Ghosts in Shorts

by Marsalias

Summary:

A collection of one-shots of various lengths and various genres. Most are quite short.

Chapter 1: Floof

Jazz opened the door with her hip and struggled to the kitchen. She heaved the grocery bags up onto the counter with a sigh of relief. Usually Mom did the shopping, but she and Dad had been holed up in the lab lately, and there wasn't any food in the house. Or there hadn't been, before Jazz had gone shopping.

She put the groceries away, and intending to rest for a couple hours after such strenuous activity, made her way to the living room. That's when she saw Danny, sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. Jazz smiled, then, as a thought came to her, bit her lip.

She shouldn't. Danny didn't get enough sleep as it was, and he wouldn't be happy if she woke him. On the other hand, it wasn't likely that he would wake up. He looked dead to the world, pun intended. It wasn't like he was having a nightmare, either, so it was unlikely that he'd panic and try to smack her, either.

As quietly as she could, Jazz approached the couch. Then she bent down and patted Danny's head, ruffling his hair.

"Floof, floof," she whispered. "Cute little floof."

Satisfied, Jazz turned and left. There was a book she wanted to read in her room.

A couple seconds later, Danny sat up, blinking in sleepy confusion. "What was that?"

Chapter 2: White

Summary:

Danny is pale.

Danny smiled at the sunshine streaming through his window and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. It looked like it was finally going to be warm enough for him to wear shorts and short sleeved shirts outside without his mom, or, more likely, Jazz, getting on his case. It was a Saturday, too. Perfect. It would have been even more perfect if he hadn't been woken up by ghosts three times last night, but you couldn't have everything.

Still smiling, Danny rolled out of bed and opened his dresser. It wasn't like temperature changes, for warmer or cooler, affected him much anymore, but Danny was ready for a change. Sweaters were comforting, but shorts were freedom.

Freedom.

Once dressed, Danny bounced down the stairs. He was meeting up with Sam and Tucker in the park for lunch, and he had slept straight through breakfast. He was supposed to bring something. What was lunch-like in the house, currently? Bread. Bread was good. Nutella. Peanut butter. What else? Cookies. Were ginger snaps vegan? Eh, Tucker would eat them if they weren't. He could take the oranges, too. No one would miss the oranges. Well, Jazz might, but his parents wouldn't.

He found a bag to put his spoils in, and, shouting that he was leaving, ran out.

He found Sam and Tucker sitting under their usual tree, chilling on a blanket. "Hi guys!" he said, cheerfully.

They looked up. Then Sam fell backwards, clutching her eyes. Tucker followed suit a moment later.

"Oh my gosh," howled Sam.

"What?" said Danny, panicking just a little bit. "What? What's wrong? Sam? Tuck?" He looked down at himself, then behind himself. Had they seen something?

"I'm blind!" said Sam.

"What?!"

Then Tucker burst out laughing. "Your legs, man."

"My-?" Danny looked down again. "My legs? What's wrong with my legs?" asked Danny, slightly hurt.

"They're so white," gasped Sam, miraculously recovering from her 'blindness.' "Jeez, Danny, you have to warn us before you show up looking like that."

"They aren't that white," protested Danny.

"I've seen people at the Skulk and Lurk that are tanner than your legs."

"Dudes, I've sheets of printer paper tanner than Danny's legs."

"You've seen my legs before."

"Yeah, at night," said Tucker. "When you're... You know. Not under the sun."

"Can you say 'blinding?'"

"I hate you both," grumbled Danny. He sat down on the blanket. "Give me your chips."

Chapter 3: Loop

Summary:

Danny discovers the joys of recursive joys of recursive joys of recursive joys of...

The portal opened up without warning, dumping the ghost right on the kitchen table and ruining Danny's after-school snack. It closed immediately thereafter, disappearing into the stained ceiling. Danny was already reaching for a thermos, gearing up for a fight, when the ghost's appearance finally caught up to him.

"Wh-"

"I'm not Amorpho!" interrupted the ghost.

"Yeah? So why are you wearing my face?" Danny knew that there were ghosts other than Amorpho who could shapeshift, but he didn't know them by name.

"I'm not!" said the ghost, hands thrown out to the sides, crouching on the other side of the table. "It's a loop. A time loop. And you had better make it a stable time loop, because I don't want to make Clockwork deal with another paradox involving me, okay?" The ghost ran gloved hands through snowy hair, and, with a flash of light, turned into Danny's doppelganger. "Come on, dude. Ah heck, um, you don't believe me. Heck what did he, uh, what did I say next? I said... Three green, two red, a pink, three orange, and two blue. And a purple."

"What?" said Danny, thoroughly nonplussed.

"The gummies," said the other Danny, pointing at Danny's snack where it laid on the floor. "In the bag. Those are the colors."

"... You're trying to prove that you're from the future based on the colors of the gummies in that bag."

"Look, I'm not from all that far in the future. Like, thirty minutes, tops. And don't lie, that's totally something that you would do. I know, because I'm you and I'm doing it."

"I guess," said Danny, trying to keep both the ghost and the gummy packet in his field of vision.

"Dude, just pick it up. I don't know how much time we have here."

"Shouldn't you?"

"I don't know, should I? What part of me looks like an expert on time travel? The part that looks like you, or the part that looks like you?"

Okay, that sounded more like Danny. He grabbed the packet with his telekinesis.

The other Danny groaned. "I keep forgetting that I can do that."

Danny scoffed. "If it's only been half an hour-"

"Give me a break. I'm panicking here. Come on open it."

"How many of each did you say it was again?"

"Three green, two red, a pink, three orange, two blue, and a purple."

Danny tore the bag open. "Heck," he said, "you're right. How do I fix this?"

"Just go to the Ghost Zone and fly towards Elysium. The portal will eat you before you know it."

"Okay," said Danny, but he hesitated.

"Look, dude, if I am Amorpho, you can come back and beat me up. Just go, before the portal decides not to show up, or something."

"Okay," said Danny, finally going down the stairs to the lab.

Danny, standing in the kitchen, sighed and picked up the pack of gummies. "Finally," he said.

Chapter 4: Dimidiate

Summary:

Dimidiate
archaic : to halve or reduce to the half

It was extremely lucky that Jack Fenton did not notice that, as he turned, energetic, to go up the stairs, he swept the business end of the Fenton Ghost Catcher through his son. His son, being Danny Fenton, also known as Phantom, a ghost-human hybrid, was split in two by the net, and lay on the floor, shocked, for a good minute.

Why did these things always happen to him?

His human half abruptly burst into tears.

Phantom was up and at his (his own?) side in under a second, racking his brain for what he had been thinking of right before he went through the Ghost Catcher. When he (they?) had experimented with it before, his thoughts and intentions immediately before usually determined, or at least affected, the results. What would make his human half suddenly cry?

"What's wrong?" he asked, wincing as his voice echoed off the flat surfaces of the lab. That hurt his ears.

"They hate us so much," whispered the human. But then he sat up and dried his tears on his sleeves.

Oh, yes. That would have been on his (their?) mind, what with what Jack had been saying. Phantom, however, was ambivalent about the whole thing. Ugh. He hoped that he wasn't following the 'ghosts have no emotions' stereotype.

The thought lacked feeling, even indignation was absent. Great. He could barely muster annoyance.

Then Fenton started giggling. "Your face looks funny," he said, still whispering.

"It is your face, too, you know."

Fenton gasped, shock racing across his features. "You're right." Then, "Oh my gosh, I'm an emotional trainwreck. How are you not freaking out?"

"I don't think I can," said Phantom, standing. "Come on, we've got to go get the Ghost Catcher away from Dad."

"Wait," said Fenton, also standing, "your face-"

"What about my face?"

"You're bruised." Fenton reached out and up to touch Phantom.

Phantom jerked back, hissing at the pain the brief contact had brought him. Oh, that couldn't be good. Looked at his hands, and removed a glove before experimentally pressing down on his palm. He frowned when it, too, bruised.

"Oh," said his other half, immediately understanding the implication. "That's not good."

"No, it isn't. Let's hurry up and get that thing."

"Wh- Why don't you overshadow me?"

"Hm?"

"Overshadow me, and go invisibly through the ghost catcher? That, that should work, right? And that, that way, you won't, um..." He trailed off. "S-sorry! I'm sorry. It was a dumb idea, I shouldn't have said anything I-" He sniffled.

Phantom stared. How did he deal with this. "No... It's a good idea. Just, are you sure? The other time, I think we got really mad, or something, right?"

Fenton nodded. "Do it," he said.

.

.

.

Danny flopped down on his bed, thoroughly exhausted, but in one piece. That had been interesting. Horrible, but interesting. He was still off balance from the experience of, once again, being split in two. It was interesting to know that one possible split was emotionally unstable Fenton and physically unstable Phantom. It was horrible to realize that the Ghost Catcher could render him almost completely useless.

He sighed. He wasn't in the mood to do his homework now.

Chapter 5: Tail

Summary:

How does a ghostly tail work, anyway?

Danny cautiously checked each room in the house. He should be the only one home right now, Jazz should be out with a study group, his parents should be out setting up ghost detectors at the warehouses the Box Ghost liked so much, but considering what he was about to do, it was a good idea to check. With each empty room, his confidence grew. Having double checked the lab, Danny was satisfied.

He was home alone.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Danny transformed and flew straight to the bathroom. He did not return to human form, but instead, briefly, examined his reflection. It was, at the moment, the reflection of a ghost. White hair, green eyes, glow, an almost indiscernible blue-green cast to his skin, despite its tan. A faint scar licked up the side of his face, the only visible sign of his death. It was a reflection he had grown used to over the past few months, though he had yet to figure out how it all worked.

Well. He wasn't going to gain any sudden insights by staring into his own eyes.

He lifted his chin, and searched for the zipper of his hazmat suit. Finding it, he pulled it down, decisively. He stripped out of the suit then, gloves, boots and all, leaving him in his underwear, a pair of briefs and a singlet. He took off those as well, leaving all of his ghostly clothes to sublimate into ectoplasmic mist on the floor.

The full extent of his death scar was revealed now, a winding, splitting, lightning vine that connected the palm of his left hand to the sole of his right foot. He had seen it before. It wasn't what he was interested in right now.

Right now, he was staring at his legs. They were there, fully articulated. He had all his toes, all his toenails. He checked his fingers, his hands. They had all the bits he had come to expect. He even had fingerprints. He lifted one foot, relying on his natural, ghostly buoyancy to keep him in the air. He had toe-prints, too. Interestingly, both his fingernails and toenails were quite a bit neater than they were when he was human. They were very even, very regular, short and smooth. He didn't have any hanging cuticles, either, which was odd. He almost always had a cuticle or a chipped nail. Still, there wasn't really anything missing. Visually, he had all of the important bits, including, yeah, the important bits. Even the faint bruise he'd gotten on his knee from Dash shoving him into his locker and slamming the door was there.

He planted his hands on either side of his ribs, and dragged them down, noting the placement of bone, of muscle, of skin, down to his knees. He straightened again, and, with a sense of slight foreboding, formed his legs into his ghostly tail. It was a good deal more disturbing to watch skin, muscle, bone, and other... anatomy merge into a single mass than it was to watch his jumpsuit do the same thing.

His scar, rather than vanishing, or being broken up into segments, wrapped entirely around his tail, tapering off at the end.

He watched his tail flick back and forth for a couple of minutes. He could feel it, of course. It looked very strange like this. Everything south of his bellybutton had sort of... gone away. At the beginning, after his bellybutton, it was quite solid, but as it got closer to its end, it became steadily more misty, more transparent. He ran his hands down his sides again. He could detect the remnants of hip bones, and associated muscles, and the skin there felt mostly like skin, but past that, things became... Soft. Velvety. Almost plush. By the time he got to the end of his tail, it felt like he was running his hands over a cross between the tail of a very fluffy, very soft cat, and a cloud of mist.

The very end of his tail wrapped reflexively around his curious fingers, which he could see clearly through the transparent limb.

"Weird," he said, finally.

Chapter 6: Remora

Summary:

Can be taken as part of Mortified or my series on will-o-the-wisps, I guess.

The will-o-the-wisp cooed in Danny's ear. He giggled.

"Okay! Okay! That tickles!" he protested, leaning away from the adventurous little ghost. It's cousins (Danny hadn't quite worked out how family groups worked for wisps) peeked out shyly from behind leaves and within knot holes. They were usually more outgoing, but it was broad daylight. The wisps preferred the night.

Danny swung off his backpack, and unzipped it to pull out a bag of caramel popcorn. He pulled off the tab, and unraveled the plastic. The wisp was vibrating in excitement. Danny removed a handful of popcorn, and offered it up.

The wisp drifted down and engulfed a single piece of popcorn, humming happily. The other wisps floated over one by one. Danny tried to make sure that each wisp got at least one piece of popcorn. He might have also taken a piece or two for himself.

The first wisp (Danny thought that its name might translate as Flies-Quickly-Through-Leaves, but he wasn't sure, and he couldn't quite manage the thrill, or the color change, to say it properly.) flew back up to rest on Danny's ear. Then it made a faint inquisitive noise, and drifted upwards to brush against Danny's temple.

"Hm? Do I have something stuck up there?" He rubbed his hand over the offending area and frowned as it came away with flakes of blood and dirt. "Oh," he said. "It's just leftovers from my last fight." He ran a hand through his hair, and suppressed a grimace. He hadn't taken a shower in a while. His hair was kind of greasy and dirty. Actually, that could be used to describe his entire body. He hadn't had a lot of time for hygiene lately.

He sighed.

The wisp whistles sharply, in a hey, over here! way. The wisps converged on Danny, each of them lisping gently over his skin. Danny froze.

The wisps were largely harmless, and very friendly, but Danny's unique physiology made him uniquely vulnerable to them. They didn't mean to trouble Danny, but they didn't always realize that what they were doing affected Danny negatively. Since the last... incident, the wisps had settled on radiating pure ectoenergy and low-key contentment. That mix didn't make him hyper, depressed, or otherwise put him in an altered mental state. It just energized him, as it was supposed to.

But this was different. This was something new. He didn't know how to feel about it.

It was like they were kissing him, and the were very fuzzy and ticklish. Eventually, Danny couldn't help but laugh helplessly. Then they started to card through his hair, and he began to pur. Danny wasn't yet comfortable with his tendency to pur when he was happy. It was an inhuman reaction. Jazz, Sam, and Tucker thought it was cute, which helped, but, well, feelings didn't disappear at a moment's notice.

What the wisps were doing wasn't hurting, though, so he stayed still. Mostly still. Sometimes they would surprise him into giggles. Slowly, he started to relax. After a while, they finished whatever it was they were doing, and gathered around Danny like piles of glowing pillows.

Danny sighed, and laid down on top of them. They chimed and jingled. Danny rubbed an eye, frowned in confusion, then extended the rub to the rest of his face and hair. He turned his attention to his clothes. He was clean.

"Huh," he said. Well, Clockwork had compared the wisps to remora, cleaner fish, when he was first explaining them to Danny. "Thank you."

Chapter 7: Teeth

Summary:

Danny has some pointy teeth.

"You eat differently when you're Phantom," observed Sam.

Danny paused to consider that, lowering the half-eaten cherry from his blue-tinted lips. "Yeah," he said. "Probably." He shrugged, and took another delicate bite out of the cherry.

"What do you mean?" mumbled Tucker from around his absolutely massive bite of sandwich.

The three of them were sitting in the Specter Speeder, taking a break from exploring the Ghost Zone to eat lunch. It had been Sam's turn to pack the lunch, and she had filled up the cooler with a variety of vegetarian options, with an emphasis of fresh fruit.

Tucker had, of course, supplemented this with a meat-packed sandwich. Well, as long as Sam didn't have to deal with it, she didn't really care. Not anymore. That didn't mean that Sam wouldn't argue about it, however.

"When he's Fenton," started Sam, "he eats a lot like you. No offense, Danny."

"None taken."

"Hey," complained Tucker, with difficulty. Just about the entire sandwich was inside his mouth now.

"But when you're Phantom," continued Sam, "you're neater. You take smaller bites. You're a little slower. You eat as much, though."

"That makes sense," said Danny. "I mean, my teeth are different. You guys know that."

"Sure," said Tucker, having forced down the remainder of his sandwich. "But are they that different?"

Danny blinked slowly, then smiled, and opened his mouth wide. Impossibly wide. Wide enough that his teeth were very nearly all on the same, vertical, plane.

"Dude, that's creepy."

"Eh," said Danny.

It was creepy, even by Sam's standards, but it was impossible to look away from.

Danny's ghost form looked remarkably human from the outside, but even looking this far in underscored that it was not. Danny's lips, his gums, and the tip of his tongue were dull, muted pink, but after a centimeter or two, that color became threaded through with purples. By his throat, his mouth was swirls of pastel blues and faint teals.

That didn't touch on his teeth.

"Jeez," said Sam, "how many teeth do you even have?"

"Erhy-hoo."

"No you don't."

"You can understand what he said?" asked Tucker.

"I hoo. Eheyoh ooe."

"You do not have thirty-two teeth," said Sam, counting. "That number includes wisdom teeth, which you don't get until you're older." His canines, she noticed, while not being outright vampire fangs like Vlad's, were very sharp, as were his bicuspids. They were all very white, and very straight. "Or- heck. You do. How do you have that many?"

Danny closed his mouth with a snap. "My wisdom teeth came in fast," he said, and shrugged. "It apparently runs in the family. Jazz had to have her wisdom teeth out when she was fifteen."

"So it isn't even a ghost thing," said Tucker.

Danny shrugged again. "Them being sharp is," he said. "Not the wisdom teeth. The other ones. The wisdom teeth being sharp would be awful. I bite my cheek enough as it is."

"I still don't think they're that different," said Tucker.

"Trust me, it feels a lot different when it's in your mouth. What happened to the rest of the cherries?"

"You ate them," said Sam.

"Oh," said Danny, looking crushed.

Sam couldn't suppress a snicker. After a requisite glare, Danny gave Sam a sheepish smile, revealing a couple of those sharp, ghostly teeth.

"Okay, I'm being silly. Not as silly as Tucker, though."

"Hey!"

Chapter 8: Johnny and the Shadow

Summary:

How did Johnny and Shadow meet?

Johnny was beginning to deeply regret splitting up with Kitty-

- That was splitting up physically, not romantically, he would never split up with her romantically-

- not permanently, anyway.

What had he been thinking about?

He pulled up hard on the handlebars of his motorcycle, narrowly dodging the baton-blast of one of Walker's goons.

That's right. He was running from the police. He flipped the bird over his shoulder. They weren't even real police. Jerks.

He hoped Kitty had gotten away safely. She probably had. Her power was actually better at throwing off pursuit than Johnny's. One kiss, and, poof! The lucky stiff (could a ghost be a stiff?) was gone, tossed all the way across the Zone.

Hence the regret. Johnny just had to be the hero, and lead the cops away. He was such an idiot. Kitty was probably going to have to bail him out, or, more likely, break him out, since they didn't have any money, or anything worth trade (except for Johnny's bike, and that was probably going to get wrecked).

(Probably going to get wrecked, because he kept forgetting to look out for floating mountains, like that one.)

Oh sh-!

Johnny's narrow escape was not replicated by his three closest pursuers. Sadly, he had far more than three pursuers.

He needed a way to lose these clowns!

It was really too bad he hadn't been smart enough to drive towards a part of the Zone he knew. Instead, he, a complete moron, was completely lost.

Kitty had probably gone somewhere she knew. Heck, she was probably back in their lair, wondering where in the Realms he had gone!

It was times like these that Johnny really wished he had, like, a partner. A right hand guy. Kitty was great. Perfect! His best friend, this side of the great divide or the other. And she could fight like anyone, which was a great perk, as far as Johnny was concerned. But she wasn't a guy.

Johnny got up over the rim of a larger island, and touched down. There were trees here, great, towering, dark pines. He could hide under them, lose his tails, provided he didn't piss off whoever, or whatever, lived here.

Too bad Johnny could've had a phD in pissing people off, if hadn't kicked the bucket. If people gave phDs for that kind of thing. Which they didn't.

He glanced up an back, over his shoulder, trying to see if he was still being followed. He was. Actually, he seemed to have attracted even more cops. Damn.

He looked forward just in time to crash his bike.

Johnny tumbled. Only his instinctive flight saved him from cracking his head against the ground, a tree, a couple rocks, and now he was rolling downhill, head over heels. Gravity had changed. The local rules didn't like flying. That happened sometimes. Johnny always hated it when it did.

He came to rest at the bottom of a steep, rocky, ravine.

He sat up, and picked bits of gravel and twig out of his face. He'd had worse crashes.

(Particularly the one that had killed him.)

Well, no matter how bad the crash was, his bike was gone. He was going to have to hoof it, which was so not his style.

He got up and looked around, trying to figure out which direction would be his best bet, and did a double take when he got to his shadow. Now, Johnny wasn't a genius, not even close, but considering where the light was coming from, and how much of it there was, his shadow looked kind of... Big. And dark. And sharp edged. And sort of... in the wrong place.

He shook his head. Not currently his problem.

Without flight, he wasn't going to be able to get up the sides of the ravine, so he picked a direction and started walking down it. Hopefully, Walker's goons wouldn't find him here, because he'd be stuck. He'd have to be quiet. Some of those jerks had sharp ears. It hadn't been an issue when he had his bike, he could outrun them, but not like this. Not on foot. Not in this stupid hole.

This sucked.

"So, just me and my shadow, huh?" he muttered, nervously. "That's fine, that's fine. M'shadow's the only one that always got my back." Most of his life, he'd been alone, one way or the other. Then he'd met Kitty, and-

He whirled. He could have sworn he'd seen something move out of the corner of his eye, but there wasn't anything there.

"Freaking creepy place." Johnny took a step back, and slipped on a rock. He fell, starting a small, but loud, avalanche. Luckily, it wasn't enough to bury him. He got up.

... And heard voices.

He hissed under his breath, and started to sprint down the ravine. Maybe if he could find a place to climb out-

Too late! A pair of Walker's goons leaned down over the rim of the ravine, leveling their guns at Johnny. He backtracked, but two more goons peered into the ravine from that direction.

"Surrender!" barked one of them.

"Uh," said Johnny.

Very suddenly, a tree branch fell on one of the goons. She stumbled, and shot her baton- but it wasn't pointed at Johnny anymore. It was pointed at her fellow goon.

The baton went off, hitting and, as per the design of the strange weapons, binding, the goon. His weapon went off in turn, still pointed in Johnny's general direction, but Johny was quick to duck, and the blast hit the ravine wall behind him, causing a small avalanche that just barely missed Johnny. The other two goons weren't so lucky. The ravine wall collapsed underneath them, half-burying them in rubble.

This left just the first goon. She quickly retrained her weapon on Johnny, who raised his hands, not in surrender, but to shoot a pair of ghost rays from his hands. Now, Johnny wasn't very good at ghost rays, he'd never been able to put enough power into them to do real damage, but he could do them. Sorta.

The guard jerked back as Johnny's rays hit her, and then shrieked as a giant shadow monster rose up out of the ground flung her away, over the tops of the trees.

After a beat of stunned disbelief, Johnny stumbled backward, cursing. The shadow monster (ghost?) twisted towards Johnny, ruby red eyes glittering.

Then it shrunk, receeding into... Johnny's shadow. Huh.

Now Johnny wasn't the brightest ghost in the Zone, but he could put two and two together, and, Ancients, but he could work with this!

Chapter 9: Nights Like This

Summary:

The aftermath of an attack by Spectra.

Sometimes, when Danny was flying high and alone in the night air over Amity Park, he wondered.

When the stars were out, he wondered about them. About what secrets they held. About what they had seen. He wondered about their long lives, and the planets that orbited them. He wondered if any living planets circled them, if there were intelligences out there looking back and wondering the same thing.

When the moon shone he wondered about it. About when humans would once again set foot on its surface, and if he could be one of the lucky ones to do it.

When he could spot Mars, or Jupiter, or one of the other planets, he wondered much the same things.

But when the sky was clouded over and he'd been plagued by more ghosts than could be squeezed into a Christmas Carol marathon, well. He wondered about different things.

It was a cloudy night, and blood dripped from a shallow cut in his side. Except it wasn't blood. It was ectoplasm.

On nights like this, Danny wondered what he was.

.

The cut wasn't bad. Danny had gotten worse. Much worse. Much, much worse. It hardly hurt. It certainly didn't compare to dying.

But.

Danny really should clean it and bandage it. He should go home, and get the first aid kit. That had been his intention when he'd flown away from the scene of the fight. But he'd stopped, staring at the cut.

He was bleeding green. He always did that when he was a ghost. It shouldn't feel like a surprise. It shouldn't feel like a punch in the stomach.

But.

The ghost he'd fought tonight had been Spectra.

.

How could anyone ever care about you? Nobody knows you. You don't know yourself. You don't even know what you are.  Pretending to be half-human... You're a freak, and deluded along with it. You've seen your parents' research. You've heard what they say. There's no way for a human to have ghost powers.

And there's no way for a ghost to be good.

.

As always, there was enough truth in what she said that the rest was still digging its sinister way into his brain. Or whatever the ghostly equivalent was. Just like his fingers were digging into the cut in his side. It hurt. It grounded him. His parents also said that ghosts couldn't feel pain.

So there.

He shuddered, and continued his flight home.

It was on nights like this that Danny wondered if he was really half-alive...

... or just a ghost who thought he was.

Chapter 10: Stockades

Summary:

Anyone remember the dungeon underneath the Fentons' lab? Well...

Danny crept down the stairs into the lab to empty the thermos into the Ghost Zone. Normally, he would have phased in invisibly, but his parents had updated the security system again, and he didn't want to set it off. Especially not when one of them might be down there.

His parents weren't upstairs, anyway, even if he didn't hear the usual clinks, whirs, buzzes, bangs, and explosions from the lab. They might have gone out. Danny hadn't really been paying attention, and that was before he had to leave to fight Skulker for the billionth time.

Ancients, but Skulker was a lunatic. Who else would skin a ghost? A person? It was so gross. And creepy.

But his parents weren't in the lab, freeing Danny to quickly cross the room and empty the thermos of the day's catch. Even if they were annoying and sort of evil, they didn't deserve to be trapped in the thermos indefinitely. That would be cruel.

He sighed as the indicator light on the thermos blinked to empty, and removed it from its receptacle. At the least, he'd be seeing the Box Ghost again tomorrow. Boxy had been going crazy lately. Something about not being able to find the Lunch Lady. Well, she wasn't in Amity Park, as far as Danny knew. She was probably just avoiding Boxy.

He started to trudge back across the room, but paused halfway. What was that sound? Where was it coming from?

After a bit of investigation, and playing 'hot and cold' with the noise, Danny determined it was coming from the trap door leading down to the Fenton Stockades. Dang. He had half-forgotten they even had those. When was the last time he'd even been down there? The first time Ember attacked? That sounded about right.

Were his parents down there? What would they even be doing? He made a face as he inadvertently remembered a website Dash had forcibly shown him. Gross. No way. He didn't just think that. If he looked- No, he didn't want to know. Nope.

Danny turned, fully intending to run upstairs and pour bleach into his ears to clean his brain of that disgusting image, when he heard a distinctly ghostly vocalization. Ghost words echoed and warped in ways human ones couldn't match.

There was a ghost down there. Well. This was a great start to a horror story. A ghost, in a room full of torture equipment once used by his Dad's crazy witch hunting ancestors. Wonderful. Perfect. It was probably down there making the iron maiden grow teeth and arms, and making the rack float around and grow spikes. As if any of that needed to be more horrifying.

Resigned, Danny opened the trap door and started down the stairs, mentally preparing for a fight. With his luck, the ghost was a witch angry at some ancestor of his. Well, news flash. He'd been tortured by an ancestor, too. He didn't want to deal with this. Why was his family so-?

His thoughts cut off as he tried to process the scene in front of him. He couldn't. Not fully. It was like a conceptual collage, only one thing clear at a time. Green splatters on the floor. The Lunch Lady. The torture chair, leather straps glowing green. He didn't know they did that. His parents, wearing smocks and more protective gear than he had ever seen them in. The specimen jar full of whole fingernails. The larger specimen jar holding a dress, apron, and other folded fabric. The cuts. The dripping ectoplasm. The glistening and medieval tools.

He tried to take a step back, but his heel caught on the stair, and he fell backward with a crash.

His parents turned to him, goggles flashing in the overhead lights. Their protective gear made them seem alien. Insect-like. Reptilian.

(Or was it their actions that did that?)

"Danny, sweetie, what are you doing down here?" asked Maddie. "You know the stockades are off limits! You could get hurt."

