, you can sort of feel their core and see their aura well. Changes in those are how we can communicate. Obviously, we can talk, too, but when you come across inhuman ghosts, that's how you have to speak to them."

"Fascinating. How does a core 'speak'?"

"Oh, it doesn't. Cores are like—they don't change on purpose, okay? If you're hurt, angry, or happy, a ghost's core will reflect that. And then we can use our auras to be more specific. Like, um... Like this." Danny's aura grows brighter, then dims everywhere but around his shoulder. The light fluctuates rapidly, rippling over the limb, then goes dim. He does it twice so Lancer can get a good look.

Lancer reaches out, holding his hand above Danny's aura. "And what did you just say?"

"That my shoulder hurts. It's a general statement; being specific is hard."

"Is it inborn? If cores and auras are a part of you like any physical trait, then I could see how new ghosts would have to learn the language the same as any child. But, you also function so differently from us."

Danny squirms in his seat. "I don't know."

It wasn't inborn for him. For other ghosts, maybe. But halfas? They have to learn. Everything he knows about being a ghost he picked up from watching others, picking apart what came naturally to them until he found out how he could do it, too.

"Maybe we should go inside."

"Oh, you're right." Lancer flips the essay closed and stretches to the backseat, grabbing the rest of his work. "I wasn't sure if I could move you and I didn't want to wake you up. Do you need any help?"

Danny floats off the seat and through the car, taking care not to twist or bend too much. "I'm good."

Lancer's house is nice. Normal. Floating through the doorway is still surreal, though. He's in a teacher's house. He is in Lancer's house. Inside, it's exactly how Danny expected it to be: covered in books. As Lancer guides him down the hall, Danny peers into each room they pass. A bookcase in the dining room. A shelf of cookbooks in the kitchen. Danny only catches a peek of Lancer's bedroom, but he swears he sees books stacked on the floor.

Jazz would have a fit if she ever saw that.

They end up in Lancer's office, which has more books, a desk, and a plush-looking couch.

"You can rest there." Lancer points to the couch. "It's more comfortable than the one in the living room. Feel free to look at any of the books or do whatever ghosts do to waste time. I'll just be working."

Danny nods, floating over to the couch and settling in. Just as he thought. This is the most comfortable couch he has ever lain on. Danny deserves this after being on that hard metal table for so long. He can't stretch out, thanks to his bruises, but he can still get comfortable. Danny closes his eyes. He can show his friends and Jazz that he's fine later tonight, once Lancer goes to sleep and he can slip away unnoticed. Until then, he might as well take advantage and get a proper nap in.

—

William occasionally glances up from his work to check on Phantom. When Dr. Alejo first told William what his job was today, he can honestly say he was concerned. Ghosts are already dead. They can't die again. So, what exactly is William watching out for? Unless ghosts can die again, and that in itself is a horrifying thought. Dying once is enough. The possibility of dying twice sounds horrible.

Phantom sleeps soundly for a few hours, long enough for William to finish his grading. He is on the final essay when Phantom blinks his eyes open. He starts to stretch, halting suddenly with a noise not unlike a whine, and hugs himself. William sets his pen down, loud enough to draw Phantom's attention, and raises his eyebrows in a silent question.

"Numbing cream wore off," Phantom mutters.

William nods. Instead of going back to the essay, he watches Phantom stretch again; this time, he takes care not to go too far. His mouth opens wide as he yawns, exposing a set of fangs William hadn't noticed before. Once Phantom is stretched and alert, he pulls himself into a proper sitting position.

"Still grading?" Phantom nods toward the paper on William's desk.

"Nearly done. This is the last one."

"That's a big red pen." Phantom eyes the marker laying on top of the essay. "Who's the sucker?"

"This is my favourite student, actually."

Oh, yeah? What's their name?"

"I think you'll like this. His name is Danny, too. Danny Fenton." William expects a laugh. It seems like the kind of thing Phantom would find humorous. Instead, Phantom's eyes go wide. He leans forward, far enough that he is one light nudge away from toppling off the couch.

"Really?"

William nods slowly, confused at the peculiar reaction.

Phantom turns his head, clearly hiding a smile. "I've heard about that Fenton kid. A little weird, that one. His parents aren't big fans of mine."

"He's a good kid." William rises to his student's defense. "He works hard. His sister was my best student, but he's my favourite."

Phantom jumps from the couch. "How did he do? Come on, I want to see what your favourite student is capable of." He floats above William's desk, grinning down at the essay.

"I can't show you my student's grade."

"Come ooon, Mr. L. It's not like he's gonna know. Who would I even tell?" Phantom clasps his hands together. "Please? I'm in so much pain. I need a distraction."

"I now understand why the Fentons call you a pest." Despite his better judgement, William pushes the essay forward.

Phantom whoops and snatches it off the desk, immediately flipping back to the start. "Aw, come on. Immeidately taking a mark off for his opening line? That's a killer line."

William raises an eyebrow. "'Welcome to a list of reasons why I believe Mayor Masters is being controlled by a shadow ghost government'?"

"It's very compelling. Poli-sci, right? The mayor, that's political. Ghosts are scientific. It's perfect!"

William rolls his eyes. Phantom makes more comments as he reads. He apparently has something to say about every mark William has taken off the essay. "Now that's just unfair. You can't take points off just because he calls the mayor 'Vladdy.'"

William should take the essay away, but it's the first time he has seen Phantom give a genuine smile all day. What Danny Fenton doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides, Phantom clearly agrees with boy and finds the essay fascinating. William leans back, folding his hands over his desk, and watches. Phantom looks good. No throwing up ectoplasm. He's moving around, exuberant. Perhaps Dr. Alejo's worries were unfounded. William's attention drifts, Phantom's quips and comments fading into the background. This close, he can easily see the rising and falling of Phantom's chest as he breathes.

It still bothers him. The fact that Phantom sleeps is odd, too. And his injuries. Thanks to the number of ghost attacks at Casper High, William has seen Phantom tackle many a foe. He has shot at them, punched them, and thrown them to the ground. In all that time, William has never seen a ghost bleed. They can look weak and drained, but never injured in the way Phantom is now. It's strange. unbelievable.

A ghost that sleeps. That breathes. That bleeds. It's a puzzle, one that William is almost afraid to find the answer to. He wants to keep his thoughts to himself. Phantom has had a rough day and needs his rest, but William can't help but say: "You're strange for a ghost, aren't you."

Phantom's demeanor changes in an instant. His smile drops and the essay crinkles as his fists tighten. "What do you mean?"

"I couldn't help but notice." William hesitates. He really shouldn't push it. Phantom appears uncomfortable already, no longer able to meet William's gaze, holding himself as still as possible. William shouldn't push. But he does. "Do all ghosts breathe?"

Phantom's breath catches in his throat. It's only a second, but it's a damning second. It's why William needs to ask. Because if Phantom isn't a ghost, is something else, isn't dead, then William is seconds away from having a horrifying realization.

"I– I don't–" Phantom chokes on his words.

Tell me yes, William silently pleads. Tell me it's a reflex. Tell me it's a habit. Tell me you are so newly dead that you forget you don't need to breathe sometimes.

Tell me anything except the truth.

"Danny." William swallows. He rises out of his desk chair. It happens so fast that he can't do anything to stop it. Phantom's eyes widen, just a fraction, and then he is gone. "Danny, wait!" he shouts, but it's no use. Phantom is gone before the essay hits the floor.

The room is cold. William is alone. And Danny Phantom is alive.

—

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