She sounded concerned. How could she sound concerned when she was doing- When she was-

"He's just being a Fenton, Mads!" boomed Jack. "Curiosity before caution! That's our motto! Right next to 'Destroy all ghosts!' Probably wanted to see what we were doing. Right, son?"

"R-right," said Danny, unable to disguise the tremor in his voice. "I- I was just curious. Just-" his voice cracked, "wondering where you were! I'm going to- to go back upstairs, now, since, haha, it's- it's dangerous down here. Right?" He scrambled to his feet and fled.

"Be careful in the lab!" Maddie called after him.

Danny slammed the trap door behind him, and ran directly to the sink, retching all his muscles trembling.

The Lunch Lady- She was-

(His worst nightmare, just a few floors beneath his bed.)

How long had this been going on?

How was he going to fix this?

Chapter 11: Deserve

Summary:

This was from a tumblr prompt by dp-marvel94 via danphanwritingprompts. I wanted to share it with you guys on here as well.

"Danny!" Jazz held the ectogun in front of her, trying not to flinch at the red-eyed gaze of the person in front of her. "Listen to me. You don't want to do this!"

"Yes, I do," grit out the warped form in front of her. Danny's voice popped and buzzed with supernatural static. "Get out of the way."

"No," said Jazz, holding her ground. She didn't know what this weapon did. She didn't even know if it was functional. It was just the first weapon she had grabbed from the floor when she rushed into the ruined lab.

"They deserve it!" shrieked the ghost of her brother, ectoplasm spattering the floor as the lab's few remaining beakers broke.

Jazz risked a glance behind her, at her unconscious parents. They had been thrown into wall. "What-?"

"They killed her!" Incandescent rage briefly took a back seat to grief and confusion. Danny's form wavered again.

He wasn't talking about Sam. Sam was the one who had called, who had warned Jazz Danny was coming, right before Jazz heard the crash.

"She only just got away," said Danny, eyes briefly flickering green, "and she melted in my arms and she was gone!"

"Ellie," breathed Jazz.

"They tortured her. They deserve to die."

"I'm," Jazz licked her lips and blinked back tears, "I'm not saying they don't, but this isn't about them. It's about you. Can you come back from doing this?"

"I don't care!"

"I do!" shouted Jazz. "And you- You promised me! You promised me, no matter what, you wouldn't become like him!"

Danny's shape snapped back into solidity. Tan skin, white, fluffy hair, black and white jumpsuit streaked with ectoplasm, stricken green eyes. He was shaking.

Jazz lowered the weapon, and stepped towards him. "Danny-"

He tipped back his head and screamed. Jazz slammed her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the awful sound.

When she looked up again, Danny was gone.

Chapter 12: Experiment

Summary:

Another tumblr prompt.

"Look at me. You are not an experiment."

The boy on the other side of the arena showed no sign of having heard her. He did not raise his gaze from his bare feet.

Sam tried again. "You aren't a slave. You don't have to do what they tell you. You don't have to do this."

The speakers set into the arena ceiling crackled to life, making her jump. "Experiment D-5541. Begin extermination procedures."

Danny's head snapped up, eyes flaring red.

Sam blinked.

He was directly in front of her, a spike of ectoplasm an inch from her eye.

"Danny?" she said, her eyes flicking between his eyes and the glowing collar around his neck.

"Experiment D-5541, finish the procedure. Exterminate the subject," ordered the voice over the speaker.

Danny didn't so much as breathe. From this distance, Sam could see how thin he was, how pale, how dirty, beneath his ghostly aura. There were bruises and puncture wounds around his wrists.

A long sigh made the speaker crackle. "For the log entry, please note that, once again, experiment D-5541 refuses to carry out extermination procedures on a human being. This is the conclusion of trial 48. Hopefully team two will have better luck with conditioning." The last was added almost as an afterthought. "Sedating subjects."

As before, the arena filled with a white gas that soon had Sam's eyes fluttering closed.

All she could think about was how much closer the spike had been this time.

Chapter 13: Awake

Summary:

Tumblr prompt from gabbypie64

It began with a buzzing.

Valerie ignored it. Her suit always buzzed a little, the electronics humming away at a thousand esoteric tasks. She had never examined it too closely. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, as her grandma used to say.

True, the buzzing was a little more insistent than it usually was, a little louder, a little more distracting, but that was probably just because Valerie was tired. She hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in ages, thanks to the ghost kid.

The ghost kid was the reason for her sleeplessness. Not that the buzzing in her ear was mirrored by a buzzing under her skin, a nervous energy that never seemed to go away, especially at night.

She ignored it.

And it went away.

Valerie was able to sleep again. Her grades went back up. When she went to fight Phantom (or whatever that stupid ghost was calling himself now), it was when she was rested, prepared, and had him at a disadvantage. When he just finished fighting another ghost, for instance. When she fought other ghosts, it was on her own terms.

Like it always had been. Of course.

Valerie slept deeply, the sleep of the just.

She began to dream.

They started out normally, like they always had. They were dreams of going to school, or flying, of talking to her mother, of living in her old house. But, always, before she woke, they would warp into something else.

First, she'd find herself in her suit, all slick red armor and danger, hoverboard purring beneath her feat even when she was walking. Then, her perspective would shift, subtly but surely, her motions no longer purposeful, but guided, a long hand on her spine, herself, her being, hollow, only a surface.

She ignored them. They were just dreams.

They didn't go away, but they stopped being memorable.

She couldn't ignore the sleepwalking.

Her father caught her at it as he came home from his shift. She hadn't been doing anything, just slowly pacing back and forth across the living room, eyes closed.

She couldn't ignore it, but she could get treatment. Her sleepwalking episodes stopped.

At least, she thought they had. Apparently, she had been wrong, because she just woke up standing on her hoverboard, far over Amity Park, Phantom floating in front of her, a contemplative look on his face.

She tried to move. She couldn't. It was like her suit had become a cage around her.

"She is awake," said a robotic voice just behind her ear.

"Good," said Phantom. "Hi, Valerie."

"What did you do to me?" she demanded, trying not to let her fear show in her voice.

He rolled his eyes. "Right, because it's always my fault. Not. Your suit has developed a personality, by the way. Tends to happen to things with a lot of ectoplasm in them. We're negotiating. I thought you'd like to be a part of that, but if you'd prefer to sleep…"

Valerie swore.

"Anyway, where were we?" asked Phantom, seemingly unconcerned.

"I need a host to give me structure," stated the robotic voice. Her suit?

"Right. That. But you've been carting her body around at night for weeks. You can't keep doing that without her permission."

"You have done similar things."

"Mitigating circumstances," said Phantom. "The survival of myself and others was on the line."

"My survival is on the line. She will seek to destroy me if I do not intervene, as she has done to you."

"Yeah," said Phantom. "Anyway. So that's about where we are. I do have a couple people who wouldn't mind sharing body space in exchange for cool powers, their words not mine, but we don't know how compatible they'll be, so, I'm turning the decision over to you."

"What?" This was too much for Valerie to cope with five minutes from waking up.

"Do you want to keep the current arrangement with, um, Red, here, or do you want to have your body to yourself and Red can go to someone else? With the addition that Red has to tell you when they're taking you on night walks.

"Th- This- This is a ghost, isn't it?" said Valerie. "You have a ghost overshadowing me! That's why I can't move! Get out of me!"

Phantom sighed, and pulled something cubic from his belt. "Well. I guess that's your answer, then, Red. Remember what we discussed?"

Something that wasn't her nodded her head, then her suit was coming off, leaving her shivering on her hoverboard in her pajamas. Then the hoverboard was gone, and she was falling, and she couldn't call it back, where-?

Phantom caught her. A minute later she was being set down on the roof of her apartment complex.

"What did you do to me?" she demanded, shoving him away.

Phantom's gaze was vaguely disappointed. He didn't answer her as he flew away.

Chapter 14: Gone

Summary:

Another prompt from dp-marvel94!

"The monster you're afraid of turning into doesn't exist."

"What do you mean?" demanded Danny, angry and loud, his voice echoing off the far walls of the main hall of Clockwork's lair. "You're the one who showed me!" His breath caught in his throat, and he fought back a sob. "He's imprisoned here!"

Clockwork shook his head, slowly, sadly, and Danny hated how much pity he saw in those ancient eyes. "No, Daniel. He isn't. Let me show you."

Danny didn't want to follow. He wanted to rant and rage and argue. He wanted Clockwork to give him a solution. Any solution.

But he did follow. Because if he followed, Clockwork could be wrong, and then Clockwork would see that Danny was right and he would do something.

Anything.

Clockwork led him through a small door on the side of the hall and down a long, dark spiral staircase. Danny hadn't known Clockwork's lair went down so far, so deep.

"Why do you have stairs?" asked Danny. "You can fly."

"In case I find myself without my present abilities," said Clockwork. "As you have found yourself, in the past. One does well to prepare for the future."

"That's what I'm trying to do," said Danny. He fiddled with his remaining glove. He had used the other one for… It didn't matter now. It would stay gone until he could go human again and reset his ghost form.

Clockwork hummed noncommittally as they reached the bottom of the stair and started off down a narrow stone hallway. There was only one door, a heavy, barred one, all the way at the end of the hall, illuminated by a dim, flickering light.

The hairs on the back of Danny's neck stood on end. If Clockwork had been shooting for ominous, he had certainly managed it.

Clockwork glided forward, smoothly, and Danny hurried to keep up with him, his ghostly tail flicking in frustration. With a gesture, Clockwork raised the bar on the door, and it creaked open, revealing a spotlighted plinth. On the plinth was a Fenton thermos.

Danny swallowed, unwilling to go any closer, as if he might be contaminated by its mere presence.

Clockwork had no such compunctions. He picked up the the thermos, and held it out to Danny.

"Read it, Daniel," he said.

"Read what?" asked Danny, choosing instead to look at Clockwork.

Clockwork lifted the thermos again. "What does it say?" he asked as Danny flinched back.

Biting his lip, drawing blood with his newly-grown fangs, Danny looked down. The thermos was in pristine condition. The screen on the side read 'EMPTY.'

"I- I don't understand," said Danny, shaking.

"The timeline has changed," said Clockwork. "He never existed."

"But-" said Danny. "But he has to, I-" The tears he'd been suppressing began to leak from his eyes. "You'll still bring them back, right? You can still bring them back?"

"I am sorry, Daniel, but I could only save them before because their deaths were a result of a paradox. This was always going to happen."

Danny sank to the floor. "But- But that's not fair. I tried so hard and… I can't…"

"I know," said Clockwork, patting Danny's shoulder.

"I can't do this without them," said Danny, feeling small.

"You can," said Clockwork, setting the thermos down by Danny's knee, the metal clinking against the stone floor. "You will."

"I don't know what to do," said Danny, scrubbing tears off his face. "Everyone is gone. The- The- Even the house is gone. There's just a hole in the ground and the portal. I don't have anything, anymore."

Clockwork bent his arm around Danny's shoulders. "You have time."

Chapter 15: Enlightenment

Summary:

Another tumblr prompt, this one from browa123!

Parchment crinkled under the fingers of Maddie's gloves, the sound echoing weirdly off the vaulted ceiling of the ruin she had discovered floating only thirty minutes from the Fenton Portal. She wore a Fenton Ecto-Exploration suit, designed to protect a human being from all the dangers of the Ghost Zone, a tether and hose tying her back to the Specter Speeder.

Already, this first foray into the Ghost Zone had yielded more data than she and Jack had gotten in all the time before opening the portal, and more data than they recorded in a week back in Amity Park, waiting for the ghosts to show up on their own terms. Minutes after entering, they had encountered whole swarms of lesser ghosts, little creatures that barely showed up on their scanners, and to their surprise, a vast variety of ghostly architecture.

True, most of the buildings were ruins, and there were far too many stairs and free-floating doors to be at all logical for entities that could fly, but their presence had been entirely unexpected and brought up whole new lines of inquiry.

Who built these structures? Why? How? Had humans once lived here? Because ghosts didn't have the focus, the organization, or the intelligence to do something like this. Perhaps they were stolen. She and Jack had researched occurrences of people and vehicles being spirited away, most notably in places like Bermuda. But for all these buildings to suffer a similar state…

Maddie had to investigate. That meant leaving the relatively safe confines of the Speeder. Jack had objected, of course, not to the concept of entering one of the buildings, but to Maddie being the one to go. But she had talked him over to her point of view. She was the better fighter, after all, and less likely to set off any traps the ghosts had left in the buildings.

She had lucked out, too, in their choice of buildings. This appeared to be an abandoned library, or some kind of record repository, full of scrolls and bound books.

There were too many for her to take all of them, sadly. The ecto-preservation box she had brought for samples would only fit a few of the thick, dusty tomes- and she had to put them in the box. There was no telling how quickly they would decay if exposed to normal, real-world air.

She picked the five books that looked best preserved, with leathery covers and silver-edged pages. The scrolls appeared to be more fragile, even if she could probably fit more of them in the box.

Giving the room one last glance and snapping one last picture with her Fenton Ecto-Imager, she turned, and followed her tether back to the Speeder.

.

They kept the books in a sealed glass containment unit, using attached gloves to reach in and manipulate the pages, as if they were handling lethal chemicals or disease-carrying vials. For all they knew, the books could be just as dangerous. Even something as innocuous as a musical instrument could become a weapon in a ghost's hands.

Still, the main reason for their precautions was to preserve the books. The pages were fragile enough, and scans showed that the paper and parchment they were made of had a high ectoplasm content; a high enough content that, were the ectoplasm in them to disperse, the pages might crumble entirely.

Maddie and Jack painstakingly took pictures of every page. They were written, and beautifully illuminated, in a language neither of them were familiar with, forcing them to send the work of translating them to a linguist friend.

Jack literally held his breath, waiting for the linguist to call them back. Maddie was less optimistic about the response time. Jocelyn was a friend, yes, had been a friend since college, but Maddie was well aware of the reputation she and Jack had built up over the years. They would be lucky if Jocelyn looked over the images this month, let alone within five minutes of-

The phone rang.

Maddie hit the speaker button. "Hello, this is Fentonworks, Dr. Fenton speaking."

"Maddie, this is Jocelyn. Where did you get these books?"

"The Ghost Zone!" said Jack, excitedly.

Jocelyn laughed. "Right, right, don't tell me, that's fine. Anyway, four of them look like they're in Voynich script-"

"So you can translate them?" asked Maddie, excitedly.

"Afraid not! Before you showed me these, I thought there was only one example of that in the world, and no one has been able to translate it. You should get these all tested for authenticity, by the way. If any of them are legit, you have a fortune on your hands. Anyway. The fifth one seems to be mostly in Gaelic script, with some notes in Latin and Ogham. Very interesting. Subject matter seems to be ghosts from what I can tell, which, well, I'm not surprised, exactly."

"So you can translate that one?" Maddie asked, eagerly. She didn't want the trip to come to nothing.

"Well, some of it. I'm not super familiar with Irish languages. I'll have to ask my colleagues, and they'll really want some kind of confirmation about the books before they spend too much time on it. You know?"

"That's reasonable," said Maddie, even as she winced. She'd have to follow up with Jocelyn on what kind of 'confirmation' translators would want.

"Anyway, from what I can tell just by looking, this is a treatise of some kind on the 'half-dead,' compiled by a couple different authors over a long period of time. The Latin notes read like clarifications, or personal anecdotes, but there are also a lot of references to the god Janus. There's a bit much to go over on the phone."

"You can email us," said Maddie.

"How about I drive down to Amity? I'll bring my notes, and I really want to hear where you got these."

"We told you! The Ghost Zone!"

"You always were a joker, Jack. Good to see life hasn't changed you. So, do you guys mind if I come?"

"Not at all," said Maddie.

.

Jocelyn regarded the portal with guarded disbelief. "I can't believe it. I really can't. No one is going to believe this." She paused. "Were those books written by ghosts?"

"Unlikely," said Maddie. "Ghosts lack the mental capacity. It's more likely that these were stolen from people who were researching ghosts."

"Right, right, that makes sense, I suppose. Anyway, I think I've put together a good summary of what's in that book. I had to call in some favors, by the way, so you owe me. Also, you'll have to pay to get the whole thing done, sorry." She put her bags on a clean counter top, and gazed longingly at the books under the glass. "Man, I hope you can get more of those. Wouldn't it be wild to translate the Voyinch manuscript?"

"Well, lets work on the one we have now," said Maddie.

.

By the time Jocelyn left, Maddie was obsessed.

The book was about half-ghosts, a species of ghost that had to be either entirely mythical or, at least, extinct in the modern day. Humans simply couldn't have ghost powers. The science didn't work.

But the stories were fascinating. The descriptions of how 'half-ghosts' developed and acted were detailed. The logic of the ancient authors compelling.

As far as the translated portions went, in any case.

It left Maddie wondering: What if half-ghosts were possible?

How would one be made?

She and Jack spent hours pouring over the notes Jocelyn had left, staying up all night. Her visit hadn't been nearly long enough to go over everything.

Maddie felt a little guilty. She knew her children, Jazz and Danny, worried over them when they got so invested in a project like this, especially a project so likely to come to nothing. Danny, in particular, had come down several times to bring them snacks or peek over their shoulders.

Maddie and Jack, feeling guilty, and also tired, had relented towards dinnertime, and ordered pizza for the family. Then, they had gathered on the couch to watch a movie. Jack fell asleep right away, but Maddie was too wired.

"So," said Danny, his eyes fixed blankly on a dialogue-free action sequence. "What are you guys working on, down there? You've been busy since yesterday."

"Well," said Maddie, "you remember that we took our first trip into the Ghost Zone a few days ago?"

"Yeah," said Danny.

"We found those books there, and Jocelyn translated some parts of one of them for us. We think they're field observations made by medieval ghost hunters."

Skepticism and exasperation flitted across Danny's features, but quickly vanished. Maddie pushed away her disappointment. Danny and Jazz had never been very enthusiastic about their work, and she despaired of what would happen to Fentonworks when she and Jack got too old to keep it up.

Still. He was showing interest now, even if it was only to be polite.

"Okay," said Danny. "What are you guys going to do with them?" He rubbed his hands back and forth on the couch upholstery.

"We were planning on running a few tests to see if the claims made in them are feasible."

Danny winced.

"Don't worry, we'll make sure everything we do is perfectly safe," said Maddie, patting his knee.

"You're going to be playing Mythbusters with ghosts," said Danny, dryly. "I really doubt that's going to be safe."

The characters in the movie started talking again.

.

Danny had a point, Maddie had to admit. On the other hand, it wasn't as if she were testing these things on herself, and Jack was around to double-check all her calculations.

"… manuscript retrieved from the Ghost Zone," said Maddie, clearly, into her recorder, "suggests that natural portals formed an important role in the formation of the first generation of so-called 'half-ghosts' or 'doorway spirits.' The exact role is unclear at this point in our translation efforts, however, based on our own interaction with the Fenton Portal, and the fact that we do not exhibit the abilities of 'half-ghosts,' we believe the most likely cause is being 'caught' in a forming portal. If, of course, there's any validity to the manuscript's claims in the first place."

Maddie paused, adjusting some of the controls in front of her, making sure everything was in place. Jack was taking care of the mice.

"We are going to test this theory with mice. Based on our current understanding of portal physics, our current expectation is that the mice will simply die. However, we ignore the wisdom of the past at our own risk. Are you ready, Jack?"

"Just about!" said Jack, fitting the last mouse into a harness to keep it from escaping the opening portal. He jogged over to stand with Maddie behind the blast shield.

Maddie nodded, checked the cameras, and then pulled the lever to bring the portal gun into alignment. They both pulled on their tinted goggles.

"Will you do the honors, dear?" she asked Jack, nodding at the firing button.

"You betcha! Geronimo!"

The lab was filled with a flash of light, making both of them wince, and then everything went dark.

"I think we tripped a circuit breaker, Mads," said Jack, sheepishly.

"It happens," said Maddie. "I hope the kids weren't in the shower…" She tapped the night-vision switch on her goggles and walked over to the breaker box. She flipped the culprit switch. "There we go. Now, let's take a look at the mi-" She blinked at the wreck of the mice cages. "They're gone!"

They would have to revise their theories. None of them had predicted the mice being vaporized.

.

"I think I know why our experiment with the mice didn't work," said Jack.

"Oh?" said Maddie. She was working on preparing the Speeder for another expedition.

"No Obsession. To get a halfa, we need something that would have become a ghost on death anyway."

Maddie frowned. "Halfa?"

"Easier than saying 'half-ghost,'" explained Jack.

"You may have a point," said Maddie. "But that just means we'll never be able to create a halfa in the lab. We can't predict what will make a ghost."

"That's true," said Jack. "But, we agreed before, halfas would be able to blend in with the living pretty well, right? Their human brains would override most of their ghostly impulses?"

"Except for a slight tendency towards violent and possessive behavior, yes," said Maddie. "What are you getting at?"

"Well, natural portals still form all the time! And there are more humans than there have ever been. Halfas could be all around us and we'd never even know it! What we need is a way to detect them."

"You're right," said Maddie. "But how?"

"Well, in theory they'd have ectosignatures, like ghosts, right? So, we could use our regular scanners, and if a human showed up as a ghost on them, then they'd be a halfa!"

"But, Jack, our scanners never work properly. They keep latching on to Danny, remember? Ever since…" Maddie's brow furrowed. "Ever since… his accident with the portal."

Jack had gone an odd, pasty color. "You don't think-?"

"No," said Maddie, firmly. "It isn't possible."

"But if it was?"

Maddie looked up, as if she could see through metal, concrete, wood, laminate, carpet, and drywall, all the way to Danny's room on the second floor. "If it was… We'd just have to ask him, wouldn't we?"

Chapter 16: Flare

Summary:

I'm breaking the rules and doing the same prompt twice. No one can stop me.

"The monster you're afraid of turning into doesn't exist."

Maddie's gloves (white, not black, why couldn't they be black) twitched around the grip and stock of the ectogun she was assembling. It would be powerful. Powerful enough to vaporize a newly-formed ghost.

"Danny," she said, turning to face her son (if she could still call him that), "you shouldn't be down here."

"Neither should you," said Danny.

"I know. That's what I'm trying to fix."

Danny flinched. "That's not what I meant."

"I know, sweetie, but it's already remarkable that I retained so much of myself. It's only a matter of time before I-" She broke off, shaking her head. "The last thing I can do for you is make sure I don't become a problem you three have to take care of."

"Then go to the Ghost Zone!" said Danny. "Wait and see. Don't do this. This is crazy!"

Maddie sighed (the motion was as strange as it was familiar, now that she didn't need to breathe). "Danny-"

"You won't become a monster, or go crazy, or anything that you and Dad talk about! I know you won't."

"You can't know that."

"I can!"

"How?" snapped Maddie, forcing down her temper (her temper that was so much more volatile than in life).

"Because I've been dead for two years!"

If Maddie's heart hadn't been still for the last week, it would have stopped when she saw her son's eyes flare green.

Chapter 17: Tongue

Summary:

Prompt from ectolights on tumblr!

"Watch your tongue, little King, or it might get cut off."

"Better than having it grow forked," shot back Danny as he tried to squirm away from the snakelike ghost.

The ghost hissed. "Are you sure that won't happen anyway?" it asked. "You lie so much. How can you even tell what is true?" The ghost's forked tongue flicked from between its lips, lisping against Danny's cheek.

Danny flinched back, banging his head against the back of the tall wooden chair he was currently bound to. The ghost's coils shifted across Danny's lap and around his waist, their grip on his ankles tightened.

"At least my breath smells better than yours."

The ghost laughed breathlessly. "Little king," it cooed. "Do you think your iron crown will protect you?"

"I'm not a king," said Danny, struggling, "and I don't have a crown."

He didn't know what this ghost's problem was. A couple of hours ago, it had seemed like any other chimeric, human-animal mashup ghost that came to Amity Park: a cocktail of violence, misplaced anger, and superpowers. Like he would with any other ghost attacking Amity Park, Danny had come out to fight it. The fight had even been normal.

Right up until the ghost had bitten him and he found himself losing consciousness mid-punch.

He woke up here, chained to this chair, under an apple tree. The place wasn't familiar to him. He wasn't even sure if he was in the Ghost Zone or not.

Worse, he couldn't access his powers.

So, he did what any teenage superhero of questionable mortality and self-preservation skills would do: He mouthed off.

"No crown? We'll have to change that, now, won't we?" The ghost trailed a clawed hand over Danny's face, then slithered away into the surrounding foliage.

Danny heaved a sigh of relief and bent to examine the chains around his wrists and lower arms. Where and how did they connect, and how could he get out of them?

They must connect behind or under the chair, he decided, or at least out of sight. They were also very snug, so, sadly, he couldn't see a way to pull out of them.

Well, this was bad.

He looked around, trying to see if there was anything nearby that could help him. All he could see, though, were the branches of the large tree behind him, the clear area around it, and the circle of shrubby greenery around that.

Yep. Still bad.

Maybe he could break the chair if he pulled hard enough? It seemed pretty sturdy, but, well, he didn't have anything else he could try. He might as well give it a go.

All to soon, the snakelike ghost was back, a crude black crown clutched in one of its humanlike hands, a complicated array of straps and metal bits tossed over its scaly shoulder.

Danny did not like the look of either.

"Your crown, your small majesty," said the ghost, holding the piece of metal up so that he could see it.

The top came to a set of jagged, unevenly sized and spaced. On the outer sides, oddly enough, rough rings had been welded on. The work as a whole was lumpy and unattractive.

"I think it suits you," said the ghost. It was disturbing how sincere it sounded. "With this people will come from all corners to bow at your feet."

"I think you need your eyes checked," said Danny. "Or your head. Either one."

The ghost smiled, and the expression looked sick on its face. Almost delicately, it placed the crown on Danny's head. Then, lighting fast, it shoved the other thing, the thing made mostly of straps, into Danny's mouth.

Danny tried to bite down on the ghost's hand, but part of the thing was wedged in between his back teeth, and he couldn't. Then the ghost had its hands out, and was hooking the straps to the rings on the crown. At least, Danny assumed that's what it was doing. He couldn't see something on top of his head.

As the ghost fiddled with the apparatus, attaching straps to the crown, each other, and even the chair, Danny's jaw was forced open wider and wider until it was stretched to just shy of painful.

The ghost leaned back, admiring its handiwork, as Danny glared up at it, breathing heavily.

"I did tell you," it said. "Be careful, little king, or you'll lose your tongue." It reached into Danny's mouth and ran a claw across the back of Danny's tongue. Danny flinched and gagged, but his range of motion was even more limited than before and he couldn't get away. "Be glad I didn't cut it off entirely. I could still do that, you know."

The snake ghost stayed there for another few minutes, just staring down at Danny. Drool started to creep over Danny's lower lip and drip down his chin.

"I really do like you better this way. I think everyone else will, too." It tilted its head and smiled, fangs jutting out over its lower lips. "One last gift, before I go."

Without any further warning, the ghost lunged forward and bit Danny.

.

It must have been hours later when Danny woke up, because his mouth was sore and tasted absolutely foul, but the light was the same, and he wasn't hungry or thirsty, or in need of a bathroom.

In conclusion, this must be somewhere in the Ghost Zone. Wonderful.

He shifted, looking around the little clearing. It looked like he was alone, but his field of view wasn't great. He tried accessing his ghost powers again. Nothing.

His shirt was also soaked with drool, which was… not great.

His jaw spasmed against the gag, and he moaned at the resulting pain.

Something rustled in the bushes. Danny went tense. There was little he could do against an enemy right now, but at least he could brace himself.

About a dozen small, troll-like ghosts emerged from the shrubbery, carrying baskets. They caught sight of him, froze for a moment, and started muttering among themselves in a ghost language Danny didn't know. They turned back to him, eyes wide and worshipful.

As one, they knelt.

.

As was pathetically typical, Danny had no idea what was going on.

Alright, that wasn't entirely true. The little troll ghosts, and there were many more than the dozen or so he had first seen, had apparently decided to worship him. They left various offerings around his feet and decorated him with jewelry and flowers. Why? He didn't know.

Sadly, their idea of worship did not appear to include freeing him from his chains. Oh, no. Instead, they added more chains. More decorative ones than the originals, sure, but still chains.

This sucked. On so many levels.

The trolls' current activity involved a lot of dancing, singing, and genuflecting. Danny really could have done without any of it.

Then, miracle of miracles, the Specter Speeder crashed into the clearing. Jazz jumped out, wearing the Peeler, and the trolls scattered. Performing at least two unnecessary but admittedly cool rolls, Jazz made her way to Danny, and started cutting at the chains with a Fenton Definitely-Not-A-Lightsaber.

Sam stood by the Speeder doors, a truly enormous gun in her hand. Tucker was visible at the wheel.

The main chains gone, Danny pried himself up from the chair and stumbled towards the Speeder, Jazz's hand on his back. As soon as they were aboard, Tucker took off.

With Jazz's help he was able to get the gag and crown off.

"How did you find me?" he croaked. "I didn't see the boo-merang."

"Followed a rumor that a snake guy sold a king to the troll tribes on the black market," said Sam. "Apparently they worship kings, or something, but prefer them to be captive. I didn't really get it. Ghosts are weird."

"Oh," said Danny, taking a bottle of water from Jazz. "Guess they got scammed, then. I'm not a king."

Sam gave him an odd look. "I'm not sure they did."

Chapter 18: Dark

Summary:

This is a Reign Storm AU. I'm thinking of doing a longer fic with this same general concept, so tell me what you think!

Danny pushed down on the lid of the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, one eye on the Ecto-Skeleton's power level counter as it ticked ever closer to zero. Every time Pariah Dark pounded on the inside of the lid, he felt it vibrate up his arms. He was growing weaker. He couldn't hold on for much longer.

Where the heck was Vlad with the key?

The lid bounced up under the force of a particularly strong blow, and Danny pushed it back down, panting. It took him more effort than before. Something wet ran down his back and his face. Not sweat- He didn't sweat, not as a ghost, and Danny tried not to think about stories his parents had told him about ghosts destabilizing and melting.

The counter was at 1%. The only thing that gave him the strength to keep pushing the lid down was sheer desperation.

He choked out a sob as one of his arms buckled. Where was Vlad? He was supposed to come with the key! Danny should have already won. He'd gotten Pariah Dark into the Sarcophagus. He was holding it closed. Those were supposed to be his victory conditions.

His vision blurred through tears.

(He didn't want to die again.)

The counter ticked to 0.

.

Pariah's next slam against the Sarcophagus lid met no resistance. It slammed back with a crash that resounded around the throne room that had been, for so many years, his crypt. With a roar, he emerged. Never again would he be imprisoned in such a way!

He saw his crown lying on the floor, kicked to a corner in the fight, and, with a gesture, summoned it to himself and placed it on his head once again. Power strummed through his skin, making him whole once more.

But what had happened to the young warrior who had challenged him?

Ah, there he was, collapsed next to the Sarcophagus, trembling within the metal prison his magic armor had become. His aura flickered like a guttering candle.

Pariah had destroyed enough ghosts in his afterlife to know the boy was fading. What a waste. The boy was strong and clever. In Pariah's court he would have gone far.

Perhaps he still would. Pariah knew a trick or two.

He reached through the metal armor and pulled free the limp child. His flesh was soft beneath Pariah's hands, malleable.

With a gentleness that would have surprised his many enemies, Pariah Dark turned the child over, shaping him, molding him. The child instinctively and unconsciously accepted the bargain Pariah offered. Stability and continued existence in return for compliance with Pariah's wishes. It was an exchange child ghosts were predisposed to make.

When Pariah was done, a much smaller, more delicate ghost rested in the palm of his hand. He smiled as the little ghost curled in on itself and yawned, displaying small fangs. The boy put one hand in his mouth and the other on one of his newly grown horns, face scrunching in sleep.

Pariah had always wanted a son.

Chapter 19: Enlightenment 2

Summary:

Sequel to chapter 15: Enlightenment

Danny lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.  He knew it was only a matter of time.  His parents were, well, eccentric, but they weren’t stupid.  They’d put two and two together before too long.  

Maybe he should do something rather that just… lying here.  Waiting.  Passive.  

Like his homework.  He always complained about not having enough time to do his homework, yet here he was, wasting time contemplating the secrets of the ceiling.  

Resolved to be productive, Danny sat up and reached for his homework.  

He was, of course, interrupted by a knock on his door.  

“Danny?  Sweetheart?  Can we come in?”

He let his hand fall back into his lap.  Typical.  

“Sure,” said Danny.  

The door creaked open, and his parents filed in, both uncharacteristically grim.   

Oh.  Yep.  It was time.  They had found out.  

Danny took a shaky breath.  “So,” he said, smiling.  Because a smile meant he was at ease, right?  “What’s up?”

“We were wondering,” said Maddie, “if we could talk to you about your accident with the portal.”

Danny forced down what would have been a nervous and suspicious laugh.  “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?  Is it about those experiments you’ve been running recently?  The ones with the books from the Ghost Zone?”  The books that Danny understood far better than his parents, because he could read the languages they were written in.  All of them.  

Because, with the exception of the one written in Irish and Latin, they were written by half-ghosts.  

He’d been so excited, when he first saw them.  He’d tried to sneak down to lab whenever his parents hadn’t been there to flip through the books.  Knowing that Vlad wasn’t the first half-ghost was a massive weight off his chest.  He didn’t have to worry that he would slowly be corrupted and turn evil, like Vlad did.

But then he’d realized what Jack and Maddie’s near-obsessive research on the subject of half-ghosts meant for him, and that weight had piled right back on.

“Yes,” said Maddie.  “It is.  We were wondering, did you ever experience any…” she paused, clearly unsure how to phrase her question, “side effects?”

Danny chewed on his lip.  “What happens,” he said, “if I say yes?”

“We’ll try to figure out why,” said Jack.  

“What if I know why?” asked Danny.  “What if… I’m okay with it, and I don’t want you to try to fix me?”

“What do you mean?” asked Maddie, her voice trembling.  

“I mean…  I mean I know that half-ghosts are possible.  I mean, I…”  he faltered.  

“You mean, you are one,” said Maddie.  

“Yeah,” said Danny, watching both his parents warily, ready to flick invisible and phase through the floor at a moment’s notice. 

“So,” said Maddie, “so, what is it like?  What- What happened to you, Danny?”

“It’s,” said Danny, swallowing, “not bad.  I feel mostly the same,” he decided to hold off on explaining his more ghostly impulses, “I just have, you know, some ghost powers.”  

Said ghost powers decided to kick in at that moment, picking up on his nerves.  His outline wavered before Danny got hold of himself again.  

Maddie nodded, once, tightly.  “Your grades?”

Danny made a face.  “You’re not thinking that this damaged my brain or anything, are you?”  He decided to wait to mention his core, his ghostly brain, floating in his chest, and that he was pretty sure he was smarter than he had been before.  “The only reason my grades are down is because the ghosts like to come fight me, and I can’t do that in class.”

“Of course not,” said Maddie, faintly.  “Do you- The book, it said halfas-”

“That’s a bit of a slur, honestly,” said Danny.  

“Half-ghosts, then, that they often have a… alternate form.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, answering the unspoken question.  “I do.  But I don’t-  I don’t think we’re… ready for that, yet.”

“Danny-”

“You still think all ghosts are evil.”

“You just said they attack you during school.”

“Not most of them!  You don’t ever even see most of them,” said Danny.  He pulled his legs up onto his bed and hugged his knees.

“You’re right,” said Maddie.

“What?” said Jack.  

“You’re right, Danny,” she said, more firmly.  “That you’re… that this happened to you, it shows that some of our theories need to be adjusted, and…”  she trailed off, then took a step closer to Danny.  She put a hand on his shoulder, and he didn’t flinch.  “We want you to know, we love you, no matter what.  Whether you’re completely human, or half-ghost, or if you look… unusual when you’re a ghost or… anything.  We love you.”

“That’s right, Danno,” said Jack, softly.  “You’ll always be our son, even if you’re huge and green and have teeth-”

“Aaaand that’s enough, Jack,” said Maddie.  “If you-  If you want to talk about this, Danny, we’ll be downstairs, okay?  Whenever you want.”

“Okay,” said Danny.  

It took a long time to work up the courage to go down.

Chapter 20: Experiment 2

Summary:

This chapter is Lexx's fault.

In the few, stolen moments when Danny could be himself, when he could remember what it was like to think, he was not afraid of hurting Sam. He could never hurt Sam. Or Tucker. Or Jazz. Or anybody, really.

At least, he couldn't kill them.

The incident with Freakshow had proved that. What Frostbite had taught him had confirmed it. Danny could never kill a person.

Even the thought of doing so made him sick. It was antithetical to his Obsession, the spiritual core that let him exist. It was physically impossible.

What Danny feared was the GIW would finding out.

The GIW knew a lot about ghosts, but they didn't really understand them. That lack had saved Danny so far, insofar as he could be said to be saved.

But if they found out-  If they knew they were chasing a dead end-

What Danny feared was them finding out and disposing of their human test subject.  What Danny feared was them finding out and deciding to use him for something he couldn’t fight.  What Danny feared was them finding out and somehow binding his Obsession to them.  What Danny feared was them finding out and deciding that he was better used as an unliving anatomy lesson.  

But, most of the time, he didn’t fear anything.  

He didn’t feel anything.  Except for obedience.

The wall in front of him was as blank as his mind.  An experimenter in equally white clothes paced back and forth in front of it, periodically obscuring Danny’s view.  Danny did not turn his head to follow the experimenter’s progress.  His eyes did not rotate.  He had been told to be still, and so he was.  

“Alright, so,” said the experimenter to someone Danny couldn’t see, “the thing is, D-5541,” the collar around Danny’s neck purred to life, stroking at his dormant core, awaiting orders, “will follow any order unless the order involves inflicting significant damage on a human or sufficiently intelligent ghost, correct?”

“That’s right,” drawled a voice from behind Danny.  

Without an order, the collar returned to its base state, conserving power.  

“But it has inflicted that damage in the past, inadvertently.”

This was almost, but not quite, enough for Danny’s consciousness to claw its way back up to the surface.  

“So, what I’m saying is, what if this is a perception issue?  What if we block out its sensory input and just give it orders?”

“That would make control a lot harder,” said the other voice.  “Make it harder for it to operate.  Damage a lot of its value as an asset.”

“Yeah, yeah.  But if we can overcome the hurdle, we can just cut out its sensory input when we need it to go in for the kill, or whatever you want to call it for ghosts, and let it operate normally otherwise."

“That could work,” agreed the other voice.  

“Great,” said the first experimenter, stopping at the very edge of Danny’s field of view.  He clapped his hands together.  “Let’s get started.”

Danny was afraid of hurting Sam.

Chapter 21: When You've Shuffled Off

Unlike most people, Danny knew what would happen to him when his so-called mortal coil finally- heh- gave up the ghost.  The knowledge was a gift and a curse unique to half-ghosts, won for them by their predecessors.  

(Because there were predecessors.  Vlad was the eldest extant halfa, but he was not the first.)

When Danny died, from injury or old age, or something else, he would become a ghost.

“That’s not so bad,” said Danny, cupping his hands behind his head and leaning back in the air.  “I mean, I already know what it’s like, at least.”

Clockwork smiled, the expression bittersweet in his old face, and Danny knew then that there was a catch.  As always.  

“No,” said Clockwork, “I suppose it isn’t bad.  I merely thought to warn you.  While you are still young.”

Danny made a face.  “Okay, what’s the catch?  Am I going to be stuck in my old man body and have bad joints for all eternity, or something?”

Clockwork laughed and grew younger.  “No, no.  After all, I have no such issue.  Nor does Pandora.”

“What?” exclaimed Danny, abandoning his attitude of relaxation to lean forward, intent.  “You and Pandora?  You guys were halfas?”

“Evidently,” said Clockwork, his age settling at ‘young adult.’  

Oh.  Danny did not like the sound of that.  

“If you wish to know yourself when you are dead, I suggest you begin to keep a journal,” continued Clockwork.  

“What do you mean?”

“Humans,” said Clockwork, “and halfas, record their memories in their brains.  Ghosts,” he split his head open to illustrate, “do not have those.”

.

He knew his name was Phantom.  He knew he was strong.  At least, it seemed to him that some of the things he had done in the last hour or so (specifically reducing that island to rubble) should only be possible for strong people.  

Beyond that?  He had nothing.  No memory, no sudden insights, no internal urge to do something, or go in a particular direction.  

Nothing.  

Not that he particularly wanted to stay floating in this green... space.  

(He hesitated to call it that.  Space should have stars in it.  Space should be empty and silent and full and wondrous.  But that’s just a feeling.)

He was... lost.  He didn’t know who he was or where he was going.

(There had to be a reason he was here, right?  A reason for him to exist?)

A sound caught the very edge of his hearing, and he turned to face it more fully, curious.  

“Help,” cried the tiny, distant voice once again.

Well, at least he knew where he was going.

(He never could ignore a cry for help.)

.

Clockwork watched the young Phantom- and he was young again, in all the ways that mattered- change direction and allowed himself a smile.  They would meet again someday.  

And when they did, Clockwork had sixty-eight years worth of journals to give him.  

Chapter 22: At Night

Notes:

Oh, look, another~

(Posted the previous chapter just an hour ago.)

Danny didn’t actually enjoy fighting.  

Okay, that was sort of half a lie.  He liked fighting sometimes.  It was sort of a release.  Stress relief.  An outlet for misplaced aggression.  A time he could beat ghosts up and wreck things and take his anger out on stuff that wouldn’t break and bleed and die.  

But most of the time?  Most of the time ghost fights, the whole superhero gig, were nothing but stress, pain, disappointed adults and friends, and missed sleep.  

Most of the time, if a peaceful option presented itself, Danny would take it.  

“So,” said Danny, who was far too sleep deprived to deal with this, “you’re saying that you’d only harvest, uh, dream energy,” whatever that was, “from people who are already sleeping?”

“Yes, yes,” said Nocturne.  “No more little machines.  This will be all natural.”

“Yeah, and so is getting eaten by lions.  Is this going to hurt anyone?”

“No.  People shouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“It’s not going to be, like, you’re eating anyone’s life energy, is it?”

“No, not at all.  Everyone should be perfectly healthy.  No difference to their normal lives.”

“... Why didn’t you do it like this last time?” asked Danny.  “If you stayed away, I probably wouldn’t have even cared.  Or noticed.”

“Aheh.  Ha.  Well, you know what it’s like,” said Nocturne.  

“Not really.”  He was too tired to play twenty ghosts-  twenty questions- with a maybe-former enemy.  

“Wanting more of what you love,” said Nocturne.  

“I guess,” said Danny.  “What do you even want all that dream energy stuff for, anyway?”

“Oh, I eat it, and it is good for a surprisingly large number of things in the Ghost Zone.”

“Nothing dangerous?”

“Not at all.”

Danny blinked slowly at the ghost.  “You know, if I find out you’re lying, about any of this, I’m going to track you down and beat you up.  You get that, right?”

“You more than have the right to do so, this is your haunt.”

“Right,” said Danny.  He twitched, as if to shake off the weirdness of a ghost who was definitely more powerful than he was (even though Danny had managed to defeat him, it had been with a lot of help) asking him for permission to do... whatever.  “Uh.  If you’re going to stay here, though, I’m going to need to like, check in with you.  Regularly.”

“You should be able to find me here at this time, most nights,” said Nocturne, smiling beatifically.  

“Great.  Cool.  I’m going to go now.  Remember, mess with my people and I’ll beat you up.”

“Of course.”

.

Once Phantom left, Nocturne’s smile changed.  It did not shrink, but it became less gentle, more satisfied.  Like that of a fox who had been allowed into a hen-house. 

Well.  Maybe not quite like that.  Every thing he had said to Phantom was true, after all.  

It was only that he had an entirely different goal in mind than collecting dream energy.  It wasn’t every day one came across another ghost who could travel through dreams.  

Nocturne pulled a mask not unlike his own from the folds of his starry robe and ran a finger along its edge.  

He had always wanted an apprentice.

Chapter 23: Red Red Red

Vlad wasn’t like Danny.  He was stronger, older, wiser.  He wasn’t going to lose himself to this thing, wasn’t going to sink into its depths and become a mindless puppet.  No matter how seductively they swirled.  

However, there was a great distance between not being a mindless puppet and not being controlled.  A great gulf of separation, which Vlad could not cross.  

“What do you want?” hissed Vlad, clenching the edge of his heavy, oak table.  Despite being in human form, his claws were beginning to peek through.  The gouges he would dig into the wood if he didn’t calm himself would be difficult to explain to the cleaning staff.  

“Oh,” said the insufferable clown, “you know, the usual.  Money, power,” he hopped up to sit on Vlad’s desk, crossing his ankles, “control.”  He prodded Vlad’s chest with the scepter, and it took all of Vlad’s concentration to keep his ghost half down.  “I think you can provide me with all that.  And more.”

“Please.  You couldn’t keep Daniel under control when he was an infant.  What makes you think you can control me?”

“Well,” said Freakshow, “I think I’m doing a pretty good job of it right now.  And,” he patted the side of Vlad’s face, “you don’t have any aggravating little friends to break you free, now do you?”

Freakshow stood up and stretched.  “Oh, we’re going to have a fine time, you and me.  You’ve already got the whole robber shtick down, don’t you?  Answer me.”

“Yes,” growled Vlad.  

“But I suppose we don’t need to risk that right away.  It’ll take a long, long time to burn through all your cash, won’t it?”

“I suppose.”

“We’ll sample all the finer things in life!  And don’t worry about your companies.  They can sponsor the new and improved Circus Gothica.  Tell me you love the idea.”

“I love it,” gritted out Vlad, inserting as much sarcasm into the words as (in)humanly possible.

Freakshow’s manic grin faltered for a moment, but came back full force.  “You’ll enjoy it, Mr. Masters.”

The doorbell buzzed.  

“Tsk.  Tell them to leave,” said Freakshow.  

“The room is soundproofed.  I’ll have to use the intercom,” said Vlad.  One of the first things Freakshow had done upon entering was forbid Vlad from using the phone or intercom.

“Whatever.  Just get rid of them.  And don’t tell anyone what’s going on.”

Vlad grimaced, but hit the button.  “I’m busy,” he said, speaking over whoever was on the other end.  “Come back later.”  He took his hand off the button.  “Happy?”

“Of course.  Now, where were we?  Oh, yes, discussing what to do with my money.”

“My money.”

“I own you, Mr. Masters.  It’s all mine.”

Vlad watched the door silently open behind Freakshow, but didn’t say anything.  After all, Freakshow hadn’t ordered him to.  He did have to wonder who could have gotten past the keypad.  He couldn’t see who it was, past Freakshow.  The man’s cape blocked the view, from where Vlad was seated.

The door swung shut again.  Freakshow whirled at the click.  

There was a bang.  Freakshow dropped to the floor.  

“I told you,” said Samantha Manson, carefully wiping off the handle of a small pistol, “if you ever showed your face in Amity Park again, I’d kill you.”  She stepped over the body and put the gun on Vlad’s desk.  “Your problem, now.  You’re welcome.”

She picked up the staff on her way out.

Vlad sat frozen in his seat, watching Freakshow’s blood seep into his carpet.

Fudge nuggets.  

Chapter 24: Tree Topper

Notes:

Did this because of a tumblr ask.

"Here's your invitation to the truce party," said Skulker, dropping the letter by Danny's head, "and here's the duty list. Pick something." He shoved a piece of paper into Danny's face.

"You know," said Danny, testing the rope Skulker had tied him with, "you get a lot better at chasing me when you're doing it for non-murder purposes."

Skulker scowled, but Danny knew better than to take his apparent facial expression as a sign of his true emotions. After all, the face Danny could see wasn't really Skulker's. It was a mask. One the tiny green jellybean inside could manipulate as he pleased.

"What do you mean, 'duty list,' anyway?" Danny blew the paper off his nose.

"It's a list. Of duties. For people who want to attend the party. You can't possibly imagine that one ghost does it all on their own, do you?"

"I don't know. Some living people are really into the holidays. Wouldn't surprise me if there was someone over in the GZ Obsessing."

"There are," said Skulker flatly. "But going to those parties is risky."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess that makes sense. So, is this, like, a potluck deal, or white elephant, or do I have to come set up, or what?"

"Read the list, whelp!"

"I would," said Danny, "if you held it far enough away for me to see what was written on it. "My eyes don't focus that close."

Grumbling, Skulker adjusted his position.

A lot of the things on the list were already checked off. The rest looked dangerous (fighting the Krampus), time consuming (holly acquisition, with a stupidly high number of branches listed next to it), expensive (providing new holiday table settings), confusing (Danny didn't know what a 'consoda' was, or why he would fetch offerings from it), or simply extraordinarily unappealing (after party cleanup). Except for one.

One that caught Danny's eye because of a very specific word that was included.

"Why's the star all by itself?" asked Danny.

"Because the star is important," said Skulker. "Adding the star to the tree is what starts off the real celebration. A star needs to be impressive. Dramatic! Not one of those little dinky tinsel things you can find at human stores."

Part of Danny knew he shouldn't- But when had he ever listened to that part of himself?

Actually, that wasn't really fair. He listened, otherwise he'd be fully dead instead of just half.

Still.

(The idea of making a star made his skin feel sparkly and fuzzy, like his whole body was half an inch from the surface of freshly poured soda, but all over.)

"I'll take it," he said.

"Humf," said Skulker. "Don't screw up, or you'll be in for a beating as soon as the truce is over." He made a mark by the name and started to fly off.

"Hey! Aren't you going to untie me?"

"Nah."

.

"He's late," said Desiree, sharply, glaring at Skulker as if he had any control over what the whelp did or did not do.

She wasn't the only one.

"He's not late yet," defended Skulker.

"You shouldn't have given him the star as a choice," complained Technus, his voice squaking like a poorly connected computer speaker. "You should have just told him what he'd have to do. Something that wouldn't ruin the party. He's a teenager! Teenagers are easily distracted."

"I didn't know you were a teen, techie," drawled Spectra, who really shouldn't have been at the party at all, seeing as she wasn't, and never had been, invited. Skulker was hoping someone would find a way to throw her and her little minion out before midnight.

"It's TECHNUS, MASTER OF TECHNOLOGY, CONTROLLER OF ALL THINGS ELECTRONIC AND BEEPING."

"I am sure Sir Phantom is on his way," said Princess Dora, softly, ignoring Technus's continuing rant with the ease of long practice. She would not be here the whole evening. Her kingdom had its own, separate celebrations, but they wouldn't start for well over half a human day. "He is a very responsible person, and he was speaking to me about stars just earlier this month." She frowned, slightly, swirling the darkly luminous wine in her glass. "That is, I think he was talking about stars. The conversation was somewhat difficult for me to follow."

"Oh, no," said Desiree, putting one hand delicately over a smile.

"What?" growled Skulker.

"It always bothered me a little, you see, but I hadn't realized quite why until just now." She was barely even trying to hide her delight. "The second time I fought him, it was during a meteor shower."

"So?" asked Amorpho.

"He was rather cross with me during the fight. At the time, I thought it was because he was missing that girl's party, or because of the whole memory wiping thing, but in retrospect..."

"Just spit it out already," said Skulker.

"I do believe you gave the task of making the tree star to a ghost Obsessed with outer space."

Inside the suit, Skulker's true hands slip off his controls for just a moment. "Oh, Ancients," he groaned.

"We're not getting a star this year, are we?" asked Ember.

Phantom chose that moment to barrel through the door. "Sorry!" he exclaimed, looking and sounding more like a little kid than Skulker had ever witnessed. "Am I late? No, I'm not. Never mind. I'm not sorry. What do you think?"

He held out the... thing in his hands for the assembled ghosts to view. It was... It was definitely a star. A round blue star. Complete with solar flares and sunspots. Animated flares and sunspots.

"How the hell?" whispered Walker in the background, despite the fact that he and his pink prison really had no room to talk.

"Is it no good?" asked Phantom, managing to shift his weight even though he was floating. "I turned the brightness way down so that everyone could see the details, but I think I could turn it back up again without too much trouble." He blinked up at the other ghosts, and Skulker noticed with some unease that his pupils were currently shaped like crescent moons. "I mean, the other one exploded, but I think I've got it, now."

All of the ghosts slid back, just slightly. Not that they were afraid of explosions, but, well, being cautious didn't hurt.

"Er," said Dora, "what is it, exactly?"

"A star! A blue giant, specifically. Well, a model of one, anyway, but I think it's a good model. I mean, it's a blue giant right now. I've got it set up so that it'll go through the whole life cycle of a massive star. Or, not the whole life cycle, because that would include the nebula, but the life cycle from this point? It'll change color and expand as the night goes on and it uses up its 'hydrogen'- I've scaled the expansion, though, don't worry, it won't take over- and then the core will collapse and the outer layers will be ejected, and- BOOM!- supernova!"

"Ghost child," said Technus, in a more strangled than usual voice, "are you telling us that's a bomb?"

"No, it's a star," said Phantom, blankly. On closer inspection, the crescents in his eyes were not the only modification to Phantom's appearance. He had pale green and silver stars scattered liberally across his nose and cheeks, and similar shapes in the black of his costume.

In the background, Desiree was dying of laughter.

"Don't you think a supernova might be... dangerous?"

"Oh, a real one, sure. But I tested one before I brought this, and all it did to me was singe my eyebrows off, and I was standing really close."

"Whelp," said Skulker, searching for some reason to reject Phantom's 'contribution,' "how is that even supposed to stay on the tree? It's just a ball."

"Oh, it'll float wherever I tell it to, don't worry, I've tested it!"

.

It perhaps said something about ghostly parties that the sudden detonation of the tree topper several hours later, the subsequent glee of the supposed superhero in attendance when the room was filled with star-shaped glitter and confetti, and the attempted homicide on the part of several glitter-unfriendly ghosts was not the most exciting series of events to occur that night.

Chapter 25: Impossible Causes

Notes:

Inspired by a tumblr ask I got earlier... idk...

Danny can feel it, the moment his feet hit the pavement of Saint Rita Avenue, and casts a blessing at whoever picked the name for this road.  He makes it to the median, and turns, facing back the way he came.  The washed-out yellow street lights prick at his eyes, reminding him that, as always, he has more in common with what he’s been running from than anything else.  

Darkness splashes against the barrier between street and sidewalk.  On both sides.

He hates it when spirits work together.

In Danny’s pockets, paper rustles.  Prayers and charms from half a dozen different cultures, East and West, copied as best three untrained teenagers could.  Some of them had done good.  None of them had done enough.

He’s glad it’s late enough that there are no cars.  The street is quiet, except for whispers only he can hear.  It is cold, except for the almost-comforting burning under his feet, promising him safety, for now.

But this is a road with the name of someone holy, not hallowed ground.  The barrier at its edges is not strong, and the thought of approaching an intersection, a crossroads, carries with it a frisson of risk that Danny is loath to ignore.  Sometimes the labyrinthine Old Law that governed crossroads was helpful, but not tonight.  Not this close to midnight with the shadows practically boiling with malice.  

He needs a church.  Or a temple.  Or a mosque.  Or a neopagan’s working space.  He’ll even take a backyard where a bunch of kids are going through an Egypt phase and play at worshiping Osiris and Horus-Re.  It’s worked before.  Barely.  Any place that’s had faith and its motions poured out on it often enough and recently enough for it to matter.  

Otherwise Danny will have to draw on his own power, and that’s never turned out well.  

But this section of Saint Rita Avenue isn’t the kind of place a church is built, and even with the spirit-thing swamping his senses with its hate, Danny can’t feel enough of a spark to justify breaking in.  

He used the last of his blessed salt to get this far.  He’s been out of holy water for days.  

The first tendrils of other have broken through the avenue’s barrier.  The whispers become razor sharp and crystal clear against Danny’s mind.  What are you what are you what are you and not here not there you don’t belong and we know you and pain and fear and give up give up give up.  They’re singsong and saccharine and far from the worst he’s endured so far tonight. 

He’s out of time.  He’s out of ideas.  

Danny takes a step backwards and stops being Danny.  

Phantom is different than Danny.  He is made of pain and fear and all the things Danny thought were more important than his own life.  He is a wild and contradictory spirit, his anchor to this word both inviolable and tenuous.  He walks the narrow path between the sacred and the unspeakably profane.  

The spirits reaching for him know this.  They use it as their weapon, and it hurts more than anything.  

(He is a thing that should not be and every second he does he degrades the souls of everyone around him he is a parasite does he not see--) 

Phantom knows he cannot win this fight.  But if he runs, these spirits will continue to hunt, to prey--

No.  

He can see the spirits more clearly now than when he was clad in flesh.  He can see them one, two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen times and more, spread across the layers of reality that they are allowed.  When he is Danny again, he will remember a shapeshifter and a woman made of black flames.  

(He does not know what he looks like in these places.  He is afraid to find out.)

He fights.  

He loses.  Badly.  

Not so badly that he cannot run home to the maze of light his parents built blind and he added to with averted eyes.  This could be seen as a kind of victory, to live to fight again, protect again, come up with a new strategy, but Phantom has been injured too badly.  A wound to the spirit is still a wound, never mind that when he wakes up as Danny all he feels is a heart-deep ache.  

His covers are tangled around him when he wakes, the protective signs Tucker had embroidered into the cloth pressed against his bare skin.  He does not know what happened to the clothes he was wearing.  If he is lucky, he dropped them in the wash in a post-transformation haze.  If not, they’re lying in the middle of Saint Rita Avenue.  Or just.  Gone.  Which is also an option.  

As he frees himself, he notices more marks on his skin.  They match the low-grade fog of depression in his brain.  Both are souvenirs from fighting with his soul outside his body.  

(Or whatever his soul had become.)

Getting dressed is a chore.  A painful chore.  He makes it downstairs eventually, although he wishes he hadn’t when he sees Jazz’s spirit week poster on the kitchen counter.  Spirit.  It seems like a cruel universal jest.  

A warm hand touches his shoulder, and Danny looked up into his sister’s eyes.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” says Danny, even as he thinks no.  

She smiles, just a little bit.  “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

Danny shrugs.  He can’t, really, and he doesn’t want to lie to her face.

“Just-- I know you’re going through some stuff, but, I have faith in you, okay?  I believe in you.  So, try to believe in yourself, too, okay?”

“Okay,” says Danny.  Something feels... different, about the way Jazz says that.  It isn’t her normal pep talk, and she doesn’t mention psychology at all.  

She gives him a slightly large smile and a pat and walks away.  

Mine, whispers the part of him that was always Phantom, sounding both surprised and pleased.  

Of course she’s ours, Danny thinks back, she’s our sister.  

But he feels fuller, now.  Healed, in some small way, from what had been done to him the previous night.  

It takes longer than it should for him to put the pieces together.

Chapter 26: Bad Counsel

Summary:

Inspired by a tumblr ask. Spectra was actually planning to kidnap Jazz and use her as a battery/apprentice. In this, she succeeds.

It looked like a normal school office.  Not a Casper High office, the colors were wrong, but an office nonetheless.  

It wasn’t.

The room was a façade, and the doorknob was smoking.  As soon as she left, she’d be back to walking on coals.  

Then she was there.  Spectra.  Penelope.  The counselor.  Black flames framed a perfect face and finely manicured nails.  Jazz flinched at her sudden appearance and clenched her teeth as the ghost (or demon) laughed.  

“So, Jasmine, tell me about your day,” she purred.  “Did you try to get out again?”  She drummed her nails on her desk and picked up a pen, clicking the cap on the end just enough times to be aggravating.  A pad of paper was in her other hand.  She hadn’t picked that up.  “Why bother?” Spectra asked, gleefully.  “You know you can’t make it past the fires.  Even if you did, where would you go?  You’re human, dear.  You can’t survive without someone to look after you.”

Jazz looked away.  She’d been standing for a while, now.  The furniture did strange things if you used it for too long.  Her legs were trembling with the rest of her.  

“No?  Well, how about I tell you about mine?”  Her lips curled upwards.  “I spoke to your brother today.”

Spectra always knew what buttons to push, and although Jazz tried not to react, she couldn’t help her small, sharp inhale.  

“Oh, yes.  Little Danny.  He misses you, you know.  Misses his big sister.  He’s still so torn up inside, even though he should have gotten over you like everyone else.  Still thinks he could have saved you.  Pathetic.  As if someone like him could save anyone--

“Shut up!” shouted Jazz, loosing herself for a moment.  “You leave him alone you soul sucking--”  She cut herself off.  

“No, no,” said Spectra, leering and looming over her.  “Tell me what you really think.  Tell me what goes on behind that pretty face of yours.  I can taste it of course-” the ghost reached down and drew a talon over the curve of Jazz’s cheek, “-but that’s not really the same.”

Jazz pulled away, but Spectra seized her wrist.  

“It’s still there, dear.  Whether you like it or not.  Deep down, you know.  The only one you have to blame for this situation is yourself.  Because,” the word was delicate, whispered almost lovingly in Jazz’s ear, “you’re just like me.”

The ghost leaned back, donning the human guise she had worn when Jazz first met her, head tilted to one side.  She looked satisfied.  Satiated.  

“And where would we be if we didn’t help those like ourselves?”

Chapter 27: Nervous

Summary:

Pink astronaut prompt.

Notes:

Posted two chapters at once. Go back if you haven't read the other.

.

Danny smoothed down the front of his shirt again.  This was fine.  Fine.  He wasn’t sweating.  When was the last time he sweated, anyway?  Perk of being half-ghost, he supposed, along with an immunity to acne.  

Anyway.  

Even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be sweating.  What was there to sweat over?  It wasn’t like he didn’t know Paulina.  They’d been friends in elementary school, acquaintances in middle school, and then...  yeah... something through most of high school.  

Point was, he knew her.  Had known her for a while.  

And this was their first date.  

(Because the one ‘they’d’ been on while Kitty was overshadowing Paulina definitely didn’t count.)

Yeah.  

He was doomed.  

At least he’d brought her a gift?  Their first gift as a couple.  That counted for something, right?

(Not counting the cursed necklace he’d accidentally given her right before the first school dance.  Nope.  Didn’t count at all)

Correction.  He was hyper-doomed.  Turbo-doomed, even.  

Who even got a girl a geode, anyway?  She was going to hate it.  He had no evidence that she still liked rocks.  The last time she’d mentioned them in his hearing had been in sixth grade.  He should have gone with flowers.  Flowers were easy, safe.  Everyone liked getting flowers.  

But she had agreed to go on this date, and he’d made sure the ghost issue was covered.  So...  yeah.  Couldn’t go too terribly.  

Probably.  

.

Paulina had never been so nervous before a date, and she’d been on a lot.  It was probably because she’d never been on a date with someone she knew so well.  Danny knew what she looked like in pigtails.  Ugh.  So uncool.

But, then, she knew what he looked like in one of his Dad’s hazmat suits, so they were probably even on that front.  

On the other hand...

What was she doing with these flowers?  Everyone knew the girl did not buy a gift for the guy on the first date!  Especially not flowers.  This was backwards!

Also, lilies were funeral flowers, and marigolds, well.  Not to mention the spider-lilies.

She was really hoping that he wouldn’t interpret the bouquet as a novel way of saying ‘go die.’

But they’d spoken to her, and her mother had told her that sometimes, she just needed to follow her instincts, let the universe guide her.  Or something like that, anyway.  

And she had asked Danny out first, which was a bit of a reversal as far as her dating life went.  Maybe that’s why she was nervous.  

Yeah...

That had to be it.  

She caught sight of him standing outside the cafe, wearing an uncharacteristic button down shirt and a messenger bag.  He looked as nervous as she was (she didn’t look it, though.  She was the master of her appearance).  But when he spotted her, he lit up.  She found herself smiling as well.  

Perhaps she didn’t need to be so nervous.  

Chapter 28: Fair

Summary:

Prompt from dp-marvel94: Danny comes into his bedroom to find a clone of himself, not Dani but one he's never met, asleep in his bed.

If he had a nickel for every time he’d seen a clone of himself in his bed, he’d have two nickels.  Or three, if he counted the thing with the Ghost Catcher.  Not a lot, but it was weird that it had happened so many times.  

Not for the first time, Danny wondered if his life was, in fact, some kind of dying dream, and what it said about himself that his subconscious kept presenting himself with clones.  In his bed.  

Yeah.  

Note to self: Never ask Jazz about that.  

Which left him with the decision of what to do about the clone in his bed.  Because, yeah.  That was still a thing he had to figure out.  

He eased the door closed, not wanting to either wake the clone or attract the attention of his parents.  

The clone wasn’t visibly injured, and there was no scent of ectoplasm...  Well, no further scent of ectoplasm.  Overall, Danny was pretty noseblind to the odor.  

Nondescript clothing.  Clothing pretty similar to Danny’s.  Actually, he had a shirt like that.  So, either the clone had taken Danny’s clothes, or had come prepared.  

No obvious Vlad flags, but nothing that would immediately indicate that the clone wasn’t from Vlad.  Time travel was an option, too, as were shape-shifters.  

Danny tilted his head.  His first impulse, as always, was to help, and with the clone sleeping and vulnerable, it didn’t seem likely that this was a kill-and-replace deal.  Or, more likely, a kidnap-and-replace.  But...  He should probably give his friends and sister a heads up.  Just in case.  He pulled out his phone.

Hold up, was the clone not breathing?

“I told you he was cleverer than that,” said a familiar voice.  

Abruptly, Danny was overwhelmed with drowsiness, too intense for him to stay on his feet.  His vision grayed out briefly.  

When it came back, he was blinking up at a rather disturbing collection of ghosts.  Clockwork.  Frostbite.  Nocturne.  Undergrowth.  Vortex.

Danny blinked, slowly, trying to process.  “It was time travel, then?” he asked, fuzzily.

“I’m afraid not,” said Clockwork, voice full of mirth.  Frostbite bent down to pick Danny up.  “Did your parents ever tell you how, in the oldest of stories, there is no distinction between ghosts and the Fair Folk?”

Danny forced himself slightly more awake and tried to squirm away.  Nocturne made a gesture, as if throwing something, and lethargy slipped back into his bones.  He relaxed against Frostbite’s soft fur.  

“Did they ever tell you how the Fair Folk would take children, exceptional and gifted children, leaving a changeling in their place?  Or,” and Clockwork glanced back to the bed, “a false corpse made of branches?”

“Don’t,” mumbled Danny.  

“Don’t be alarmed, Daniel,” said Clockwork, kissing Danny’s forehead.  “You passed our tests.  This is your reward.”

Chapter 29: Maturation

Summary:

From the tumblr prompt: What if Danny's ghost form reflected his ghost maturity instead of his human maturity? Halfas are different, especially without being in the ghost zone to speed it up, it must take a lot of energy to develop. (I bet he'd almost never use it if he turned into a toddler when he went ghost)

When a ghost forms from a death, they generally look about the same as they did when they died and change from there.  No messy second childhoods required.  

Other methods of forming a ghost, however...

Well.  Danny didn’t exactly die, and a ghost started from scratch needs time to mature.  Especially if they’re building off of a human blueprint.  

Danny doesn’t realize he didn’t just get ghost powers until over nine months later.  

.

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Danny, squinting up at Frostbite, who was his friend and therefore not likely to be pulling his leg.  At least not about something as serious as this.  “Are you trying to tell me that I’ve been, what, pregnant with myself for the last nine months?”

“An apt analogy!” said Frostbite, who apparently did not have enough knowledge of human culture to understand why that statement and all its implications were horrifying.  “Of course, you are not giving birth to another individual.  Instead, your other half is maturing.”

“Is there any way to, uh, stop it?”  asked Danny, nervously plucking at the paper on the examination table.  “Because I really, really can’t be randomly turning into a ghost baby for however long this maturation thing is supposed to last.”

Frostbite looked like Danny had just suggested he murder someone.  “Great One,” he said grimly, “you do not know what you ask.”  He knelt next to Danny, and still wasn’t quite short enough to look him in the eye.  “What you’re asking...”  His voice was soft.  “To snuff out a ghost that young...  Not to mention what it would do to you as a whole.”

Danny laughed.  Stupid anxiety reaction.  “It-It wouldn’t kill me, though, right?”

“I do not know,” admitted Frostbite.  “But it would certainly remove your powers.  Your other half is their source.”

“Right,” said Danny.  “Okay.  I sort of expected that.  So, what do I do?”

“I would suggest,” said Frostbite, “staying here until your ghost half is at least as old as you are now.  For safety reasons.”

“How long do you think that will take?” asked Danny.  

Frostbite’s grin became rather fixed.  “Fourteen years, or thereabouts,” he said.  

“Frostbite,” said Danny, aghast.  “I can’t wait fourteen years.”

“It’s possible that being in the Ghost Zone may accelerate the process somewhat, as compared to staying in the human world.  The high-ectoplasm environment is more nurturing.”

“How much faster are we talking about?” demanded Danny.  

“I would need to run more tests to be certain,” said Frostbite.  “And compare the ectoplasm concentration of your home to the one here.  It is unfortunate, but there are no ghosts quite like you.”

Danny groaned.  “Thanks,” he said.  “But I can’t stay.  Not even for a week.  I have responsibilities.  What should I do to just...  I don’t know.  Manage this?  Keep myself from turning into a ghost baby in the middle of the day, or during a fight?”  

Frostbite looked intensely uncomfortable.  “I am unsure.  You are still intending to fight?”

“Yeah?” said Danny.  “I kind of have to.”

“Don’t let the ghosts you fight see you in your other form.”

Duh, thought Danny.  “I don’t have a death wish,” he said instead.  

“They are extremely unlikely to try to destroy you.  It is much more likely that any adult ghost that saw you would adopt you.  And you wouldn’t have the ability to resist.”

“As soon as I got back to my proper age, I could,” said Danny. 

“That’s another thing I am concerned about,” said Frostbite.  “You have several ghostly mental tendencies already.”  He tapped Danny’s forehead with an icy claw.  “I am unsure how much more your other half will influence this one.  Clinging to an older ghost is instinctual for infant ghosts.  Which your other half is.”

Danny closed his eyes, centering himself.  “Okay,” he said.  “Anything else I should know about?”

“Mh, yes.  Great One, when was the last time you measured your height?”

.

“You don’t think I’m aging?”

Frostbite attempted to explain.  

“You don’t think I’m going to age until I catch up?”

.

Danny flew the Spector Speeder away from the Far Frozen, laden with various health instructions and several gifts the yetis said infant ghosts tended to enjoy.  He was okay.  This was fine.  He’d fought things just shy of godhood with glitchy invisibility, unreliable phasing, lackluster hovering, a magic soup can, and whatever of his parents’ inventions happened to be working that week.  What was one more?

Too much.  

He briefly let his head rest on the steering wheel.  

Apparently, even this respite was too much for the universe to give him, because the Poltergeist Proximity Alarm started to blare.  He jerked his head up.  

Somehow, in his second of inattentiveness, he’d been surrounded.  By eyeball ghosts.  

Maaaaybe he’d just drifted into their meeting, and they’d let him drift back out?

The ghosts raised their hands, each one glowing ominously.  

Yeah.  He didn’t think so, either.  He hit the accelerator and-

Time shuddered.  

He was suddenly very much not in the Spector Speeder, and still surrounded.  How-?

Several of the eyeball ghosts touched him, and his skin pulsed with pain as ectoenergy was forced through it.  He gasped, then choked as white rings sprang up around his waist.  Not now!  Not already!

He couldn’t stop it.  He was too full of energy.  

Just like every time before, his mind went fuzzy as it adapted to radically different sensory inputs.  

“... should keep him in ghost form until it catches up to his human age,” said one of them, as he came back to himself.  “At least.”

“We’ll need a longer-term solution than simply feeding him too much power to stay human,” said another.  

“Clockwork will have something,” said a... a third?  Danny wasn’t sure.  They all sounded the same, and Danny’s field vision was limited from the... basked?  Yeah, it was a basket.  

Who was Clockwork?

“Regardless, we must ensure he is raised correctly,” said one of the ghosts, putting a delicate emphasis on the last word.  “Teach him respect and obedience.”

The others voiced their agreement.  

Danny didn’t like the sound of that.  He reached for his human half, just as a clawed green hand reached into the basket.  Energy flushed through him again, and the warmth of his human half fluttered out of his grasp.  

The clawed hand then pulled a blanket over him, tucking him in.  And...  actually...  he was pretty worn out by everything...  ectoenergy took time to process properly for a body as tiny as his currently was...  it would be okay if he... fell asleep...

Right?

Chapter 30: Rescue Him (From His Own Mistakes)

Summary:

Tumblr prompt: Vlad gets caught by the GIW

“He didn’t,” said Danny.  

“He did,” said Jazz, turning on the TV and flicking through the channels until she hit Ghost Watch.  

“What the heck,” said Danny, pulling a chair away from the table and sitting down.  “How did he get caught?”  This was mostly a rhetorical question, as he could see a replay of the moment on the screen. “Even I’ve never been caught by those guys.”

Jazz put a hand on the back of Danny’s chair.  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this,” said Jazz, “but Vlad actually sucks.”

“I know he sucks, Jazz.  We talk about this all the time.”

“No, let me finish.  He sucks at thinking things through, and also all combat tactics that don’t boil down to ‘overwhelming force.’“  She paused.  “I mean, you don’t think things through, either, a lot of the time, but you’re a teenager.  And you’re still better than Vlad.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean, when was the last time you tried to use ghostly artifacts to advance your social position?”

Danny didn’t answer and slid down in his chair.  

“Okay.  We’ll... talk about that later,” said Jazz.  

“Good call,” mumbled Danny.  

“So...  What should we do?”

“I have to rescue him,” said Danny, already feeling resentful of the imposition.  He’d have to skip school and hope that his parents could handle the ghosts he normally would.  “Otherwise, as soon as they find out what Vlad is...”  And that was if Vlad didn’t throw him to the wolves on his own.  

Vlad probably wouldn’t do that.  Right away.  

“We will rescue him,” corrected Jazz.  “Let’s make a plan.”

Chapter 31: New Futures

It was the end of the world.  

Really, it should have been no surprise.  The apocalypse had begun ten years ago.  And yet-

Yet-

When that monster had disappeared, Valerie had let herself hope.  Hope that she and the few other survivors of his latest attack could rebuild.  That, perhaps, they could seek out other survivors from elsewhere in the world.  That they could recover.  

“What happened?” asked Valerie, staring at the gray-brown remnants of their crops.  

“I don’t know,” said Star, wiping her hands on her overalls.  “They were doing fine, before the, well, before the shield went down.”

“Do you think it’s some kind of disease from outside?” asked Valerie.  

“I don’t know.  Maybe.”  Star bit her lip.  “It isn’t just the plants,” she said.  “It’s the animals, too, and nothing that’s already been harvested is going bad, but...”

“The animals?”

“They’re sick,” said Star.  “Vomiting.”

“Do you know if any people-?”

Star shook her head.  “You’d have to ask a doctor,” she said.  “But it reminds me of...  Do you remember those ‘clean pig’ experiments?”

“Uh, not really?”

“Basically someone got the bright idea to kill off all the ‘germs’ on their pigs couple years back...  But they killed the pigs’ gut flora, too, and you kinda need that to digest food.”

“Flora,” said Valerie.  “As in plants.”

“Yeah,” said Star.  “You see where I’m going?”

“Yeah,” said Valerie.  “Crap.”  At least they had plenty of reserves and food stores, and they would last longer now that there were fewer people.  

Valerie refused to think about why there were fewer people too deeply.  

“We’ll figure it out,” said Valerie, projecting confidence.  

Star gave her a skeptical look.  “No offense,” said Star, “but you aren’t a biologist.  And most of our biologists are dead.  Not to mention the labs.”

“I can go out and look for plants that aren’t affected, though,” said Valerie.  “If this is a common thing out there, some of them have to have adapted, right?  That’s basic evolution.”

“Maybe,” said Star, her mouth set in a grim line.  “I’m not sure it works that way if everything dies, though.”  

.

Valerie sat down on her hoverboard, hands gripping the edge to keep from shaking.  

“What is that?” she asked, even though there was no one near to answer her.  

The forest was gray and crumbling.  The ground was spiderwebbed with something pulsing between lurid green and red, the red lingering longer than the green.  

“What is that?” she repeated.  Whatever it was, it stretched to the horizon.  She looked up.  It was in the sky, too.  

“The end of the universe.”

Valerie whipped around, pulling out her weapons and leveling them at the ghost who had, somehow, managed to sneak up on her.  

How long had it been since she had seen a ghost that wasn’t him?

“Who are you?” she demanded.  “What do you want?”

The ghost smiled, the blue pseudo-skin around his eye wrinkling.  

“I am Clockwork, and I am here to make a deal with you, Valerie Gray.”

“Are you causing this?” asked Valerie, jerking her head towards the wasteland.  

“I do not control the Red Country,” said Clockwork, “nor its consumption of unmade worlds.”

“What?”

“You encountered the paradox yourself, Valerie Gray.  This world is now never to be.  And even if it could come to pass, there is no King in the Infinite Realms.  No one to order it and guide it.  And so, here as there, things fall apart.  All of this was hanging by the most slender of threads.”  The ghost gestured back toward Amity Park.  

Valerie stared at the ghost.  “I’m going to pass,” she said.  Nothing good came of trusting ghosts.

“Very well,” said the ghost, acknowledging her decision with a nod.  “If you change your mind, you need only call my name.”

.

It didn’t take long for the remaining humans of Amity Park to start feeling the affects of whatever had happened to the plants and animals.  About the same amount of time as it took for the blight afflicting the land and the sky to come into sight of the city ruins.

It took just a little longer for the first person to die.  

(Mikey, the last person left from Valerie’s class other than Star.  His health had never been robust, but he had persevered through every other crisis.)

And a bit longer than that for Valerie’s resolve to break.  

.

One hundred and forty-four.  That is how many humans stepped through the ghosts portal, confident in nothing except that whatever the ghost was going to do to them was better than wasting away.  

“Where are we?” asked Valerie.  The sky was Ghost Zone green, but the landscape was almost earthly forests and fields.  

“A better question might be when are you,” said the ghost, twirling his staff.  “Which is about nine years ago, from your perspective, and in a different timeline.”

“A different-?”

“Daniel never went to Vladimir,” said Clockwork.  “Nor did his parents die.  

Chapter 32: Choo Choo Train (Is a Blob Ghost)

Summary:

Sort of a continuation of the baby ghost half AU a couple chapters back.

The wail was high-pitched and utterly distraught, alarming enough to have Clockwork abandon his work and bolt into the room where he’d left Daniel to sulk after he had refused perfectly good ectoplasmic food.  Again.  Yes, he knew that going from human food to ghostly food would be a difficult transition for the child, but it seemed the real sticking point for Daniel was that it was baby food.  

Clockwork had to admit he did not fully understand.  What else was Daniel going to eat when his fangs hadn’t grown in yet, let alone the rest of his teeth?

When he entered the room, he expected to see Daniel beset by some enemy.  Perhaps an animal ghost that had, somehow, gotten past the defenses of Long Now.  

Instead, Daniel was simply crying in the middle of the room, not far from where he’d collapsed in his earlier tantrum, looking more his apparent physical age than he had awake since the Observants had brought him.

Clockwork knelt down beside him and was surprised when Daniel flung himself at him in a desperate kind of hug.  He patted the small ghost lightly on the back.

“Daniel,” he said, “what’s wrong?  What happened?”

“I ate it!” wailed Daniel, barely intelligible between the tears and the childish lisp he’d picked up.  

“You ate what?” asked Clockwork, vaguely worried that he’d left one of his tools out and the child had eaten it out of spite.  He did not relish the task of removing a chronostatic magnifying lens from an infant’s stomach.  

“I swallowed it whoooooole!” cried Danny, extremely distressed.  

“What was it?” asked Clock work, growing more concerned.  

“The little blob ghost!  I just-  I just-!  Ate it!  I didn’t mean to!”

Clockwork sighed in relief.  Was that all?  It was a bit early to teach Daniel about ghost hunger, but, honestly, if it was going to be the only way he’d eat.

“I killed it!”

Ghost hunger and levels of ghostly existence.  

“No you didn’t,” said Clockwork, picking Daniel up.  “Come, now, it’s alright.  You didn’t do anything wrong.  Let’s talk about this.”

Chapter 33: Not Entirely Nice (Cosmic)

Notes:

This is related to the Isolation entry in the Dannymay 2020 collection.

Cosmic loved Clockwork SO MUCH.  His love for Clockwork was SO BIG that he’d have to go grab a universe or two to properly demonstrate its size (which he could do, but which was apparently frowned upon).  

Even so, he sometimes got the urge to do something to Clockwork that was... how should he say it?  Not entirely nice.  

Like steal his cloak.  

Cosmic had managed to steal Clockwork’s cloak six times so far, and was using them to make a nice, cozy nest in one of the gear crawlspaces.  Something about watching Clockwork look for his cloaks was just really funny.  It was sort of a game!

Almost!

Clockwork had to know what was going on, anyway.  It was in his lair.  They were his cloaks.  Cosmic wasn’t that sneaky.  Clockwork could see through time.  He had to know.  

But he didn’t call Cosmic out on it.  So, Cosmic kept stealing the cloaks.  Along with a few other things.  And causing other inconveniences.  Like dropping buckets of water on him.

Sometimes Cosmic felt guilty, and he’d run and say sorry, but Clockwork never got mad.  Even when Cosmic did it again.  

Cosmic didn’t know why he was like this.

.

Even if Cosmic didn’t, Clockwork knew why the younger, smaller, ghost seemed to be so dead-set on disrupting Clockwork’s afterlife with prank after prank.  After all, it would be foolish to think that Daniel’s well-earned resentment would just disappear.  As much as he appeared to be, Cosmic was no blank slate.  

Clockwork would take the pranks.  He would take much worse, if it came to that.  

It was the least he could do, with regards to penance.  

(And, when Cosmic smiled up at him after a bed time story, and started signing away about two universes worth of feelings...  Clockwork would take much, much worse, and it would be more than worth it.)

Chapter 34: Glowing Eyes on the Farm

Two green coins stared back at Alicia from the shadows, Danny’s eyes throwing back the light from Alicia’s lantern.  She’d nearly mistaken him for a rabid racoon twice, now, and it was sheer luck she hadn’t had her shotgun either of those times.  

But here they were, by the old fence, Danny perched on an old fence post that really shouldn’t have borne his weight, arms wrapped around his knees, chin sitting on top of them.  

Eyes glowing.  

Maddie wasn’t the only one raised knowing about ghosts.  

“Hi,” said Danny.  

“Hey,” grunted Alicia.  

“You saw me,” said Danny, not blinking, barely moving.  

“Yeah,” said Alicia.  “What’s got you stuck here?”

“Doesn’t work like that.  I’m not stuck.  That’s silly.”

“What’s silly is you hanging around here, haunting your parents.  What’d they do to deserve that?  Huh?  They love you, kid.  Let them have some closure.”

“It really doesn’t work like that,” said Danny.  “I’m not trying to punish them or anything.  I’m still me.”

“Are ya?”

“Pretty sure.”

“What happens when you don’t age or anything?  Still gonna try to keep this up?  Or are you just gonna up and disappear.”

“Depends,” said Danny.  “But I was hoping by then I’d be able to tell them without getting my head shot off.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.  I’m working on it.  Besides.  I might age.  I haven’t been like this long enough to tell.”  He shifted so that he was sitting straighter, his wrists resting loosely on his knees.  “Are you going to tell them?”

“Not yet,” decided Alicia.  “I will if I have to.”

“Okay,” said Danny.  “Was there something else?”

“Maybe,” agreed Alicia.  “Have you ever been to the Ghost Zone?”

Chapter 35: Psychopomp

“Psychopomp.  Spirit-guide.  Soul shepherd.”

“Listing off synonyms does not make it better!” said Danny.  “I can’t kill people.  That’s, like, the opposite of what I do.  What I’ve always done.”

“You don’t have to kill people,” said Clockwork.  “Listen.  Which one of those titles sounded like murderer to you?”

“I don’t know, grim reaper?”  Danny waved his arm in emphasis, trying not to focus too hard on the black glove and sleeve attached to it.  

Clockwork sighed.  “Daniel,” he said.  

Danny shivered at the sound of his name.  Why did it feel so- so off?  

“I apologize.  I am not explaining this well, and you are... upset.”

“No, duh,” muttered Danny.  He looked down, caught sight of his loose, all-black clothes, and chose to look up instead, at the high, vaulted ceiling of Clockwork’s lair.  “It’s kind of-  I just died again.  And you’re telling me I’ve got to-”  He blinked rapidly, trying to keep tears out of his eyes.  “I didn’t even make it to thirty.”  

“Daniel-”

“Don’t!” snapped Danny.  “I don’t-  Why doesn’t that feel right?  Why do I...”

“You don’t have to kill anyone,” said Clockwork, gently.  “All you have to do is guide souls that get lost.  Dying is more complicated than it seems.”

“Aren’t ghosts supposed to be lost souls?” asked Danny, crossing his arms.  “I don’t think they need much guiding.”

“There are more things in these worlds than the humans and ghosts you can see,” said Clockwork.  “You will be helping people.”

Danny wiped at his eyes.  “Why couldn’t I just become a ghost?” he asked.  “I know how to deal with that.”

Clockwork patted his shoulder.  “You’ll figure this out, too.”  He smiled.  “And who’s to say you aren’t still a ghost?  Or a human, for that matter?”

Danny looked up at Clockwork with wide eyes.  

“No,” he said.  “You have to be joking.  No one gets that many chances.”

“Admittedly, it may be more difficult for you to change than that first time.  I have full confidence that you will eventually find the way, however.  Come along, we have things to do.  It is your first day on the job.”

Chapter 36: Symbiosis (Blob Ghosts)

Ghosts weren’t alive.  They didn’t have cells.  They didn’t breathe.  Some of them formed from the aether, with no parents to speak of, or were born of things that were not ghosts.  That didn’t mean they didn’t participate in an ecosystem of sorts, didn’t mean they weren’t subject to their own, internal logic, didn’t mean that the graces of society and community were lost on them.  

As with more material beings, symbiosis was the rule, rather than the exception.  

Danny was a protector, and he had the tendency to drive off predators, one way or another.  The community of smaller, weaker spirits thrived under his aegis.  

Symbiosis.  Mutualism.  Both sides benefit.  

Danny trudged up the stairs, covered in thick, sticky ectoplasm.  He’d been on the receiving end of an invention explosion downstairs, and he had more than a few cuts and bruises underneath the rapidly hardening ooze.  

Would this even come out in a shower?

He opened the bathroom door and was immediately accosted by a dozen-odd blob ghosts.  He quickly bundled them into his arms and pushed them back into the bathroom.  This was difficult, because although the smallest of them was about the size of a cat, the largest were the size of toddlers.  Wiggly toddlers.  

Door shut, and immediate risk of exposure reduced, Danny let go of the ghosts, who nuzzled him, mumbling, whispering, and purring, all the sounds just shy of having meaning.  The amoeba-like ghosts didn’t really have mouths or tongues, but nevertheless it certainly felt like they were licking him.  He flinched away when one of the smaller ghosts explored the area behind his ear.  

At least they were getting something out of this.

The blob ghosts had just shown up one day, and Danny hadn’t the will to drive them off.  Plus, not having to clean up all the ectoplasm he got all over himself, his clothing, and his room on a regular basis was nice.  Also, they, and some of the other small ghosts that regularly hung out around him, gave his ghost half warm fuzzies.  Or cold fuzzies.  Whichever.  

Of course, even if the blob ghosts did take off all the ectoplasm (and the blood) Danny was still going to take a shower.  No matter how comfortable he was with the blob ghosts otherwise, he was not about to take a shower with them.  When his skin and hair felt reasonably ectoplasm free, he built up a shield on his skin and used it to gently push away the blob ghosts.  The ghosts got the hint, and retreated, mostly invisible, to Danny’s bedroom.  

Good.  Alright.  

Shower, first, then collapse.  

(Today had been exhausting.)

About half an hour later, Danny wandered into his room, the blob ghosts waiting for him.  He had to shove them around a bit to make room for himself on his bed.  

He snuggled underneath his blankets, and the blob ghosts snuggled up next to him, their ruby eyes closed to pleased slits.  Their not-weight and coolness were comforting against Danny’s skin.  

Too tired to stop it, Danny’s core began to purr.  The ghosts’ whispering and muttering took on an edge of giggling, and Danny glared at them playfully.  They did not stop.  

“Hmmnh, are there more of you?” asked Danny as a middle-sized one claimed a spot near the back of his neck.  

He had a theory (unconfirmed) that the blob ghosts and others that lived in his territory were somehow attuned to his emotional state.  There always seemed to be more of them around when he was stressed or worn out.  

Not getting an answer, he hummed, almost at the same pitch as the blob ghosts, and managed to maneuver the largest so that he could hold it like a teddy bear.  

This was good.  

He went to sleep.  

.

“I’m going to go check on Danny,” said Maddie.  

“He’s probably asleep by now,” said Jack.  

“I know.  We just pushed him really hard today, and then that explosion at the end...”  She sighed.  “Not the best way to convince the kids to join the family business.”

“Mhm,” said Jack.  “Danny’s tough, though.”

“I know,” said Maddie.  She sighed.  “He was worn out from all the way in the morning, though.  I hope he’s not staying up late playing video games again.”

“No way!  He’s learned that lesson.  I hope.”

“Yeah, we hope.”  She patted Jack’s knee and pushed off the couch.  “I’m still going to go check on him.”

She climbed the stairs, smiling at the soft music playing from Jazz’s ajar door.  Sometimes she wished Jazz relaxed more, but it was also nice to see her studying.  

Danny’s door was firmly closed, but none of the bedroom doors had locks, so Maddie just turned the handle and pushed open the door.  

She froze immediately.  

The scene in front of her was something akin to finding her child asleep in a pit of snakes, only worse.  Much worse.  Snakes could kill you.  Ghosts could do more. 

One of the many, many evilly glowing ghosts slithered up over Danny’s neck, making him shift slightly in his sleep.  None of them had noticed her, yet.  

She couldn’t wake Danny.  He’d panic, and then who knew what the ghosts would do?  She couldn’t attack outright.  Too many of them.  She’d never get them all with the tiny hand blaster she kept on her person at all times.  Even if she had something larger, she’d risk hitting Danny, and he sometimes had odd reactions to ectoplasmic discharge- some kind of allergy.  Not to mention, the bigger guns were dangerous to humans in their own right, no matter that they tried to make their weapons nonlethal.  

No good options.  

What would the ghosts do when they saw her?

She backed away, keeping her footsteps light.  She went to Jazz’s room.

“Jazz, sweetie?”

“Hm?” said Jazz, looking up from her desk.

“Go get your father.  Tell him to come quietly.  And bring the phasing net.”

“Um, okay?  What’s going on?”

Just hurry,” said Maddie, “quietly.”

“Alright,” said Jazz, still dubious, but getting up nonetheless.  “Is something wrong?  Yes.  Remember, quietly- No, leave your music on.”

“Okay,” said Jazz again. 

Maddie heaved a sigh of relief as she saw Jazz make her way down the stairs. 

Alright.   

She had... something of a plan.  Almost.  

She wouldn’t let those filthy ghosts hurt her son.

.

Of all the ways to wake up, getting a net thrown on him was one of the worst.  The blob ghosts were still on him, and, of course, their collective instinct was to phase away from the offending object, straight through his bed and floor, into the kitchen.  They hit the table, still wrapped in the net.  

The blobs keened, and Danny tensed, holding off his transformation as he heard feet on the staircase.  Jack and Maddie soon arrived.  

“Uh,” said Danny, squiggling so that he could wave at them through the net.  “Hi?”

“You,” said Maddie, “you phased with the net.”

“Oops?”

Chapter 37: Photograph (Cosmic)

Cosmic considered the small rectangle of paper in his hands.  This was a photograph.  A very small photograph.  Maybe from one of those machines?  The top and bottom edges looked like they’d been cut with scissors.  

More interesting to Cosmic were the three figures in the image.  Two boys, one girl.  Humans.  They looked happy.  Like they were having fun.  They looked nice, especially the ones on the sides.  It gave him a warm fuzzy feeling in his core.  

(Looking straight at the boy in the middle, though, made him feel just slightly... lost...)

(Best not to dwell on that.)

Why was a picture like this here, in Clockwork’s lair?  It didn’t make sense.  

Well, the easiest way to find out would be to ask Clockwork.  

Clockwork was...  Cosmic tipped his head and tapped into his spatial powers, warping to Clockwork’s location.  He tugged on his guardian’s cloak, and the older ghost shifted to his youngest form in lieu of bending over. 

Excited and curious, Cosmic showed him the picture.  

“Oh,” said Clockwork, gently taking the picture.  “Where did you find this?”

Cosmic shrugged and gestured vaguely towards the library, where he’d seen the picture being used as a bookmark.  

(The odd thing was that the book itself had induced a strong sense of deja vu in him, even though he was quite certain he had never read it before.)

“I see,” said Clockwork, gravely.  “This picture...  this one...”  He tapped the boy in the middle.  “He was a friend of mine, once.”

There was a deep sadness in Clockwork’s voice, and Cosmic patted his shoulder consolingly.  They were ghosts, and Clockwork was a very old ghost.  He must have lost many friends of the eons of his existence.  

“Thank you for finding it,” said Clockwork.  “Will you help me find a good place to put it?”

Cosmic nodded enthusiastically.  

Chapter 38: Finished Art

Notes:

Prompt by grimgrinningghoul.

“Um,” said Danny, poking the ghost next to him with some trepidation.  “Are you okay?”  He’d gotten ahold of the ghost’s last, unfinished painting (which had involved more theft from museums than he’d been entirely comfortable with) and gotten them materials to boot (again, not easy.  Some of the ingredients in their paint hadn’t been common for the last hundred or so years).

“It’s finished,” said the ghost in tones of awe.  “I’m finally... finally done...”

“Yep,” said Danny.  “This was the last one, right?  You don’t have any other, I don’t know, pencil sketches, lying around.”

“No, no,” said the artist faintly.  “That’s it.  That was the last.  That’s all...  That’s...  I’m done.”  The ghost laughed, skin sparkling.  “I’m done!”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “But, like, are you okay?”

“I’m great!” said the ghost, looking up at the sky and spreading their arms.  They laughed again.  “I’m-  I’ve never felt better!”  The ghost was glowing so brightly they were almost impossible to look at and radiating so much ectoenergy Danny was almost dizzy.  Danny shielded his eyes.  “Thank you!  Thank you so much!”  

When Danny could look again, all that was left of the ghost was glitter dancing on the breeze.  And the painting.  Which Danny should really try to get back to the museum.  Or something.  

Chapter 39: Petrichor

Notes:

Based on a tumblr prompt by ebonyheartnet.

The world ended on a Saturday, and it wasn’t Danny’s fault.  Even if that Saturday happened to be his sixteenth birthday.  

Okay, maybe that was a bit overdramatic.  But, honestly, neither he nor anyone else he’d ever spoken to knew why or how things had turned out this way.  Just that, one morning, reality shook, shuddered, and took a few steps to the left.  

Humanity woke to green-streaked skies, a rainbow sun, and a lot more universe than they were used to.  So did ghosts.  

This was a problem.  It might even be deemed the problem.  Humans and ghosts didn’t exactly get along, and even when neither the ghosts nor the humans involved particularly wanted to fight, the new laws of nature and the few who did want to fight tended to ruin things for everyone else.  (Cough, GIW, cough, Walker, cough.)

Hence the end of the world.  Or, at least, most large-scale governments.  

It could have been worse.

Amity Park stopped being a city that day, fragmented with Ghost Zone wilderness, landscape and spatial dimensions shattered in a spiderweb centered on Fentonworks, the portal a wellspring of wild power and unpredictable translocations.  Danny had worried that the portal had been the cause of the whole thing, but Amity Park was far from the only place with similar issues (look at New York), and Danny eventually was able to accept that not every bad ghost-related thing that happened was on him.  

(Probably.)

Honestly, once everything calmed down a bit, the new world was much more comfortable, physically and mentally, for Danny to live in.  Which was weird, but made sense.  The new world was split between human and ghost, just like him.  It was everyone else who was uncomfortable, now.  

Which, again, he felt guilty about, but, yeah.  He couldn’t do anything about that, so feeling guilty was counterintuitive.  Thank you, tiny Jazz in his head.  

It was Saturday again.  Time for the market fair.  

“Mom and Dad are already out?” asked Danny, leaning over the banister.  

“Yeah,” said Jazz, not looking up from her work transcribing an old ghost text into something more palatable to human eyes.  She adjusted her green lenses to sit closer to her eyes.  “An hour or two ago.  Some guys from Chicago came in last night, apparently, and they wanted to get a head start.”

“Okay,” said Danny.  “I’m going, too.  You want anything?”

“Nope.  I’d be going myself if I did,” said Jazz.  

“You sure?  Nothing for dinner?”  

“Nope, I’m all set.”

“Cool,” said Danny, padding towards the door.  He pulled his nice, dark coat, the one he’d gotten from Dora, off the hook, and shrugged into it, pulling up the hood.  

“No shoes today?” asked Jazz, who had finally looked up.  

“Eh,” said Danny.  “I guess not.  Doesn’t really feel like a shoe kind of day.”  He flexed his toes.

“Well, avoid blackberries, then,” said Jazz.  

“They should avoid me,” joked Danny.  “Good luck with that book!”

“Thanks,” said Jazz, waving as Danny left.  

Fentonworks was the same tall, brick-and-UFO building as it had always been, but now it stood alone on top of a small hill rising from a distinctly purple forest.  The dark grass waved back and forth like the tentacles of a sea anemone.  Bright green portal streaks, cracks in reality, stood out against the foliage, along with a few other buildings that had once belonged to the Fentons’ neighborhood.  The sun was blue today, but Danny predicted it would be green by nightfall.  

Danny walked down the path, the dirt on it declining to adhere to Danny’s feet.  He hummed, quietly, a tune he half-remembered from before the apocalypse.  He would not be walking all the way to the market fair, it was too far.  His parents had taken the Speeder.  

Danny, on the other hand, had a shortcut.  

He reached one of the portal-fractures and passed through to a part of the forest where the trees whispered to one another.  He took a moment to reorient himself, and continued to the next portal fracture.  

As far as he knew, he was the only person who could reliably travel like this.  He could have flown, but the market fair was busy, and he preferred to maintain his peaceful life.  Phantom was still a celebrity in Amity Park.  Even more so now, than before, as ghosts were no longer shot on sight.  

Some ghosts even came to Amity Park’s market fair.  

He walked through a wider-than-usual fracture which deposited him just outside the main fragment of Amity Park, near the erstwhile mall.  The mall and its attached parking lot being the place the market fair took place.  

It was busy.  There were trucks stamped with the seal of Illinois parked on the edges, presumably belonging to the delegation from Chicago.  There seemed to be more ghosts than usual as well, enough of them to make Danny shiver.   Had they come from Chicago, or was it just a coincidence?  If they had, that would be nice.  Chicago had a lot of local influence, and was one of the places that was still trying to hold together something like a national government.  If they accepted ghosts, others would follow more readily.  

Peace between the two worlds in places other than Amity Park would be very nice.  

Danny wandered down the paths of the market fair, not in any particular hurry to get to his parents’ booth.  He was always more interested in the other things at the fair.  Even if he rarely bought anything.  

People seemed to be mostly moving in one direction.  No, they were being drawn in one direction, with people tugging their companions onward.  Danny, not having anything better to do, went with the flow.  

Which led back to where the Chicago delegation was set up.  Several people were standing in front of the trucks, arguing.  

“How can you lose an entire bevy of ghosts?” demanded the man who appeared to be in charge.  

The target of his ire merely shrugged.  

“Can’t lose people like that, bub!” shouted someone from the crowd.  There was a titter of laughter.  

“Didn’t you have a big, fancy announcement, fed?” 

More laughter.  

“Yeah, what did you want to say?”  This voice had an echo to it, and the the man looked extremely aggrieved.  

Nevertheless, he took a deep breath.  “We were led to believe,” he said, cheek jumping, “by certain ghosts, that there was a way to negotiate with the ghosts and... reverse this nonsense.”

Wow.  So, Chicago got scammed.  That could have repercussions.  Danny hoped Amity Park wouldn’t see too much of the fallout.  

“Wouldn’t you jump on any chance to stop this?” demanded the man in response to the jeers, gesturing at the sky and its pulsing bands of light.  

“Tell us a better story!” shouted Ember, who had struck up a much more cordial relationship with Amity Park after the apocalypse.  “One that we’ll remember!”

The man turned away, throwing his hands in the air.  “Go find them!” he shouted, presumably to his subordinates. 

The crowd broke up.  

Danny was curious.  It was one of his defining characteristics, both as a human and as a ghost.  He followed one of the Chicagoans as they walked into the market turning this way and that.  

“So,” he said, “what story was your boss fed?”

The woman jumped and looked down at him, disconcerted.  (Yes, he was short.  That wasn’t his fault.  Except that it probably was, via the portal accident.)

The woman sighed.  “Why not, it’ll be out before too long.  We were told that the rightful king of ghosts was in hiding here, or something stupid like that.  I don’t think they ever said he could fix the world, even.  Only that he could be negotiated with.”  She kicked the ground.  “This is so stupid.  There’s no ghost king.  This is never going to get fixed.”

“It’s not so bad, is it?” asked Danny.  

“How old even were you when it happened.  Ten?” asked the woman.  

“Excuse me, I was sixteen,” said Danny, crossing his arms.  

“That’s cute,” said the woman, dragging her hand down her face.  “You’re like thirteen, tops.  Not nineteen.  Jesus.  Go bother someone else, kid.”

Danny rolled his eyes.  “Well, you aren’t wrong that there’s no ghost king.  Last guy who called himself that got beaten up and locked in a sarcophagus forever.”

Then, just to mess with her, because she’d been rude, Danny turned invisible and left before she turned around.  

Now...  He should probably try to warn people about the scam artist ghosts.  Or would they know from the other people watching?  

Danny flicked back into visibility and continued perusing the various stalls, making small talk with the owners, bringing up the Chicagoans when it was appropriate.  

He was passing by the covered entrance of the mall, one of the most crowded spots in the market fair, when his ghost sense went off, indicating an unfamiliar ghost was nearby.  He scanned the crowd for the ghost.  He didn’t have to look very hard.  Strange ghosts tended to draw eyes, even in Amity Park.  

Especially ones that looked like this.  Inhumanly tall, cloaked, and moving smoothly.  Glimpses under their hoods showed faces riddled with decay- or at least the appearance of decay.  The three of them held instruments.  Flute, drum, and summoning bell.

Danny stood to the side to let them pass.  After all, they weren’t doing anything bad as far as he could see.  

They did not.  Instead, they stopped in front of Danny.  Typical.  

Then they started playing their instruments.  And kneeling.  

Aaaand the crowd was getting bigger.  There was the person from Chicago, too.  Could he escape without turning invisible with all this attention on him?

Probably not without showcasing his ghost powers.  There were people who knew him in this crowd.  Like Paulina.  And Star.  

“Um,” said Danny.  “Hi?”

The leading ghost looked up as the sun’s light turned emerald green.  

“Blessings of rot and petrichor, my prince. May you have a home in the dark, and may the distant stars you reach for never fade.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Danny saw the Chicagoan’s jaw drop.  

“I think you might have the wrong guy,” said Danny.  “I’m not anyone’s prince.”

The ghost grinned, sharp and white.  “We came to give our blessings, my prince.  You do not need to accept them for them to exist.  We offer, also, our service and our hope in this new world that you are so suited for.”

Yeah.  This was going to be a problem.  

Chapter 40: Adoption by Technus

This was beginning to become disturbing.  And Valerie had a pretty high bar for what she considered ‘disturbing.’

Ghosts were not supposed to act this... friendly... with hunters.  Even Phantom didn’t act like this, no matter how much he insisted he and the hunters were on the same side.  

This ghost also didn’t extend the behavior it displayed with Valerie to anyone else, ghost or human.  Which was.  Creepy.  

Getting gear from a human benefactor like Mr. Masters was one thing.  Getting... stuff from a ghost was something else entirely.  Having a ghost swoop in to ‘save’ her, one that wasn’t a pathological liar like Phantom was...  At least Phantom had a motive.  

She didn’t like it.  At all.  She especially didn’t like how the ghost kept complimenting her.  Kept showing up no matter how many times she beat it up.  

Claimed that it had made her new suit.  The one bonded to her body.  The one that whispered static to her mind.  

She didn’t have a lot of places to turn to, when it came to ghost-related issues.  Her Dad knew about the hunting, now, but he didn’t know about ghosts.  Her first choice for info and aid would be Mr. Masters, but he was out of town, and she didn’t exactly have his phone number.  

That left the Fentons.  

.

“Perhaps it’s trying to possess you,” said Mrs. Fenton, taping electrodes to Valerie’s arm.  “Can you try summoning your suit again?”

Valerie sighed, fixing her gaze on the Fenton’s stained kitchen wallpaper, but complied.  She knew that telling the resident mad scientists about the weird ghost tech integrated into her body would result in some poking and prodding, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Wow, Mads!” exclaimed Jack.  “Get a look at these readings!”

“Oh, my,” said Maddie, leaning around Jack’s bulk to get a look at the readout screen.  “That is interesting.”

Valerie’s phone buzzed, her alarm going off.  “I have to go,” she said.  “If you figure out what the ghost wants, you have my number, right?”

“Er, yes,” said Maddie.  “Although, I still stand by my first thought.  Ghosts like to make you doubt yourself, to make you afraid, or uneasy.  That’s what they feed on, and I doubt this one is intelligent enough to diverge from seeking that, even if it is going about it in a relatively novel way.”

“Right,” said Valerie, dubiously.  She agreed that ghosts were evil, but mindless?  Not a chance.  

She didn’t know what she’d expected to accomplish, here.  

“Thanks for your help,” she said.  

As soon as she got out the front door, she let herself sigh again.  Hopefully, Mr. Masters would be back soon, and she’d be able to get some real help.  

“Hey.”

Valerie jumped, just barely keeping herself from summoning her suit in the middle of the street. 

“God, Danny, you can’t just sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry,” said Danny, completely unrepentant.  “Ghost stalker, huh?  You know, my parents are not the people you want to go to for that.”

“I thought they were the experts,” said Valerie, rolling her eyes and starting to walk home.  

“They are,” said Danny, keeping up with her easily.  

(He was cute when he was earnest.)

“They are,” he repeated, “but they’re experts in ghost technology.  And ghost physics.  And ghost biology.  Stuff like that.  Which is good for your suit and all,” he paused to jump up on the side of a planter and use it as a balance beam, “but not so much for the problem you asked about, which is more of a ghost culture thing.”

“Which you know about.”

“I do!” protested Danny.  “Just because Mom and Dad don’t bother to actually talk to ghosts, that doesn’t mean that Jazz and I are like that.”

Valerie stopped.  “Are you telling me you know why this ghost is following me?”

“If the ghost in question is Technus,” said Danny, “then, yes.  Yes I do.”

“And are you going to share that with me any time soon?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  “Just, keep an open mind, okay?”

“Danny, I swear, if you go on one of Sam’s ‘poor misunderstood creatures’ rants, I’m going to yeet you all the way back to your house.  I’m stressed.  I don’t want to deal with this.”

“Technus is trying to adopt you.”

Slowly, Valerie inserted her pinky into her ear and rotated it, trying to clear out the wax that had clearly built up without her knowing.  

“No, really,” said Danny, his tone that of barely suppressed glee.  “It’s a thing adult ghosts do with ghosts that are kids, because usually there aren’t too many kid ghosts.  I guess with your suit you’re ghostly enough to count.”

Valerie suppressed a shiver at being called ghostly at all.  “How do you even know that?”

“I talk to ghosts about things.”

“About adoption practices.”

Danny shrugged.  “It came up.”

“Great.  How do I make ‘Technus’ stop?”

“No idea.  Nothing I’ve done seems to work.  But who knows?  Maybe Technus is different.”

“Different from-?  Danny, what are you saying?”

“Well,” said Danny tucking his hands behind his back and looking up at the sky.  “You’ve seen our house and our lab.  If you’re ghostly because of a suit you’ve had for a few months, what do you think I’m like?”

“Do your parents know?”

“Nope.  I’d like to keep it that way, if it’s all the same to you.  And I can help you navigate Technus.  If you want.”

Valerie scowled.  “You think this is funny.”

“Of course I do!  I think it’s great that someone else has to deal with this.  It’s not dangerous, though.  You can literally just humor him.  Might get him to stop attacking so often, even.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope,” said Danny.  

Valerie pinched the bridge of her nose.  “Ghosts have done this to you, too?” she asked, because she needed to know for sure.

“Yep.  So, do you want help or no?”

Valerie hesitated.  “This doesn’t mean we’re dating again.”

Danny frowned.  “Why would it?”

“No reason.  Tell me what you know.”

Chapter 41: The Dark Beach

He was walking at the edge of the surf.  If he stopped for too long, he started to sink into the fine black sand.  He was walking south, towards the sickle-thin curve of a winter moon, the black sea reflecting flashes of white to his right.  To his left, the landscape was equally dark.  He could barely see the path before him, and he knew that if he tried to leave the strip of sand where the waves touched and receded, lapping at his ankles, something bad would happen. 

Had... something bad already happened?  He didn’t remember, but his head echoed with pain.  

Where... where was he?

There was someone standing in front of him.  He stopped.  Water rushed over his feet, and he felt the sand start to give way beneath him.  

“Daniel Fenton.”

“Yes?” said Danny.  He knew this person, he felt, though from where...  That was a mystery.  He saw a boat behind them, and vaguely realized the moon he’d been following was, in fact, the gleam off the blade of their scythe.  “Am I supposed to go with you?” he asked.

The person looked first to the sea, then to the land.  Then they looked up.  Danny followed their gaze, idly picking out stars.  He wondered why they weren’t sinking while he was.  Thinking about it too hard hurt his head, though, so instead he focused on the not-entirely-unpleasant sensation of wet sand encasing his ankles.  

A hand descended on Danny’s shoulder.  “It’s your choice,” said the person.  “But it appears that you’ve found a third option, so to speak.”

Danny pulled himself free of the sand.  It was easier this time than before.  

“I think I’ll stay here, then,” he said.  He didn’t like the look of the water.  Wasn’t there some kind of rule against going boating at night?  It was dangerous, or something.  “I have things to do.”  Surprisingly, this was true.  

The person nodded.  “Be careful, Daniel Fenton.  Little Phantom.”

“Thanks,” said Danny, absently.  “You too.”

The the pain hit him.  And the green light.  And the screaming.  And the faint scent of burnt hair and plastic and-

He was in the portal and he had to get out.  

(The dark beach was never quite forgotten.)

Chapter 42: Incursion

Mr. Lancer chewed on the end of his pen.  It was a disgusting habit, he knew, but he could never quite get himself to kick it, especially when he had a problem to confront.  

Said problem was, presently, that enough of his students had expressed an interest in careers in ectology and paranormal science that he really had to give them a relevant field trip.  Unfortunately, there were very few reputable options for such a field trip.  The Fentons were unsafe, Axion Labs refused to give tours, the GIW were essentially a government sponsored hate group.  Most other ‘ghost hunting agencies’ were outright scams.  

But there had to be something nearby.  Or at least in the state.  Maybe not something that explicitly or solely dealt with ghosts, but something.  

Maybe...

Oh!

He shifted to sit straighter in his chair.  That would work.  He started typing an email.

.

“We got a what?” repeated Johannsson.  

“A field trip request,” repeated Deer.  

“Like... from a school?” asked Johannsson, cautiously.  

“A high school,” confirmed Deer, sounding rather stunned.  

“Do they... know what we do here?” 

“Evidently,” said Deer.  

“Like, they know we research magic and telepathy and stuff.”

“Yes.”

“And astral projection, higher-dimensional beings, alternate universes, that kind of thing?  Fringe science?”

“He says the junior class is interested in the ‘paranormal sciences.’”

“Wow,” said Johannsson, finally bringing his coffee up to his mouth and sipping at it cautiously.  “Where,” he started, “where are they from?”

“Um,” said Deer, peering at her computer screen.  “Casper High.  One sec.”  She started typing.  “It’s in Amity Park?  Do you think it’s a joke?”

“Ah,” said Johannsson.  “No, that tracks, actually, if it’s Amity Park.  We’ve got some weird readings on file from there, if you look it up.”

“It’s close,” said Deer.  “If we get readings, why don’t we have a presence there?”

“Another agency called dibs first,” said Johannsson.  “We have enough trouble.  No need to step on toes.”

Deer looked up at Johannsson incredulously.  “We fight eldritch abominations from the edge of reality,” she said.  “Is the boss really worried about stepping on toes?”

“Hey, that’s how we get funding,” said Johannsson, shrugging.  “We don’t want to end up like MKUltra.”

“MKUltra was a scam, Steve.  And also mostly illegal.”

“Yeah?”

Deer shrugged.  “Anyway, should I send this on, or...?”

“Yeah, go ahead.  The boss will probably get a kick out of it, if nothing else.”

.

“I would not have told the boss about this if I knew I’d be the one babysitting a bunch of teenagers,” said Deer through a clenched smile.  She jerked on the hem of her blouse, not used to the more formal clothes she was wearing on this momentous occasion.   

“Yeah,” said Johannsson, “but it isn’t like we get a lot of people coming into this profession for this profession.  And they’re kids.  So be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” grumbled Deer.  

“Well, look like it,” said Johannsson, elbowing her.  He caught sight of the yellow school bus.  “Here they come now.”

They waited until most of the students had gotten off the bus to approach.  

“Hi,” said Johannsson, “you must be Mr. Lancer.”

“That’s me,” said the rather frazzled-looking teacher.  “Come on kids, let’s get settled down.  Listen to our guides.  Let them introduce themselves.”

“Yeah, hey,” said Johannsson, waving.  “Welcome to the Edge Institute, where we study that which is unknown and often thought to be impossible.”

“Hi,” said Deer, frowning at one group of students in particular.  Johannsson followed her eyes.  

The trio in question didn’t seem particularly out of the ordinary.  Except...  Well, there was a reason Deer worked here.  

“I’m Steve Johannsson,” he said, getting back on track.  “This is Sylvia Deer.  We mostly work in report processing and assessment, but that brings us into contact with all our other departments, so we’re more than suited to show you around.”

Sylvia put her thumbs up.  “Yep,” she said.  

“Most of what we work with isn’t terribly dangerous, however, there are exceptions to that rule, and we have some classified projects, so don’t wander off.  Stay within view of us at all times.”

“What if we need to use the bathroom?” asked a student.

“Well, that’s different,” admitted Johannsson.  “We’ve got a couple scheduled stops, so make sure you go at those times.  Other than that, don’t go through any doors we don’t open for you and don’t touch anything without asking first.  Got it?”

There was a soft murmur of assent.  

“Come on, kids,” said Mr. Lancer, clapping, “he asked a question.”

The murmur became slightly more unanimous.  

“Right,” said Deer.  She jerked her head towards the building.  “Let’s go.”

“Anyway,” said Johannsson, “this is reception, which is the only part of the building freely open to the general public.  If you do need to go to the bathroom, they’re right there.  We’re going to hang out here for a few minutes, get everyone taken care of.”

Most of the students made their way to the restrooms immediately, however, that one trio stayed put.  

“Hey,” said the smallest of the group, “do you guys hear that?”

“Hear what?” asked Johannsson.

“Um,” said the boy, slightly rocking forward on the balls of his feet, “there’s, like, an alarm or a siren going off?  It’s really faint, but is everything okay?”

“We’d get a text,” said Deer.  “Not to mention an announcement on the PA system.”

“And the radios,” said Johannsson, tapping his.  

“Right,” said Deer, nodding.  “Maybe you have tinnitus or something?”

“Isn’t that recurrent, though?” asked Johannsson.  “He’d know if he had it.”

“I do not have tinnitus,” said the boy, firmly.  “I really think there’s an alarm going off.  Or maybe someone has a mosquito ringtone.  Gosh, I hate those...”

Johannsson glanced at Deer and noted that she, once again, was staring at the children rather intensely.  Mostly at the boy, but that made sense since he was the one speaking.  

“Danny has good hearing,” said the girl, who was decked out in an array of gothic and mystic symbols.  One which, on closer inspection, would probably be fairly effective at passive protection.  

Johannsson wondered if that was the result of research, intuition, or sheer luck.  

Perhaps that was why Deer was looking at them like that?

“Maybe I’m just imagining it,” said Danny, shaking his head.  “Let’s go to the bathrooms.  There’s probably a line by now.”

Once the kids were gone, and Johannsson and Deer were more or less alone in the entry hall, Johannsson turned to Deer.  “Think we should call Detection?”

“Yeah,” said Deer, pulling out her phone.  “There’s something not right, here.”

“Maybe he’s a sensitive?” suggested Johannsson.  “He could be picking up a project.”

“Or maybe he’s like you and he’ll break every piece of tech invented in the last twenty-five years as soon as he touches it.  Or he was cursed by a goddess, like Vicky in Containment.  Or maybe he just has tinnitus and is in denial.  I still don’t like this.”  She finished dialing Detection and brought the phone to her ear.  “Hey, I-”  She pulled the phone away, glared at it and cautiously brought it back.  “What’s going on?  An incursion?  Then why aren’t we on lockdown?”

Johannsson’s blood ran cold.  “An incursion?  How big?”

Deer held up a hand.  “That doesn’t-  You know we can’t detect everything!  It doesn’t matter if nothing else gets triggered, the protocol is lockdown until we can determine- If you had done your job, the kids would still be on the damn bus!”

At this point, Deer’s shouts had drawn the attention and worry of Mr. Lancer and several of the students who had emerged from the bathrooms.  

“Is everything alright?” asked the man.  

Johannsson glanced at Deer.  “No,” he decided, just before the security shutters slammed down and the emergency lighting came on.  “I’m really sorry,” he said, “but it seems like some of our colleagues were overly excited about your tour and didn’t, er, follow proper procedure following a, uh, event.  So-”

The PA system stuttered into life.  “Attention.  A level seven entity has been detected.  All nonessential personnel, please proceed to the nearest shelter.  Repeat-”

“Seven?” echoed Johannsson, starting to sweat.  “Seven?”

“It’s probably a false alarm,” said Deer, putting away her phone and smiling in the way only people who feel very ill do.  “None of the other incursion detectors went off.  No radiation associated with dimensional breaks or anything.  We should still get everyone to a shelter.  Maybe you can round up everyone from the bathrooms?”

“Right,” said Mr. Lancer, who was enviably calm.  

“Is an entity like a ghost or something?” asked one of the kids, who clearly weren’t grasping the gravity of the situation.  “How strong is a seven?”

Level seven entities couldn’t be described in terms of strength alone.  They were eldritch, uncaring gods that tore at the fabric of reality with their very presence, creatures that had no business being on the material plane.  They shed bright magic and dark science in their wake, leaving those unfortunate enough to see them grappling with madness that was not.  

He really wanted to know what was happening in Amity Park (ghosts?) that made these people so blasé about the alarms, flashing lights, and security shutters.  

Wait a second.  

He unclipped his radio from his belt.  “This is Johannsson, calling detection.  Can you describe the signal to me?  Over.”

The radio crackled.  “Slowly rising over the last thirty minutes, peaking and plateauing in the last ten.  Why?  Do you have something?  Over.”

The bus had arrived ten minutes ago.  Johannsson closed his eyes.  “Maybe.  Will inform.  Over and out.”

He looked over at the bathroom where Danny and his two friends were emerging.  Danny had his hands pressed over his ears.  Whenever the overhead lights flashed off, the boys eyes reflected green.  Just for a second.  

Yeah.  Johannsson had something.  The question was, what was he going to do about it?

Chapter 43: Your Own Funeral

Summary:

Another tumblr prompt, this one from annakreis42.

“Um,” said Danny, surprised to find many of the ghosts he knew (’knew’ meaning anything from ‘fought occasionally’ to ‘had an actual friendship with’) camped out in the main hallway of Casper High.  Wearing suits and black dresses and...  whatever that was.  Along with various refreshments.  “What’s going on?”

The humans present (a few students and teachers) looked, if possibly, even more bewildered than Danny.  And at least a little freaked out.  

“Phantom!  You’re here!” said Skulker, gleefully.  

Danny tightened his grip on his backpack, his glove squeaking against the strap.  He probably should have left it outside, but he’d been distracted by the unusually large reaction of his ghost sense and barreled in, prepared to fight to protect his fellow students.  

“Yes,” said Danny, slowly.  

“Great!” said Skulker.  He gestured to a large, open, extremely gothic black and white coffin.  “Get in.”

“No,” said Danny, immediately.  

“But you’re the guest of honor!” objected Poindexter.  

“When we heard you hadn’t ever had a funeral,” said Dora, tearfully, holding an extravagantly embroidered handkerchief to her eye, “we just had to come and properly mourn you!  What kind of friends would we be, otherwise?”

“Well,” said Danny, now feeling like an ungrateful lug.  “Thanks.  But I’m not getting into a coffin.”  He’d defeated a guy by pushing him into a coffin, once.  Well, a sarcophagus.  

The ghosts stared at him.  

“But,” said Technus, “it’s your funeral, ghost child!”

“Yeah...  I’m just.  Not sure what the point of throwing a party for me is, if I’m just going to lay in a coffin the whole time.”

“It’s a casket, actually,” said Poindexter.  

“Okay,” said Danny.  “I’m not-  That doesn’t really change anything?”  Now that the general shock was wearing off, he was beginning to feel rather upset about all of this.  

“Phantom,” said Dash, softly, “you didn’t have a funeral?”  He sounded like he was about to cry.  

“No memorial at all,” confirmed- Wait, no, that was Amorpho.  He’d gotten better, but seeing him as Spectra was a trip. 

(He was, however, quite glad that the real Spectra was absent.)

“I don’t-  That doesn’t particularly bother me,” said Danny.  “I mean, this is really nice of you guys, I mean it, but...  You really, really didn’t have to.  And I’m not getting in a casket.”

“But it’s your funeral!  The casket is an important part” 

Danny threw up his hands.  “Are you planning to bury me, too?  That’s usually an important part of a funeral.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.  None of the ghosts would meet his eyes.  Except Skulker, who grinned very widely.  

Walker stepped forward, his grim outline ruined by the small clear plastic cup full of fizzing punch.  “Phantom,” he intoned, grimly, “it’s part of the rules.”

“No,” said Danny, “absolutely not.”

“We knew you’d say that,” said Walker, nodding gravely.  

Danny squinted at Walker.  “Are you drunk?  At my funeral?”

Walker pointed at him.  “Catch this varmint, folks,” he said.  

Danny was good at fighting.  Really good at fighting.  Even so, he couldn’t fight almost all the ghosts he knew at once.  

At least, Danny mused, as he glared at the horrible, pocked-tile school hallway ceiling, the casket was comfortable, even if he was wrapped in some of Skulker’s rope.  Oh.  And school was canceled, on account of the slightly drunk ghosts, so he wouldn’t get in trouble for missing class.

(They’d untie him before burying him, so he could phase out.  Probably.)

(He’d figure something out if they didn’t.)

Chapter 44: education

Notes:

Based on a tumblr prompt~

Phantom is nervous.  

If he’s honest, he isn’t really sure why he’s here- Or, for that matter, what ‘here’ is.  It doesn’t feel like home.  

He rubs at his gloves, feeling them slide over the cold flesh beneath.  There are patterns on them, shimmering starbursts and lightning strikes that are only visible in the right lightning.  

He’s in a waiting room.  

It isn’t like any waiting room he’s ever seen before, but that’s what it is.  The walls are carved.  The chairs are upholstered in emerald velvet.  Decorations sparkle with jewels and precious metals.  

It’s still a waiting room, and Phantom is waiting.  

The door opens.  Phantom looks up at the scowling, one-eyed visage of one of the ghosts who had pulled him away from the wreckage and... it.  At least, he thinks it is one of those ghosts.  He had seen others who looked similar.  Almost identical, really.  As if to illustrate this point, two more of those ghosts emerged.  

Phantom stiffened.  They hadn’t been cruel, but they hadn’t been kind, either, and they had refused to explain anything that was happening.  

“Does he really not remember anything?” asked one of them.  

“Evidently not,” said another.  

“Does that surprise you?”

Phantom liked this voice more.  It belonged to Clockwork, who was kind.  Sort of.  Even if he seemed to be subordinate to the other ghosts.  

The eternally shifting ghost briefly touched Phantom’s shoulder as he passed.  Acknowledgement.  

“Most do forget, when they pass on,” said Clockwork.  

“But he was different,” said one of the others.  They had shuffled themselves, and Phantom was no longer sure which was which.  

“Not different enough.”

“He cannot rule like this.”

“And yet he must,” replied Clockwork.  “You know the law.  The Right of Conquest.”

The ghosts didn’t seem to like that.  Phantom shrunk back in his seat.  

“We can find someone new in the same way.”

“I cannot stop you,” said Clockwork.  “But he did defeat Pariah Dark.  Do you think he will remember you kindly, if in his infancy you torment him by throwing him into war?  If his ignorance is what bothers you, let him learn, as all young things must.”

Maybe Clockwork wasn’t their subordinate?  But he had done everything they had said, before.  

“In the wild?” said one of them, scandalized.  

Clockwork sighed.  “We do have schools, you know.”

.

“But how will I breathe?” asked Phantom, staring down at the vast expanse of water beneath his feet.  

“You don’t breathe, Phantom,” said Clockwork.

“Oh,” he said, frowning.  That was right.  Actually, no one he knew needed to breathe.  So where had he gotten the idea?  More pressingly... “Do I need to do this?”

“The Drowned Quarter is home to some of the finest educational facilities in the Infinite Realms.”  He paused.  “Also, the Observants hate getting wet, so they won’t bother you while you’re studying.”

Phantom brightened.  Literally.  “Okay,” he said.  “And they can teach me how to be a good king and help people?”

“I certainly hope so,” said Clockwork.  

Chapter 45: mother

Notes:

Based on a tumblr post.

“Could you possibly repeat that last one?” asked the Mother, pleasantly.  ‘Pleasant’ was, after all, the tone she defaulted to when she was shocked.  

Clockwork complied.  

The Mother raised her hand slightly from where it had been flat against the table.  “Allow me to summarize,” she said, “to see if I understand.  At the behest of the Observants, you caused a child, who had at the time been dead for less than a year, to fight a fusion of himself and his enemy.  A fusion who presented itself as him, despite having essentially nothing in common with him in terms of Obsession?  Despite having an opposed Obsession?”

Clockwork nodded.  “It was the most efficient solution.  Although, I would have preferred to find one that was less traumatic.”  He sipped at his tea.  “Unfortunately, the involvement of the Observants made that difficult.”

“And you have been letting older ghosts attack him with impunity?”

“You know I dislike limiting choices, Mother,” he said.  “Besides, Daniel can handle it, and he knows he can come to me if things get to be too much.  In any case, my understanding is that many of those ‘attacks’ come from a place of concern.”  Clockwork sighed.  “It is his choice, but Amity Park is not the most healthy environment.”

“Right,” said the Mother.  “Do you mind if I borrow him for, oh, perhaps a year or so?”

“That’s such a short time,” said Clockwork.  “Are you sure you don’t want him for longer?  I know you had Desiree under your wing for decades.”

“Yes, and I should speak to her about all this, too.  She is one of the ones attacking Phantom, correct?”

“She is only playing,” said Clockwork.  “She changes things only when someone says ‘wish’ in her hearing.”

“Phantom is an infant.”

“He’s fourteen.”

The Mother raised her eyebrow.  

“That’s only four years shy of the age at which his people mark majority,” said Clockwork, defensively.  

“Yes,” said the Mother.  They stared at one another for a long moment.  They both decided to drink their tea.

“If you do decide to keep him longer, however, I would appreciate it if you brought him to visit now and again.  I fear I have become… rather attached.”

“Sure,” said the Mother.  

She made a mental note to speak to the Observants.  Their method of raising Clockwork clearly hadn’t done him any good.

.

Danny felt the way he always did when his brain and his core decided to have a disagreement about how to react to something: bad.  

Although, for the (un)life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.  The ghost in front of him was powerful, he could feel it on his skin, but she didn’t appear to be particularly hostile or disturbing.  

Actually, he decided, he sort of wanted to approach her and-

A wave of nameless dread overcame him.

Maybe this was just her power, he thought, still hiding behind the corner of the building.  Maybe it made her feel different to humans and ghosts.  

He bit his lip.  She wasn’t hurting anyone, sitting there on the park bench.  He didn’t like to fight if he didn’t have to.  Maybe he should just leave her alone.  

Yeah...

Then she looked straight at him and smiled.  

He slipped out from his (admittedly subpar) hiding place.  “Hi,” he said, waving awkwardly.  

“Hello,” said the ghost.  

“Um,” said Danny, “Mother, what are you doing here?”  He slapped his hands over his mouth.  That was not what he had meant to say.  

“I’m picking you up,” said the ghost (the Mother).  “You’re going to be staying with me for a while.”

.

Right, so, Danny had been kidnapped (spirited away) to the Ghost Zone before.  This was, however, the first time he’d just... gone along with it.  

The ghost (the Mother?) (Mother?) ruffled his hair.  Even though he didn’t want to be touched and she was not his Mother, the sensation soothed something inside him, and he leaned into it.  

“First things first,” she said, “let’s go somewhere nonthreatening, and I can tell you what’s going on, alright?”

Danny, stubbornly, didn’t respond.  

“You like milkshakes right?”

Oh, Ancients, this was going to be weird, wasn’t it?

Chapter 46: Skybound

Even without using any power but flight, Danny was all but invisible against the sky.  Camouflaged.  Shadowless blue against blue.  A tiny splinter of color against clouds.

Skylocked, skyshard, they called him.  Explorer.  Celestial child, and-

He could feel it when the clouds rolled in.  Moisture and mist against his skin, their patterns undulating and coiling up his arms and legs and neck like tattoos.  The thunderstorms might set his heart twitching, but his scars lit up blue-white and yellow and palest purple.  

High enough, the atmosphere tasted like ice, and that was what lay on his tongue when the ghosts came and they wondered-

Why was he staying here?  Skytouched.  Windswept.  Explorer.  Could he not see the open world before him and behind?  Did the mysteries beyond and above the horizon not beckon?  And-

They did.  They did and it hurt, his home a barbed-wire wrapped anchor tied to his ankle and he was bleeding.  He suffocated on the ground and under air, the fingers of buildings that barely scratched the sky reaching higher than he dared.  

His responsibility.  

How could he open more doors?

But- How could he stay earthbound when he could fly high enough to see the earth curve away beneath him, all boundaries washed away as human imagination?  How could he be satisfied with imagination when he could have truth?  Satisfied with the shattered-diamond patterns on his skin when he could have the stars themselves?

He didn’t know how much longer he could do this.

Chapter 47: normal

Danny didn’t know when he realized it.  Maybe he always knew, since he was very small.  Maybe it came to him all of a sudden, later, and it just made so much sense that he couldn’t truly conceive of not knowing.  Maybe he was lying to himself.  

His parents weren’t normal.  

To be fair, neither were he and Jazz, even from a young age, but...  His parents weren’t normal at all.  

When was the last time he saw them eat something other than fudge and cookies?

Jazz took care of the cooking, most days.  Their parents stayed in the lab.  Working, always working.  Money came in from patents, came in suitcases carried by men in crisp black suits.  Danny knew what a Geiger counter was before he was five.   

He knew to be careful.  So did Jazz, but she liked to ignore it, to play it off as nothing.  Someday, he knew, if things kept going the way they were, Jazz would convince herself that all the little things were fantasy.  Imagination.  

She’d move away and burn so brightly with light and passion that she’d blind herself to the shadows she once lived in.  She’d go to an Ivy League school and become a psychologist, or a neurologist, or a psychiatrist, or a brain surgeon.  She would be great.  She would shift paradigms.  

She would never forget him.  Danny wasn’t afraid of that.  But unless he shone just as brightly, unless he burned the memories from his mind just the same, she would never see him anymore.  

He wanted to become an astronaut.  

Dad laughed when he heard that.  He sewed Danny a custom suit- not like Jazz’s, which was just a smaller version of Mom’s- the next day.  White, like an astronaut, he’d said.  

Black for good luck.  And something else that skittered in the back of Danny’s brain.

Danny loved them, their parents.  But they weren’t normal.  

He looked up silver allergies online, once.  They weren’t like that.  And normal people didn’t shy away from the sun on their skin.  

Normal people didn’t talk about wars that weren’t in any history book, or about the best way to butcher a horse.  They didn’t have dozens of blue glass eyes in the bottom drawer of every cabinet they owned.  Their holiday dinners didn’t come to life and menace the neighborhood.  

Once, when he was ten, he thought they might be vampires.  But looking up the folklore and going deep, deep, touching the past, he saw that all the monsters that went bump in the night- and no few benevolent things too- borrowed traits, powers, and weaknesses from one another.  

Once, on the first day of spring, a ring of mushrooms rose up to circle Fentonworks completely.  Mom harvested them and fried them in butter.  Jazz refused to eat them, saying they might be poisonous.  Dad ate a plate of fudge.  Mom smiled as Danny ate every last one.  It was the most normal meal Danny had for years before or after.  

The portal was a project of passion.  Of something like desperation.  Of hope.  

For all that they professed to hate ghosts, sometimes Danny wondered if they weren’t trying to get back home.

Mom and Dad weren’t normal.  What did that make Danny and Jazz?

(Once upon a time he cut his hands open to see if he bled red and he doesn’t remember what he found out but after Dash he’s sure he bleeds red now.)

Danny wanted to see it.  He wanted to let them see it, bring back their life and spirit.  Let them know that it didn’t matter that Dad was a mountain of a man that looked even taller and broader out of the corner of his eye, or that he hadn’t seen Mom’s eyes in a year and didn’t remember their color, or that whatever they used for bath salts made Danny dizzy.  He wanted to show them that he loved them and he wanted to help.  

The portal beckoned.  He put on his astronaut-white and death-black jumpsuit and walked in.  This felt right, down to the electric tension in the air and the faint chill of the wall through his glove.  

It wasn’t normal, to put the on button for something like this on the inside.

(Danny’s parents weren’t normal.)

Danny wasn’t normal.  

No one normal fought the undead in back alleys, or laid awake at night trying to hold onto life hard enough to keep from falling through their bed.  No one normal could taste emotions on the air and drink them in.  No one normal could walk through a blizzard with bare feet and think how lovely the day was, or feel electricity brewing in their bones as the lightning storm raged.  

But that was later.  

He woke in his parents’ arms, to gentle crooning.  He woke to the flavor of joy that wasn’t his and colors too vivid to be real.  He woke.  

Had Mom’s eyes always been purple?  He couldn’t remember.  But the shape was familiar, and they crinkled happily at the corners.  He couldn’t help but smile back.  

Danny wasn’t normal.  Neither were his parents.  They weren’t the same kind of not-normal, and that made Danny’s teeth hurt, sometimes, especially after his fangs grew in, but-

But.  

Who could divide a fairy, from a ghost, from a revenant, from a lich?  Who marked out the boundaries between dwarves, goblins, trolls, giants?  How did an elf differ from any of these things, when elf might be tall or short, spiritual or just shy of human?  The roots of the stories were tangled, no matter how neatly the gardeners trimmed the plants.  

Danny’s story was that of a hero of a monster.  But the first hero was Gilgamesh, and no one would call him that, now.  

And for his parents-

For his sister-

For his family-

A normal story simply didn’t suit them at all.

Chapter 48: Ghost Fish

They looked like neon tetras, or zebrafish, in shape and pattern, except that their size ranged from less than an inch long to twice as long as Danny was tall.  Their stripes glowed with bright, candy-vivid colors.  Their scales were transparent, their skeletons luminous.  

Danny held his breath as they flowed around him, brushing against him.  Several of the smaller ones swam through his hair as if it were some kind of seaweed.  It probably looked like that, waving as it was in the faint ectoplasmic current of the Ghost Zone.  

The massive school of fish made their own silvery-bright river through the green sky.  Danny wondered if they were going to spawn somewhere, or if this was just how they were all the time.  

No, the ghost that pointed him this way said it was a migration.  That implied a purpose of some sort, a regularity.  At least, it did when it came to earth animals.  

He should probably stop standing in their way, though, no matter how cool it looked.  

(He did not notice the small fish hiding in his hair until he got home.  Under the lights of his bedroom it almost looked normal.)

(He started looking up fish tanks online.)

Chapter 49: Vampire

Notes:

Based on an anon tumblr prompt.

Marcellus Ellsworth arrived in Amity Park well after sunset.  True, he was powerful enough that he need not fear the sun, but one did not live as long as he by tempting fate.  

Even if it was rumored that his current quarry, despite being painfully young, could also walk in daylight.

No matter.  One such as he would not be hiding on a night such as this.  Not when hunger would inevitably drive him to hunt.  To have enough self-control not to attack the humans he evidently interacted with so often, he would have to feed regularly.  

The question was, where would he be?

Marcellus directed his driver to stop with a rap on the dividing window.  Marcellus couldn’t very well find the child without venturing beyond the blacked out windows of the limousine.  

The child.  Not for the first time, Marcellus wondered how such a thing came to be in a city so far off the beaten path for their kind.  Did a loner make Amity Park their home, and finally break under the pressures of isolation?  Or did a traveler pass through, fall to their hunger and, in a fit of either remorse or generosity, bestow a blood gift on their victim?

Well, either way, Marcellus was confident in his ability to benefit from the situation.  A new child, from a different bloodline, in his debt would be a great boon.  An ally in the form of the loner would be as well.  

He stepped out into the night.  It was quiet.  Not much nightlife in this city.  At least, not here.  He nodded to the driver.  The man would be ready when he called.  

Marcellus turned towards the town’s public part.  Although he himself found the practice distasteful, many of the young went for the low-hanging fruit: the homeless.  

As he got nearer, he made note of the benches.  Only one was occupied.  The occupant seemed to fit the description he had been given, however, it would be better to wait for more evidence.  He’d hate to be forced to kill someone simply because he’d acted hastily.  He settled in the shadows.  

For a long while, nothing happened.  Then, for just a moment, the figure on the bench seemed to flicker and vanish.  Marcellus smiled.  That was an unusual ability to be sure.  A valuable ability.  His smile only grew wider when the boy yawned, displaying dentition that never belonged to a human.  

Marcellus stepped out of the shadows and approached the bench.  “Greetings, child,” he said.  

“Um, hi,” said the boy looking up from the book he’d been reading and waving.  “What’s up?”

The new idiom.  Lovely.

“You have made quite a stir,” said Marcellus.  “I had to come see what all the fuss was about.”

The boy tilted his head, brow drawn down.  “Excuse me?”

Marcellus smiled, revealing his fangs.  “You need not dissemble.  I know what you are as well as I know my own nature.”

“Do you,” said the boy, skeptically, sliding away from Marcellus.  

“Indeed.  Tell me, did your sire leave you to face the hunger all on your own, or are they hiding in this city even now?  Regardless, considering how little guidance they seem to have given you, I believe we can assist one another.”

The boy blinked at him.  “Oh,” he said, finally, “you’re a vampire.”

Marcellus had hoped the boy would be cleverer than this.  No matter.  

“Yes, like you are, yourself, young one.”

“But I’m not,” said the boy, calmly.  He closed his book and set it to the side.  “A vampire, I mean.”  The boy looked up, meeting Marcellus’ gaze.

Marcellus raised an eyebrow, then froze as the boy’s eyes shone green.  

Ah.  That.  That was not something his kind could usually do.  

“You shouldn’t be here,” said the boy, a kind of hollow echo in his voice.  

Marcellus had heard of these.  Had heard from his elders of creatures they had dared not to cross.  Of the reason some certain places and towns were forbidden to their kind.  

“You should leave.”  This pronouncement was said in a much more normal voice, the boy looing away again.  “If you hurt anyone, I’ll know.”

And you’ll regret it, was unspoken.  

Marcellus nodded and backed away.

Well.  He might not have gotten what he wanted, but as one of his old teachers used to say, any situation he could walk away from could be considered a sort of success.  

Chapter 50: exorcise exercise

Valerie stared at her phone and then at the building in front of her, then at her phone again, and wondered how the hell she could have forgotten the address of this place.  

This had to be a joke.  Who in their right mind would buy Fentonworks?

The realtor would have told them it was haunted.  That, after the Fentons, years ago, no family had made it longer than a month in the house.  But they still would have sold it, because, hey, the sellers didn’t want to be stuck with the taxes on it forever.  

She almost turned around and left.  Nothing she did would fix that house.  

Even so, maybe she could convince the family to leave, and keep anything from... clinging to them.  Plus, she needed the money.  

She climbed the steps, feeling her suit buzzing under her skin as if in warning.  She shushed it irritably.  These days, she tried not to use it so much.  There were consequences, she’d learned, to accepting ‘gifts’ from ghosts.  Or billionaires.  Or billionaire ghosts.  

Yeah.  

The doorbell was one of those novelty ones, sold for tourists who came to see the most haunted city in the world, but it made her brain itch.  It was too similar to the one the Fentons had originally had.  

She pressed it anyway.  

God, it even sounded like-

All thought stopped dead as Danny Fenton opened the door.  

“Hi, Val!” he said, cheerfully.  “You know, you’re really difficult to get ahold of.”

Valerie blinked.  “Shouldn’t you be older?”

“That’s what you open with?”  He rolled his eyes.  “Some of us can age gracefully.  Amikoj!” he called, over his shoulder.  “Valerie estas ĉi tie!”  He turned back to Valerie and stepped away from the door, grinning.  “Come on in.”

Valerie didn’t move.  “You’re supposed to be dead,” she said.  

Danny scratched his ear.  “See, that’s what I thought you’d say first.”

“You’re a ghost,” she said.  “You’re dead.”

“Okay, one, you deal with ghosts literally all the time, this shouldn’t be a shock, and two, for legal purposes, I am not dead.  I pay taxes and everything.  You going to stand out there all night, or are you going to have dinner with us?”

“Us?” repeated Valerie, high-pitched.  

“The whole family’s here,” said Danny.  

“You,” said Valerie.  “You hired me to exorcise you.”

“Don’t feel too bad if you can’t,” said Danny.  “We’ll still pay you.  It’ll be good exercise for all of us.”  Danny laughed at his own joke.  

Valerie nodded stiffly.  Yep.  That was Danny alright.  

She stepped into the house. 

Chapter 51: Decapitation

Stitches lined the crease of Danny’s neck, just under the chin.  Danny had to tilt his head back to see them properly in the mirror.  Hesitantly, he raised his hands and let his fingertips brush against the seam.  It reminded Danny of the stitching on a baseball, but several steps to the left.  Too supple.  Too flexible.  Too mobile, going up and down as he breathed shallowly.  

He shouldn’t touch.  His fingers followed the seam back, to the sides of his neck, and then all the way around to touch their opposites.  Then he repeated the process in reverse.  And again.  

There was just something about the sensation that made him want to do it again and again and again.  

He shouldn’t.  

It hurt.  Because, no, duh, having your head sewn back on after getting decapitated hurt.  But the feeling of his fingers running back and forth over the stitches, over the cut, was grounding or meditative or something.  Jazz would probably have a better word for it.  

His core made a sort of crooning sound (because his throat certainly wasn’t up to the task) deep in his chest, and a line of ectoplasm-tinted saliva escaped from his lips to run down his chin.  Because excessive drooling was a side effect of healing from decapitation.  Apparently.  

Well.  Either that or it was blood.  Or both.  Anyway, he was still suppressing the ‘I was decapitated’ trauma, so the ‘why is my blood green’ existential crisis had to wait.  

Speaking of appropriate times, he was supposed to be getting ready for school.  But then he’d zoned out, and...  His fingers followed the bumps of the stitches around his neck again.  

Resolutely, he pulled his hands away from his neck.  His core made another sound, and he rubbed his breastbone.  It had been... more vocal since the whole ‘beheading’ incident.  Maybe it was compensating?  Or maybe it was some kind of stress response, like how his fangs still wouldn’t retract.  Ugh.  It made his gums ache on top of everything else, and he really wanted to bite into something, like maybe an orange or an apple, but eating was contraindicated due to the state of his throat.  

He was getting ready for school.  

Right.  

He picked up the nice, soft bandages he’d taken out of the kit prior to getting lost in his own head, and started to unwind them.  He was going to wear a turtleneck, but the cut was high up, and turtlenecks slipped.  

Even nice, soft bandages didn’t feel great against a wound like this.  

He pulled on the turtleneck, and tried not to grimace, because that, too, would move the skin on his neck.  There was pressure on the cut, now, from all sides, and as he moved his head to get an idea of how much this was going to hurt, the cloth dragged across and caught on the faint bumps.  This didn’t have anywhere near the same satisfying sensation as running his fingers over them.  

He sucked in a deep breath, ignoring how much that action hurt, and centered himself.  Facemask next.  Because they were spinning everything wrong with him as ‘ghost cold, probably not contagious for anyone not ectocontaminated.’

Because the school bought stuff like that.  Or, at least, didn’t want to question it and get answers.  Unless he skipped and then they started poking around.  

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.  He’d had his head sliced off, and he was still going to school.  He didn’t want to do this anymore.  

His tears were glowing.  He wiped them away.  

.

“Ghost flu?” asked the secretary.  

“Just a cold,” said Jazz, her smile fixed.  “It isn’t contagious, but better safe than sorry, right?  Anyway, it comes with some really awful laryngitis, so he won’t be able to talk.”

The secretary shot Danny a suspicious look, then turned her gaze on Jazz, clearly calculating how likely it was that Danny (slacker) convinced Jazz (model student) to lie for him.  

She evidently judged it unlikely, because she sighed and nodded.  “I’ll make sure his teachers know,” she said. 

“Thanks,” said Jazz.  The backed out of the office.  “Was that too easy?”

Danny shrugged.  Honestly, yes, it was.  But he’d take the win.  

.

He spoke too soon.  

The lunchtime ghost fight had left his careful bandages in tatters, and several of his stitches had been raked through by a sharp claw.  It was as if the ghost had known Danny’d been decapitated recently.  

He’d have to go back to the Far Frozen to get these redone.  Would the turtleneck still cover them, so he could last out the day?  He touched the stitches, for a moment falling back into the morning’s trance.  It just felt so... much.

The bathroom door opened, and Danny froze, staring at Dash out of the corner of his eye.  

“What,” said Dash.  

Reflexively, Danny vanished.  

Dash continued to stare.  Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he tilted over backwards.  Danny caught him and lowered him to the floor, slowly.  

Hopefully, he’d think he’d just hallucinated?  After all, coming across the kid you beat up every day with ectoplasm oozing from his mouth and a line of stitched around his neck in the bathroom wasn’t exactly realistic.  

Or he’d think Danny was playing a prank on him.  

Danny checked Dash’s pulse.  Yeah.  Oh, and there were his eyes, flickering open.  He’d just fainted.  Right.  

Danny was just... going to go, now.  He still had half a day’s worth of classes to get to.  

Chapter 52: Names

Notes:

Prompt by thenerdycupcake.

The first thing most did when they crossed over, when they stopped being here and started being there, when the word ‘mortal’ ceased to apply, was shed their names.  

Danny did not have that luxury.  

His name was known, and it itched.

“Daniel,” purred Vlad, draped with incongruous elegance over the arm of the stained and frayed living room couch.  

Danny twitched.  “Vladimir,” he responded, not even bothering to hide his venom.  

Vlad frowned.  

This was their stand off.  They each knew the other’s true name, their full true name, ironically enough, from the same source: Danny’s parents.  

Thus, they had a deal.  They wouldn’t use their names against one another in their disputes so long as the other didn’t first.  

That deal said nothing about using the names to annoy one another for petty purposes or posturing.  Vlad had made this quite clear shortly after the inception of the deal.

“Don’t be like that, dear boy,” said Vlad.  “Come, sit with me while your parents show off their latest ridiculous invention.”  He sipped at his glass, the level of the blood-red liquid inside not lowering even by a hair.  

Interesting thing was, Danny’s parents weren’t bound at all by the deal.  Danny suspected their inadvertent use of Vlad’s full name was responsible for Jack’s continued life.  

Among other things.  

“So,” said Danny, “how long have you been there?”

“An hour,” said Vlad, upper lip curling.  “I should have known they would get distracted down there.  Especially your oaf of a father.”

“You know,” said Danny.  “There’s a very simple solution to this problem.  One that would prevent it from ever reoccurring.”

“If my decades of research have failed to reveal-”

“Stop coming here.  Seriously, it’s like you’re punishing yourself or something.  They’re the only people in the world who still know your full name and use it.  If you just stayed away, poof!  The problem would be gone.”

“I could say the same for you, little badger,” said Vlad, swirling his glass.  

“I’m fourteen and they’re my parents.”

“With enough money and power,” said Vlad, the liquid in his glass slowly rising, as if to illustrate, “anything is possible.”

“Except getting off the couch, huh.”

The scowl on Vlad’s face could have killed small mammals.  Luckily, it was too late for Danny.  

He rolled his eyes.  He didn’t want Vlad stuck in his house until his parents emerged from the lab, which could be hours from now.  

“You want help?”

“What’s the price?”

“No evil plans for the next month.”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“Two weeks.”

“Two days.”

“The next week.  Or I leave you here.  Odds are even I’ll have more peace that way.”

“Oh, alright, alright.  You free me from this predicament, and I’ll refrain from enacting any ‘evil plans’ for the next week.”

“Great,” said Danny, starting to walk away.

“Where are you going?” demanded Vlad.

Danny smirked over his shoulder.  “To remind my parents of your existence.  It’s a lot easier than trying to countermand whatever they told you to do.”

Vlad looked like he’d been bitten into a lemon.  

Danny continued to the basement door, waving over his shoulder.  It was a lot easier.  It also meant that his parents would waste even more of Vlad’s time showing off their latest half-finished and theoretically unsound invention.  

A win-win situation.  For Danny, anyway.  He might not have any great skill at chess, but he could certainly use the cards dealt to him.  

“Mom, Dad?” he called down into the basement.  “Vlad’s still here!”

There was a thump and a muffled oh no.  Danny’s smile broadened, and he walked away, a spring to his step.  

A whole week, free of Vlad’s evil plans.  There were so many things he could do!

Chapter 53: Act of Fortune

Notes:

Made for an ask game on tumblr. Circus AU and curses for Lost Time.

Danny was clever. More than the others. He knew because Master said so. ‘More clever than you’re worth,’ he’d said. Then he’d hit him. A lot.

He was clever. So he knew the old ghost that kept time during the acts and gave astonishingly detailed and unremittingly grim assessments in the fortune teller’s tent was different than the others. Not like Lydia was different. But different anyway. He thought the other ghosts might know it, too, from the way they looked at him. Sometimes, he noticed Lydia staring at the old ghost, almost frightened.

He tried not to notice. Tried not to be clever. He didn’t like it when Master hit him. He wanted to be good. To be helpful. He tried so, so hard.

But he noticed anyway.

(He noticed other things, too, like how he was always hungry, always yearning, for something, and the only solution he could come up with was be more helpful. He noticed he was growing weaker. He noticed he missed his friends. He noticed how the others looked at him with pity more than they looked at the old ghost in fear.)

And he was curious.

(Even if curiosity had gotten him in trouble before.)

He slipped into the back of the fortune teller’s tent after the old ghost and, before he could think better of it, he reached out and tugged on the back of the fortune-teller’s tattered robe. Mistake made, he made a valiant but ultimately fruitless effort to hide himself behind one of the curtains.

The old ghost sighed. “What do you want?”

Danny had to think about it. It had been so long since anyone had asked him what he wanted. “Why,” he asked, his voice strange after days (weeks?) of disuse, “are you here?”

The ghost raised an eyebrow, the scar across his eye pulling at it oddly.

“You’re different,” explained Danny. “You’re- You don’t have to listen to what Master says. I can tell.”

The old ghost’s face twisted sourly. “Unfortunately,” he said, millennia of bitterness soaked into the word, “my own masters say that I do. They think it will help me learn humility.” He hissed, teeth bared, as he stalked past Danny. “That I will appreciate their brand of slavery more after I have experienced that of a human. They have cursed me thus, and I cannot refuse.”

The ghost began to pace, hovering just over the floor. “If they had not taken my key... I would never have so much as set foot in this circus, to be made a curiosity for my powers.”

Danny cringed into the fabric of the tent, afraid to look at the old ghost.

But then, an idea occurred to him.

“I can help,” he said, turning, hopefully.

The old ghost looked unimpressed. “You cannot even help yourself.”

“But you can,” said Danny, “and then I can help you. I can get your key for you, if you help me get away. I promise.”

“Promise, do you?” asked the ghost. He leaned in and softly touched Danny’s face. It was the gentlest contact he’d had with another being since he’d been taken. “Promises are dangerous. Especially impossible ones.”

“I promise,” said Danny. “If it’s in the Ghost Zone, I can get it.”

“How?”

Danny, hesitantly, leaned closer still to the old ghost. “I’m part human,” he whispered. Then he quickly pulled back, finger pressed to his lips. “But it’s a secret! Don’t tell... Please...”

The old ghost cocked his head, then brought his hands up to cup Danny’s face. “You are,” he said. “How interesting. I did not foresee this.”

The ghost, lost in thought, did not move, and Danny closed his eyes, leaning in to the touch. This was nice. “Will you let me help you?” he mumbled.

“Perhaps,” said the ghost. He let go of Danny’s face, then maneuvered around Danny so that one hand rested on Danny’s shoulder, and the ghost’s robes fell around him like a protective veil. “Come. For now, help me with my divinations. Then we shall see.”

Notes:

I turned the bitterness dial on this Clockwork all the way up. Don't worry, he softens more eventually.

Chapter 54: exclusively populated by beings of unspeakable evil

Notes:

Tumblr prompt: After a few excursions into the Ghost Zone, Jack and Maddie want to take Danny on a tour of what they've found. Danny, meanwhile "I know more than you"

Danny slouched in the Specter Speeder seat as Jack pulled inexpertly through the portal.  They’d be a lot safer if he was driving.  Or Sam or Tucker, for that matter.  

Jack simply wasn’t any good at driving, well, anything.  

Plus, Danny had more flight hours on the Speeder than anyone else.  

“Come on, Danny,” said Maddie, jostling his shoulder, “this is just like going into space.  One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.  You’re only the third human to make this journey.”

“Unless you count the whole city getting sucked in,” Danny muttered, kicking the panel under the dash.  

“It doesn’t count,” said Maddie.  “I’m sure many, many people have fallen into the Ghost Zone by accident over the course of history.  We are going in on purpose.”

“Uh huh.”

Maddie sighed.  “Well, once you see it, it’ll be different...  It’s really quite stunning.  If it weren’t for the fact that it’s exclusively populated by beings of unspeakable evil.”

Danny and Jazz groaned simultaneously and loudly, just in time for the Speeder to emerge from the portal’s long tunnel.  

“We’re going to just take a quick tour.  Only an hour.  See the sights.”

“Did you really have to curse us with the one hour tour bit?” asked Jazz.  “I’ve never even watched that show and I still know not to do that.”

“It isn’t as if this wasn’t cursed from the beginning,” said Danny, as Jack turned the speeder, inevitably, straight towards Skulker’s island.  

Chapter 55: Werewolf Tucker

“You don’t think you maybe should have told us about this around the same time Danny became a shapeshifting supernatural being?” asked Sam, picking her way over the roots of trees.  

Tucker, seeing as he was currently a rather large wolf, did not respond verbally, but merely shrugged and whined.  

“Don’t sweat it, dude,” said Danny, phasing through a tangle of branches.  “I mean, I know how it is.  You don’t have anything to tell us, do you, Sam?  Like, you’re not an actual witch or anything, are you?”

“No,” said Sam, rolling her eyes.  

Tucker huffed, loudly.  

“Do your parents know?” asked Danny, his serious tone a departure from the vaguely amused one he’d adopted ever since Tucker had turned into a wolf on top of the ghost that had kidnapped him.  

Tucker nodded.  

“And they’re cool?”

With an air of exasperation, Tucker nodded again.

“Good,” said Danny.  “That’s good, then.”  Then he snickered.  “You know, in retrospect we should have expected this.  I mean, the meat, the sniffing, being able to understand Wulf, the fixation on the wolf cosplayer-”

Tucker nipped at Danny, and the ghost just floated higher, laughing.  

Sam sighed.  At least they were having fun.  

She’d have to start looking into how to level the playing field, though.  No way was she going to be the normal one in her friend group.  

... Could she get ahold of a vampire through craigslist?  

Chapter 56: Playing Fetch (Ghost Steroids)

“Don’t worry,” said Danny, doing exactly that as he looked out over the roof of the bus he and his classmates had climbed on top of, “I’m sure my parents will get here soon.”  But maybe if they didn’t he could find some way to rectify the problem.  

And pet the dogs.  

Petting the dogs was a very important consideration.

See, the thing was, Cujo had located some friends of various doglike shapes and sizes.  He had, naturally, chosen to introduce his new friends to the dispenser of head scratches, squeaky toys, and the occasional bone.  AKA Danny.  

Problem:  Danny was on a field trip when this happened.  

Result of problem:  Danny’s classmates, upon seeing a pack of ‘rabid’ ghost dogs, had fled for their lives and used a sudden burst of adrenaline to scale the bus, dragging Danny with them.  This, despite the fact that ghost dogs could, well, fly.  

Evidently, neither Danny’s classmates nor the ghost dogs seemed to remember this fact.  Or, at least, the ghost dogs were willing to not fly for the sake of whatever game they thought they were playing.  

God, they were so cute.  He wanted to pet them so badly.  Even more than that, though, he wanted them to get not-dissected by his parents.  But he couldn’t do anything to stop that from happening, because he was on the roof of a bus with no cover.  

Ugh, why did dogs have to be so awesome?  And friendly?  And playful?

Wait.  

He had an idea.  The dogs were here to play, yes?  

“Hey,” he said, “do any of you have balls?”

Dead silence.  

“As in, like, for throwing.”

Paulina frowned at him.  “Why,” she asked, slowly, “would we bring balls on a museum field trip?  That isn’t-”

“I’ve got one!” exclaimed Dash, holding a football over his head.  

“Me too!” said Kwan, doing the same.

“Forget I said anything,” said Paulina.  “Do you just carry them with you everywhere?”

“Yes,” said Dash.  

“Give it to me, I have an idea.”

“No way!” said Dash, clutching the football tightly against his chest, as if it were a baby Danny had just threatened to snatch.  “You’ll get your nerd germs all over it!”

“You don’t actually think those are a thing, do you?” asked Mikey.  “I mean, you should probably leave the bullying bit for when we aren’t about to be eaten.”

“Kwan,” said Danny.  “May I please have you football so that I can keep us from being overrun by the giant pack of ghost dogs?”

“Sure!” said Kwan, handing it over.  

Danny turned and launched the football.  He and his four classmates watched it soar upwards.  And upwards.  And upwards.  

“Oh my god,” said Dash.  “How did Fentwig throw that?”

Danny, now that the ghost dogs were all chasing the still-ascending football, realized the flaw in his plan.  That is, that normal, human him could never have pulled it off.  

The football began to fall.  

“Ghost steroids,” he said.  

Kwan gasped.  “Are those legal?”

Chapter 57: Memories

“I don’t remember that,” said Danny.  “Are you sure I was there?”

Maddie raised her eyebrows.  “I talked to you about it just last week,” she said. “When I was asking you about what you’d like to do during summer vacation.”

“I remember that,” said Danny, uncurling slightly from his position on the couch.  “I just don’t remember the other thing.  I... maybe we talked about something like it.  When was it?”

“You were twelve,” said Maddie.  “It was just before your birthday.”

Slowly, he shook his head.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I remember, um...  What other vacations did we have?  Before the one where you thought I was crazy, it was, um...” He held his hands as if preparing to count on them.  “We went to New York that one time.  And then the Great Lakes before that...  Oh!  And that haunted house road trip.”

He frowned down at his hands, and Maddie felt something unpleasant curl in her gut.  

“Is that...  All you remember?” she asked.  

“Y-Yeah?  I guess the others were from when I was too young to remember?”

“The haunted house trip was when you were five,” said Maddie.  “Danny... have you been,” she didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to piece together other little oddities into a big picture, “have you been forgetting things?”

“No!” said Danny, defensively, sitting up straighter.  “I’m just...”  He chewed his lip.  “It isn’t as if I’ve forgotten anything recent.”

His abysmal grades and missed curfews begged to differ.

“One second,” said Maddie.  “Stay here.”

She went to her room and fetched one of her largest photo albums.  Danny was still on the couch when she came back, picking at the hem of his pant leg, and staring blankly at the floor.  Maddie sat next to him, making him jump.  She opened the album to a random page.  

“What were we doing here?” she asked.  

“Um,” said Danny, brows pinching together in confusion.  “Shopping?”

“For?” prompted Maddie.  

Danny shook his head.  “It’s just shopping.  It isn’t important.”

“Danny, this is from when we got you that model spaceship.  The one you have hanging up in your room.”

Danny blinked, and slowly shook his head.  

.

The doctor’s office looked clean.  It even smelled clean.  Danny was still doing his level best not to touch anything.  Maddie would have sighed at his behavior, but she was too tense.  She met Jack’s eye.  He looked terrible too.

“There are no signs of Alzheimer’s disease,” said the doctor.  All three of them sighed with relief.  “However...  You said the other symptoms, the difficulty in school, began after the electrical accident?”

“Yeah,” said Danny.  

The doctor nodded.  “Electricity can do strange things to the brain, sometimes.  We haven’t been able to find any structural damage, but the activity levels...”  He brought a colored image up on his computer screen.  “This is where long-term memory is stored,” he said. 

“Doesn’t red usually indicate high levels of activity?” asked Jack.

“It does,” said the doctor.  “This is actually higher than usual activity...  Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on here.  I would like to request that you make a record of things that you currently remember as happening in your life, and then come back a month from now.”

“That’s it?” demanded Maddie.  

“Right now, since we don’t know what’s causing this,” said the doctor, “the best we can do is monitor the situation.  We don’t even know if this is an ongoing deterioration, or something more gradual.  On the upside, other than long-term memory, there doesn’t appear to be any damage.  Your timeline after your accident is clear and detailed.  The cognitive tests we put you through actually put you significantly above average...  This is what we can do.”

Maddie didn’t like it.  Danny didn’t look surprised.  Or even particularly upset.  

She caught Jack’s eye again.  They would have to be ready to support him, when the extent of what he had lost fully hit him.  

.

Danny floated down the icy hallway next to Frostbite.  “This isn’t going to be one of those examinations where I have to get undressed, is it?” he asked.  

Frostbite chuckled, but there was an undercurrent to it that usually wasn’t present.  “Only halfway.”  He paused to tap Danny on the chest.  “Your mind is no longer entirely contained in your head, after all.”

Danny rubbed at where Frostbite had tapped him.  “You don’t think that has anything to do with it, do you?”

“I’m unsure,” said Frostbite as they reached the examination room.  “It isn’t unusual for ghosts to lose their memories of their lives, but that is both more immediate and more complete.  Sit down here, and take your shirt off, Great One, and we can begin.”

Danny made a face at the item that looked like an overly complicated dentist’s chair with a large metal disk embedded in the back, but obeyed.  

“Here we are,” said Frostbite, pulling a complicated ring-shaped thing from the chair.  “This part goes around your head,” he said adjusting it to fit.  

Despite his cold core, Danny shivered at the frigidity of the metal.  

“These are to monitor your core, along with the matching one built into the chair,” said Frostbite as he attached several flat disks to Danny’s chest.  

“Are they, like, ultrasound?” asked Danny, running his finger along the edge of one of them.  He didn’t like how they stuck to his skin.  

“They work on a similar principle,” said Frostbite.  He turned on several nearby monitors.  “With this, we will be able to see how your brain and core react in tandem.  Can you transform for me a few times?  I want to compare with the baseline readings we took from you when you first stayed with us.”

“Sure,” said Danny.  

.

“Alright,” said Frostbite.  “Now, I am going to try sending a few low-intensity ectoplasmic pulses and currents through you.  Is that alright?”

“Sure,” said Danny.  

The first few left Danny feeling lethargic and tingly.  Other gave him so much energy he had to leave the room for a few minutes to burn some of it off.  Another, interestingly, turned off his ghost half, not unlike the Plasmius Maximus.

There was a rest period in-between each test, to make sure that they weren’t mixing results.  During those times, Danny and Frostbite would laugh and tell jokes and...

...  Danny trailed off in the middle of a sentence.  “Frostbite?” he asked after a minute.  “What was I just saying?”

.

“I want to stress that this is currently just a theory, Great One,” said Frostbite.  

“It’s okay,” said Danny.  “Just...  What is it?”

“Your memories are recorded in both your brain and your core.  You know this, correct?”

“Yeah.  You told me that a while back.”

Frostbite nodded.  “Normally, if one is turned off, the other one is still recording memories, and the memories will be transcribed.”

Danny nodded.  

“Or, if they are disconnected, in the case of the Plasmius Maximus, or your parents’ ‘Ghost Catcher,’ they will swap memories.  However...”

“Yes?”

“It is my theory that certain kinds of discrepancies between memories can lead to your core deciding that the discrepancy is an error and attempting to remedy it.  Great One, your core did not exist prior to your accident.”

“So, it thinks my memories from before that are wrong, and it’s getting rid of them.”

“I’m afraid it may be so.”

“Can you stop it?  I mean, you were able to artificially induce it, earlier...”

Frostbite made a face.  “The only things I can think of that could stop this would be unhealthy in the long run.  I do not believe you want to try to split yourself in two again.”

“No,” agreed Danny.  “Any-Anything else?”

Frostbite sighed.  “This is not something I can confirm,” he said, “but I suspect that the reason for your odd pattern of your memory loss is that the memories you dwelled on most often vanished first.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  “Because that would bring them to my core’s attention...”

Frostbite nodded.  

“Well.  That’s... not ideal.”

“I’m sorry, Great One.  Would that I could do more.”

.

“It’s all gone,” he said, without preamble, as he stood at Jazz’s door first thing in the morning.  

She looked crushed.  “Are you sure?”

Danny nodded.  “I remember remembering, but I don’t actually remember.  It’s weird and...  actually kind of a relief,” he said, tilting his head to one side.  

Jazz blinked rapidly.  “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”

He shook his head.  As his memories had disappeared, so had most of his remaining trust in his parents.  Between the memories of them caring for him, and the memories of them attacking or threatening him, the latter were more vivid.  

He still loved them, and his ghostly desires, that he literally could not remember living without, still focused on them, but that and trust were two different things.  It had been months since he’d started to fake retaining memories that he only knew about from reading his journals.  

“Sam and Tucker?”

This time, Danny nodded, the gesture much more enthusiastic.  “We were going to meet up later today, anyway.  Do you want to come with us?”

“Sure,” said Jazz.  She rubbed at her eyes.  “Give me a second.”

Danny nodded.  He wasn’t in a hurry.  “I’ll be downstairs.”

He could understand the grief.  He had felt it.  But it was over, now.  The only thing left was to make new memories.  

Chapter 58: Broken Tile

Frost sparkled on the pan, catching the overhead lights in the kitchen.  

“How...” breathed Jack, eyes as wide and round as tennis balls.  

Just as frozen as the pan was Danny, who had, reflexively, tried to catch the pan when Jack knocked it off the stove and, just as reflexively, frozen it when it proved to be burning hot.  He wasn’t even breathing.  

He flinched when Jack put the end of the ecto-pistol against his forehead.  

“What have you done with my son, spook?” he demanded, voice colder than any ice Danny could summon.  

“I- I am your son.  Please, Dad-”  He broke off as Jack twitched.  One of the tiles under his feet creaked, Danny’s temperature plummeting as his fear rose.

“You,” said Jack, “what are-”  A sharp crack split the air, and both Danny and Jack reacted, Jack firing and Danny phasing through the floor.  

He would not stop running until he reached Vlad’s house.  

In his wake, he left only a broken tile, cracked by ice.  

Chapter 59: Substitute

.

“Fenton, correct?” you ask.  You’re a long-term sub.  Ms. Tetslaff unexpectedly had to have major surgery, and won’t be returning to teach for months.  

“That’s me,” said the boy, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning just enough for you to see that, yes, those are vampire fangs.

“You’re going to need to take those out,” you say.  

“Take what out?” he asked, blinking blankly, and do his eyes-?  No, that’s a trick of the light.  

“The vampire teeth,” you respond.  “They’re a safety hazard.  You could swallow them.”

“I’m not wearing vampire teeth.  These are my normal teeth.  They’re just weird.”  To demonstrate, he pulled back his lips with his fingers, showing you the gums.  Sure enough, there are not seams or edges that you can see.  

“Huh,” you say.  “Never mind then.”

.

“It’s the parents,” they said.  “I heard they experimented on him.  They only needed one to carry on their work, you see.”

This might have made sense, except that you’ve met Jazz Fenton, and she’d somehow managed to make her position on her parents’ research, her career aspirations, and her opinions on the city’s six most popular restaurants clear within your first five minutes of conversing with her.  Which is actually kind of weird by itself.  

Either way, you don’t think she’ll be carrying on her parents work any time soon.  

You thank the vendor and pay for your sandwich, periodically glancing the way Danny Fenton went.  

.

“He glows, you know,” said the teenager.  She knows you’re not from town.  You don’t know how.  She doesn’t go to the school you work at.  “In the dark.”

“I’ve never seen him in the dark,” you say, but you have seen how he catches the eye.  

Until he doesn’t.  

“We have,” said the girl, nodding at her coworkers behind the counter.  “He comes at night, sometimes.”

“Is it body paint?” you ask, even though you know the girl can’t know, and wouldn’t bring it up if she thought the solution was so mundane.  

“No,” she said.  “Weston thinks he’s dead.  Wesley, I mean.  Not the one that works here.”

You’re already hopelessly lost when it comes to the Weston brothers, but you file the information away nonetheless.  It could be useful.

“If people really think he’s dead,” you say, “shouldn’t his parents be told?”

The girl snorted.  “Have fun with that.”

.

Something burned green on the road.  You cover your nose with the back of your hand.  You see Danny Fenton standing on the other side.  His eyes reflected the green light.  

“He’s like a cat,” whispered someone behind you.  

.

Two students spoke in whispers in the hallway outside your temporary office.  

“He’s a vampire.  That’s the only explanation.”

“No, he’s not.  He can walk around in the sun.”

“That’s actually a recent addition to the myth-”

You get up and close the door. 

.

“I heard him purring.”

You don’t know how much more of this you can take.  You’re hoping Ms. Testslaff comes back soon, so you can stop coming here.  

“What, is he a cat, now?”

“I don’t know, maybe.  You’re just going to whip out the werewolf theory again, aren’t you.”

“Better than werecat.”

.

“Alien?”

“Would explain why he’s so obsessed with astronomy.”

Your fellow teachers are in on it, even.  You pinch the bridge of your nose.  And contemplate the ancient coffee machine.  It is worth it, you wonder.  

“I think it’s more likely he has undiagnosed autism,” said the blessedly sane Mr. Lancer.  “Or ADHD.  Have any of you heard from the our SpEd team recently?  I swear, they’re dodging my calls.”

“If they had the potential to force me to be alone in a room with Danny Fenton,” said one of the others, “I’d probably dodge your calls, too.  I can’t believe you still have the guts to give him detention.”

“There’s something wrong with that boy,” agreed the other.

Mr. Lacer glared down his nose at them.  “There’s something wrong with you.  Are you teachers or not?”  He looked at you, as if to compel you to comment, to weigh in on either side.  

You shrug.  You know you should agree with Lancer, but, well.  

You don’t want to be alone in a room with Danny Fenton, either.  

.

“Maybe he was abducted by aliens.”

“Hm.  Possible.”

You haven’t seen Mr. Lancer in the break room for a week.  

.

“My little sister saw him walk through a wall, once.”

“Do you think that counts more towards ghost, mutant, or vampire?”

“I don’t know.  Let’s ask the teacher.”

You pretend not to hear them.  

“Let’s just put a mark in each column.”

.

You’re leaving.  Finally.  

You sigh as you pack the last of your supplies into your car and lean against the door, staring up into the flat blue sky.  

Something silver, black, and tan streaks across it.  

You could swear it was Danny Fenton.  

Chapter 60: Olympus

Pandora gave Danny a look, and Danny immediately wished he hadn’t asked the question.  

“I mean,” he said, trying to backpedal without backpedaling, “assuming they existed at all-” No, that was definitely the wrong thing to say, people got defensive over religious stuff. “-existed as ghosts, that is, and-”

“Phantom,” said Pandora, cutting him off.  “Danny.  I’m not angry.  Please, sit back down.  I was merely...  I had not expected the question, but now I see I should have.”

Danny, who had begun to float several feet in the air, gingerly lowered himself back to the reclining couch (there was a word for it in Greek, but his Greek, as of yet, was sketchy).  He picked up one of the pillows and hugged it to his chest.  

“The gods...”  She sighed and put her wine glass on the nearby table.  “A ghost can rise to dizzying heights by riding the power of worship,” she said.  “Imagine it.  Every sacrifice, every devotion, translated into something that kept the objects of them real and potent.  And there would be hundreds of worshippers, alive and dead.”

“There aren’t, though,” said Danny.  “Not anymore.  I mean, I know there are some neopagans out there, but...”

“Exactly,” said Pandora, looking out into the distant sky of the Ghost Zone.  “As high as they climbed, once they no longer had that faith, that worship bearing them upwards...  They could no longer sustain themselves by their own will.  They had grown too great.”  She looked at Danny.  “You have more than a few cults, yourself.”

Danny blinked.  “I do?”

“You do.  You have been... relatively wise about the power they grant you thus far.  Be careful, that they do not swell you to the point beyond no return.  Make sure your power is yours, and not dependent on others.”  She looked back at Danny.  “I would not see Olympus fall again.”

“I’ll... keep that in mind,” said Danny, feeling pale.   

Chapter 61: Test It

Danny pressed himself against the wall, breathing heavily.  

On the opposite wall, his parents did the same.  Only, they had guns pointed at him.  

It took him a great deal of effort to stay visible.  His body wanted to flick out of existence.  For that matter, he wanted to return to ghost form and fly away.  Or rewind the last several minutes and erase the mistake he had made.  

“Danny?” breathed Maddie.  “You-  How-  Phantom?”

“No,” said Danny.  “No.  I’m Danny.  I promise, I swear, I just-  I’m Danny.  I’m Phantom, too, but I’m Danny.  Mom, I-  Please...  Don’t-”

“How-  How do you look like Danny?” asked Jack.  “How long-”

“I am Danny.  Mom, Dad, I...  It was the portal.  It was the portal, I was inside when it turned on, I-”

“You’re dead?” asked Maddie.  She slid down the wall.  “You died?”  

“Oh my god, we killed you,” whispered Jack.  

“No,” said Danny.  “I’m still alive.  You can feel my pulse.”  He held out his hand.  “I’m-  I’m me, I promise.”

“But you can’t be,” said Jack.  He lowered the gun regardless.  “You can’t be Danny and Phantom.  It isn’t physically possible.”

“But I am.  You can-  You can test it.”

He took a deep breath.  

“Please.”

Maddie glanced at Jack.  Jack looked at Maddie.  

“Alright,” said Maddie.  “We can test it.”

Chapter 62: They Might Be Angels

Danny had never been good with extra limbs, even when they had just been generated via partial ghostly duplicates.  Real extra limbs, limbs completely different than the ones he already had, were even worse.  He was unbalanced, and taking in far too much sensory data.  

Also, he was hoping he had just fallen into a weird pocket in the Ghost Zone- some places there imposed their rules on the people and things in them rather than the other way around- rather than his weird angelologist second cousins being right on any level.  Especially since the ‘portal’ he’d come through (a magic circle type deal with crystals and candles) seemed to have vanished.  

He smiled nervously at the might-be-angels-might-be-ghosts that were staring at him.  One of them turned to their neighbor and whispered something that sounded vaguely Germanic.  They tittered, laughter bell-like.  

Danny took a long, sliding step backwards.  Sooner he left, sooner he could get back home and put this inexpressibly uncomfortable experience behind him.  He was curious, sure, but he’d learned over time that, in the Ghost Zone, curiosity did not trump not having back up of any kind while around complete strangers.  

He reached for his ghost half and... sat down, blinking static out of his eyes.  The ground tilted dangerously beneath him.  

The laughter had stopped.  In fact, Danny’s surroundings had gone eerily silent.  He looked up.  Right into the eyes of one of the angels.  He startled backwards, unnerved.  

The angel asked him a question.  “I’m sorry,” said Danny.  “I don’t understand you.”

This, for whatever reason, prompted the angel to press their thumb to the center of Danny’s forehead.  Danny’s ears popped.  

“Do you understand now?”

Danny blinked.  “Yeah, actually.  What did you do?”  He rubbed the place their thumb had pressed on his forehead.  

The angel frowned.  The expression looked wrong on their face.  “You don’t know?”

“No?”  He shrugged.  “Thanks, though.  Um.  Do you know where in the Ghost Zone this is?  Like, in relationship to the Far Frozen and the Wastes.”

“Ghost Zone?” repeated the angel without recognition.  

Oh, that wasn’t good.  

“Infinite Realms?” tried Danny, using the older, more traditional term.  

“Young friend, we aren’t even in the same plane of existence as the Infinite Realms.  Do you not know where you are?”

“I thought I was in a pocket of the Infinite Realms, so, I’m going to say no...”

“Why were you trying to get to the Infinite Realms?”

“I wasn’t.  That’s just where I thought I was.  I mean.  That’s where I usually am, when I fall through random portals to other dimensions and I’m kind of freaking out right now, because if I’m not, I don’t know how to get home, which is a serious problem.”

“You are home, young one,” said the angel.  “This is the first Sphere of Heaven.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m really, really not.”

Another angel walked up with light steps.  

“Young one,” they said.  “How long have you had your wings?”

“Like...  Five minutes.”

“Ah,” said the first baby.  

“He’s a baby,” said the second.  “No wonder you’re confused.  Were you a ghost, before?”

“I- Before?  I’m still a ghost, I’m pretty sure.  Half ghost?  I’m...  I am intensely confused.”

“We can help with that, love.  Oh, it’s been so long since we’ve had someone new!”

Danny was filled with trepidation.  

Chapter 63: Shutdown Prodcedures

 

Maddie watched the damage report on the news with her teeth clenched, fingers tight around the handle of her coffee mug. She hadn't slept much last night, too worried even after the dust had settled. On one side of the screen, opposite the anchor, a clip played on repeat.

 

 

It was shaky and grainy, obviously taken on someone's phone or PDA, and it was only a few seconds long. A hulking ghost standing in the middle of the playground, small children still trying to run, the fence behind it splintered and bent, holding up a fist that grew ever-brighter. Suddenly, a ray of green light shot out from the fist, towards the children and the camera - then the Phantom was there, a green shield expanding from his body like a drop of dye in water.

 

 

Then the clip ended, only to start again.

 

 

"This can't keep going. This can't happen again," said Maddie.

 

 

A few week animal ghosts, and ghosts like the Phantom who seemed to avoid humans, were one thing. Not quite acceptable, but, still, manageable, and in Maddie's view worth it for the benefits the study of the Ghost Zone could supply. This was entirely different.

 

 

This was dangerous, and not just for them.

 

 

"I know," said Jack, quietly. "I thought the doors would keep them in, but..." He sighed. "You're right. We need to shut off the portal until we have a better way to keep ghosts like this from crossing over."

 

 

Neither of them moved to do it just yet. They'd been hoping to keep it on until they could figure out what caused the initial failure and the later success, so that they wouldn't have to worry about whether or not they could start the portal up again.

 

 

Of course, in their original plans, they only meant to keep the portal on for a day or two, on the outside, for the first start-up, but... things happened. Danny's electrical injury ( caused by the portal), the ghosts, issues with other patents, the incident at Vlad's, the list went on.

 

 

It was a disappointment, but one they could deal with.

 

 

"Might as well do it now," said Maddie.

 

 

"Might as well." He heaved himself up from the dinning room table. "Kid'll be pleased, at least."

 

 

Maddie hummed. "I don't know that Danny will care." He seemed remarkably lukewarm about ghosts, considering. "Jazz, on the other hand..."

 

 

"Jazz sure has opinions, doesn't she?" Jack chuckled, but his heart clearly wasn't in it.

 

 

They walked down to the lab and started to prep. In theory, turning off the portal would be easy. Once they set the ectofiltrator on shut-down mode and made sure the capacitors and power wells were primed to receive the portal's discharge energy, all they needed to do was hit the off button.

 

 

"Jack," said Maddie. "Where's the button?"

 

 

"Right next to the on button," said Jack, distracted by an instrumentation check.

 

 

"Where's the on button, then?"

 

 

"Uh," said Jack.

 

 

Maddie flushed, half in frustration, half in embarrassment. She and Jack had built this thing from scratch. They should know where the buttons were.

 

 

"I mean," said Jack, "when I turned it on, I was holding..." He trailed off as he traced down a thick cable bundle to a plug. "I was holding this," he said. "I just... plugged it in."

 

 

Maddie pressed her lips together. The initialization circuit must have already been in the 'on' position. It was bad lab procedure, to just plug this kind of equipment in like that, but Jack loved his mad scientist moments, and Maddie, more often than not, humored him, because she loved those moments, too.

 

 

"Blueprints," she said, walking over to the appropriate drawer and yanking it open with much more force than was necessary.

 

 

The shutdown was painful enough as it was, why did it have to be so difficult on top of that?

 

 

She found the symbol for the on-off switch.

 

 

"No," she said, "that can't be right."

 

 

"What is it, Mads?"

 

 

"Jack, tell me we didn't put the switch on the inside of the portal."

 

 

The way color drained from Jack's face told her he couldn't.

 

 

"How did it even turn on?"

 

Chapter 64: Theremin

Summary:

Based on tumblr prompts. No humans know that Danny's Phantom, and Danny has no human friends.

“I’m just saying,” said Danny, “that they should have something better to do with their time than harass me.”

“Ain’t that a bite,” said Sydney, morosely.  “It’s the same here.”

Danny groaned and tilted his head back to clang against the side of his locker.  Somehow, knowing that the bullying situation was the same in the afterlife as it was in his current life wasn’t terribly encouraging.  

Sydney was even still trapped in a high school. It was like there was no way out, no matter what.

Wait. Maybe that was it.

"Maybe," said Danny, testing the waters, "we should try to get out more."

"What do you mean?" asked Sydney.

"Well, I mean, I'm not going to have any luck making friends while I'm victim number one here, and I think that if the guys on your end were going to have a change of heart, they would have done it already. I mean, it's been fifty years, dude."

"Don't remind me."

"Okay, but that's why we should get out. Look in other places for friends!"

"That's not going to stop the bullies," said Sydney, dubiously.

"No, but it might make us feel better. And, if we go together, worst thing that could happen is that we just hang out with each other, then go home. Or back to school."

Sydney made a face. "I can't exactly go places with you, Danny. Your town isn't exactly welcoming to my kind."

"That's why we're going to do this in the Ghost Zone! I'm way too much of a freak to make human friends."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea..."

"I'll go as Phantom. What's the worst that could happen?"

.

"I changed my mind. This is a terrible idea."

"Hey, I had to trade three packs of soda just to get the location!"

"Yeah, and I bought you those sodas," said Danny.

He took a deep, steadying breath. This was just a techno-blasting ghost nightclub. Nothing really scary, like, for example, a school cafeteria.

"You're right. We can do this."

.

It soon became apparent that they had either vastly overestimated what two introverted nerds could take, or vastly underestimated the ghost nightclub. Either way, Sydney had been breathing into a paper bag behind the building for the last ten minutes, and Danny wasn't much better. Both of them were studiously avoiding looking at the biker couple making out a few yards down the wall.

Then the back door slammed open, and an almost human-looking girl with blue hair and stage makeup strode out. "Which of you losers can play an instrument?"

"I can play the piano," said Sydney.

"Theremin," said Danny.

"Wow, you really are a loser. What about you two?" she asked, turning to the couple.

"Drums," said the boy, scratching his ear.

"Guitar," said the girl. She crossed her arms. "What for?"

"My band was tagged by Walker, and I'm up in thirty minutes." Her face went hard. "The show will go on, even if I have to scrape the bottom of the barrel. A theremin. Unbelievable. Come on." She swept back into the nightclub.

Danny made to follow, but Sydney caught his wrist. "Should we really do this?" he asked, whispering.

"It isn't as if we have anything better to do. Let's go!"

.

Danny and Sydney sat on the side of the island that housed the nightclub, their feet swinging above the abyss below. They were, to put it lightly, rather stunned.

"What was that?" asked Sydney.

"It was..." Danny considered his words, "an experience."

"What am I wearing?"

"I... don't know, actually. I think that might have been a tie? Maybe? It's very punk."

"I have only the very vaguest of conceptions of what that means."

"It's cool? I don't know. But! We accomplished our goal for tonight, so we can count this in the win column."

"We did?"

"Yeah! We made friends!"

"We did?" asked Sydney, looking at Danny like he'd grown a second head (which he'd only done once, thank you very much).

"We played in a band with them," said Danny, solemnly. "That makes us friends."

"Huh. I guess you're right."

Chapter 65: Just a Flesh Wound

Summary:

Based on a tumblr prompt. One of two posted today.

(Danny gets impaled/shot/stabbed through the chest in human form and has to convince his classmates/family/random bystanders that really, he’s fine and no Mr. Lancer, please don’t call 911. Really, it’s okay mom, it totally missed him! Everyone please stop staring, there’s nothing wrong. He’s completely fine.)

“Did you get hit?” asked Mr. Lancer, frantically patting Danny down.  “Did you-?"

Danny, who had been covering the bullet wound firmly with his hand, forced a smile and hoped none of the blood would leak through before his ghost powers kicked in and healed him.  “Nope!  Guess he missed.”

“Did you get hit?” asked Mr. Lancer, frantically patting Danny down.  “Did you-?  He pointed it right at you, you’re-”

Danny, who had been covering the bullet wound firmly with his hand, forced a smile and hoped none of the blood would leak through before his ghost powers kicked in and healed him.  “Nope!  Guess he missed.”

"Oh, God, you're bleeding!"

Woops. Guess he failed to take the exit wound into account.

"I was just clipped?" tried Danny. "It's just a flesh wound?"

"Someone call an am-"

Danny seized Mr. Lancer's wrist. "No. Ambulance."

"Mr. Fenton, I know how expensive these things can be, but it isn't worth your life!"

"I'm not going to die," said Danny, rolling his eyes. "I'm just... afraid of hospitals?"

He caught Tucker's eyes over Lancer's shoulder. Really? The other boy mouthed. Danny made a face. It wasn't as if Tucker was contributing any solutions.

"So afraid you'd risk your life?" Mr. Lancer turned. "Why is no one calling-?"

"It's fake! It's fake blood. Tuck and I were going to try to do a short film after school, and, you know, fake blood packets. They're even really cheap faje blood packets. You can see green flecks in the blood!"

Mr. Lancer, apparently againt his will, leaned in to look. "That green looks a lot like-"

"Ectoplasm, right?" He laughed. "Yeah, Tucker and I noticed it. Yeah."

The rest of the class looked on with varying levels of incredulity.

"Mr. Fenton-"

"Here!" Danny yanked up the hem of his shirt. "Look! No holes in me!"

Thank goodness for ghost healing powers.

Mr. Lancer let out a slow, steady sigh. "Alright. Sometimes I wonder at your bad timing, but alright. We still need to call the police." He turned sternly to face the rest of the class. "And talk about emergency response. I know we're on a field trip, but really-"

Chapter 66: How did you guys also miss that?

"So," asked Mikey, "have you ever been to the Ghost Zone?"

"We've all been to the Ghost Zone," said Danny, raising an eyebrow. "The whole town was sucked in, remember?"

"That doesn't count," said Mikey. "We stayed in town the whole time. We didn't go anywhere."

Danny sighed and put down his sandwich. This was going to be another Q&A session. "Yes, I've been to the Ghost Zone."

"Is it scary there?" asked Star, leaning in.

Danny leaned back, and Sam and Tucker nudged him with their elbows, a silent promise to back him up if he wanted to run for it. He'd been outed as a half-ghost a week ago, thanks to one of his parents' inventions, not long enough for the novelty to wear off. He wasn't, quite, popular, but by some strange alchemy of social pressures and the local fascination with ghosts, he wasn't a complete outcast anymore, either.

"I mean, it is full of ghosts and there are some dangerous spots, but... Not really. It can actually be calming to float there."

"You can float?" asked Mikey, eagerly.

"Yes...?" said Danny.

"Do you have any friends there?" asked Star.

"Yeah!" said Danny, distracted from Mikey apparently not knowing he could fly. "A bunch! Most of the ghosts that come here are the really aggressive ones who are looking for a fight. But most ghosts in the GZ just want to be left alone to do their own thing, really, just like humans."

"What are they like?" asked Star. "Have you met any cool people?"

"Hah!" shouted Dash, who was passing by. "Fenton couldn't meet cool people if it killed him!"

"Wow," drawled Danny, resting his cheek on his fist. "What does that say about you, I wonder?"

"Huh?"

"Never change, Dash?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The bell rang. Danny sighed. Time for class, he supposed. He shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth.

"That's gross, Danny," said Sam.

Danny shrugged in response, mouth too full to properly respond. They walked out into the courtyard.

Then Danny's ghost sense went off, an interesting sensation with a full mouth. He swallowed.

"Great," he said. "Hey, everyone! There's about to be a ghost attack! Or, at least, a ghost will be here. Soon."

"Wait, is that how you always run off right before there's a ghost attack?" asked Mikey.

"I'm not exactly running off-"

"Alright, everyone evacuate!" said Mr. Lancer, who had been the lunch monitor today. "You know your plans! And you can come with us for once, Mr. Fenton."

"But I've got to fight the ghost?" said Danny gesturing.

"I know you have a few special abilities from your condition, but this really isn't the time," said Mr. Lancer.

Danny stared as other students ran from the courtyard. "Okay, what? I feel like we're missing something here. A few powers?"

"Today will be the day, whelp!"

Shaking off the strangeness, Danny turned to his enemy. And transformed. Because why not? Everyone knew he was half-ghost, now.

.

"Are you seriously telling me that no one knew I was Phantom? It's been a week."

"We know," said Principal Ishiyama, tiredly.

"And you're telling me the school was okay with me being half-ghost, but they're drawing the line at me being Phantom."

"Well, we obviously had a very different conception of what half-ghost meant," said Principal Ishiyama, rubbing her temples, "and you aren't expelled or suspended or anything. Just. We feel like it would be better for you to go home early today. For us all to... process. Besides, your... life? Your life was threatened by a dangerous ghost today."

"He does that once a week," said Danny, unamused.

"Still. You can come back on Monday. Please."

The office door slammed open, revealing Jack and Maddie.

"YOU'RE PHANTOM?"

"How did you guys also miss that?"

Chapter 67: Decapitation 2

Summary:

A sequel to chapter 51: Decapitation.

“Run that by us again,” said Tucker.  

Danny’s core whined in frustration as he prepared to go through the whole, stupid charade.  Again.  

First, he pointed at his ruined bandages.  

“Do you want us to help you with those?” asked Sam, concerned. 

Danny made a slashing gesture through the air, since shaking his head was currently a no-go.  

“Karate?” suggested Tucker.  

Danny clicked his tongue and pretended to wash his hands.

"You're anxious?"

Danny glared and crossed his arms that would hopefully be more understandable as a ‘no.’

"Dissapointed parents?"

Apparently not.

He mimed writing. Again. The first time was what had gotten him into this charade mess, but maybe Sam could help now that she was here.

"A perscription?"

"He's asking for something to write on, you weirdo. I'm sorry, Danny. I left my backpack back in the classroom, and I think Tucker's PDA got fried by Technus."

Of course. Danny couldn't help the way his face crumpled.

"Hey, it's okay. We can work this out."

"Yeah," said Tucker. "Just start from the top."

Fine. Danny gestured over his shoulder.

"Throw it out?" guessed Tucker.

"Back? Back there?"

Danny pointed at Sam and kept going, trying to act out the incident.

"Okay, yeah, you've lost me. What was this?" She inexpertly tried to replicate the outline of Dash he'd made with his hands.

That was it. After this, he was going to learn sign language, even if it double (triple?) killed him.

But for now...

Danny grabbed Tucker's wrist and tugged him down the hallway to the bathroom and threw open the door.

Tucker squeaked. "Why didn't you tell us Dash was passed out in the bathr- Oh. Yeah."

.

Following the Dash-passed-out-in-the-bathroom incident, Jazz and his friends more or less bullied Danny into letting them take care of smaller ghosts.

Of course, Danny was still the only one who could detect ghosts. (No, the Fenton Finder, which even now only found him, Danny Fenton, with any consistency did not count, Jazz.)

He jogged up to Jazz and tugged on her sleeve. She turned away from the poster she was tacking to the bulletin board.

"What is it?"

Danny made 'spooky' hands.

"Jazz hands? Sparkles?"

Why did everyone suck at charades so much? He glared.

"Oh! A ghost. Where? What kind?"

He brought up his hands and made a twisting motion.

"They tried to strangle you! That's terrible. Where is it?"

That's what Danny was trying to tell her. He made the twisting motion again, then pointed to the front of the school.

"Wait... it's on the road?"

Not exactly, but close enough. He held up eight fingers.

"Eight ghosts on the road? I'm not my way!"

Danny refrained from sighing.

Later, when Danny saw Jazz again, she patted him on the shoulder and said, very seriously, "I think you should carry around a pad of paper from now on. I did not get 'Mr. Lancer's car is infested with ectopi' from that."

.

Danny rushed into Sam's room, phasing through the wall and started flailing his hands. She, surprised, pulled off her headphones.

"You're so lucky I'm already dressed and you're already dead... wait, slow down, jeez, I can't make out anything, unless you're trying to tell me everything is on fire."

Beyond exasperated, Danny picked up Sam and phased her through the roof.

"OH MY GOD, EVERYTHING IS ON FIRE."

.

"This video is part of a series on sign language! Today's video is about finger spelling! Follow along with me as we go through the alphabet!"

 

 

Chapter 68: Reflection

Summary:

Based on a tumblr prompt: I have an idea for a short one-shot I’d like to see you write out one day. I’d like to see Danny’s thoughts on if he suddenly saw a ghost kid who looked like him, but isn’t a clone or a duplicate. He probably sees him in some kind of magical ghost mirror. The twin brother he never had. The twin brother looks back at Danny, gives him a sad smile, then flies away from Danny. Heck, you could use the idea in your ‘Danny is exploring the Ghost Zone while his parents are communicating with him’ bit.

Clockwork kept many things in his tower.  Wonderous things.  Dangerous things.  Curious things.  Impossible things.  Things that he just wanted, for some reason or another.  

In one room, he kept a mirror. He kept many mirrors, in many rooms, and not all of them showed simple reflections. Some of them did things that even ghosts would find uncanny.

"What does this one do?" asked Danny, inspecting the cloth-draped frame.

"It shows you a might-have-been. What you never knew you wanted and can never have."

"That... doesn't sound great, honestly," said Danny. "Who'd want that?"

"Very few people. In fact, it drove several to madness before it came under my care," said Clockwork.

"And... you want me to look at it? Really? I mean, I haven't exactly had the best track record with going crazy and all."

"It is important to know yourself," said Clockwork, putting a hand on Danny's shoulder. "You are forewarned. You are forearmed. I am here. No matter what you see, it will not affect anything in reality."

Danny nodded slowly. "But it shows something that might have happened?"

"Yes," said Clockwork. "But not necessarily something likely."

Danny took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm ready."

Clockwork reached over Danny's shoulder and pulled the cloth on the mirror away.

At first, Danny thought the mirror was just showing him an ordinary reflection. Then he noticed that there were two of him. He tilted his head. Sure, he wanted to be able to duplicate himself better and more consistently, but that was just it. He wanted that. He knew he wanted that. It wasn't a mystery.

So, that couldn't be what the mirror was trying to tell him. There had to be something else.

Dani leaned into the frame. Oh, was this about her being closer, then? He did want that, but... Again, he'd known he wanted that for ages. So, what...?

One of his doubles tweaked Dani's ear, and she laughingly reprimanded him, but...

But that wasn't Danny's name, silently passing her lips.

He stepped closer, examining the reflection more intently. His second reflection... it wasn't him at all. Looking closer, he could see small differences between himself and this almost-double. Even if he assumed the image wasn't flipped right to left... He had a scar Danny didn't, was missing others, the pattern of his freckles were different, his eyes had a slightly different distribution of color in the iris, the way he was holding himself wasn't quite like Danny did-

There was a flash of light as the half-ghosts in the mirror transformed. All three of them. With this, it was even more obvious the second boy wasn't Danny, although the first was, or a duplicate. He was a whole different person. The color of his aura was different, warmer, the constellations his glowing freckles described were different, his hair licked with faint fire at the ends, and most importantly, his symbol was different.

"I... a twin..." he breathed, breath fogging on the glass. When had he gotten that close?

Something he didn't know he'd wanted. A person who would really, truly, understand what he was, who he was, what he was going through, like even Dani and Clockwork couldn't.

The family in the mirror smiled sadly at Danny and turned away, just in time for Clockwork to let the cloth fall to cover it again. He took a deep breath that was only a hairsbreadth from becoming a sob.

A tear traced its way down the curve of his cheek. He forced himself to laugh.

"I guess... knowing myself... I guess this means I'm lonely, huh? And even with all this- I'm sorry, I must seem really ungrateful. You're-" He cut himself off, not wanting to break down.

Clockwork waited quietly.

"You guys are all great," Danny finished. "It's just..."

"I think that everyone longs for someone who can understand them completely at some point," said Clockwork.

"You think?" said Danny, the joke coming a little easier this time. "You don't know?"

"I don't read minds, Daniel. Now, shall we go? Reflection is all very well and good, but it doesn't do to dwell in them.

Chapter 69: Twin

Summary:

Prompt from dp-marvel94: I really loved your last prompt fill, Reflection. I can't even describe what emotions it made me feel. Now I'm really curious about a twin au, something set on the other side of the mirror so to speak. I'd love to see your take on something like that.

If you told the Fenton twins they enabled each other, Danny would tell you that's what twins were for, and Andy would say at least they weren't as bad as their parents.

Although the veracity of the first statement was questionable, the second was certainly true. This is why space and astronomy related paraphernalia was limited to the twins' room and pranks only happened a few times a year, while the elder Fentons' ghost hunting gear infested the entire building and spilled out into the yard and a few select public places around town and ghost hunting was a year-round endeavor.

The Fenton children usually responded by doing their best to ignore everything related to ghosts. Usually. Today, that had been a little bit difficult. Today was the day of their parents' greatest triumph!

Except it wasn't. The portal-

"Andy, are you narrating this?"

"So what if I am?" He adjusted the camera to zoom in on his brother's disgruntled face. "You want to go to space, I want to make movies about space. And you've got to admit, the lab does look like the set of a cool SF show."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Sure, except the fake science projects on a set aren't going to come explode on you-"

"Well, actually-"

"That's the exception, not the rule-"

"But it still happened!"

"Ugh, you're impossible. What time is it?"

"According to the camera clock... one fourty-six in the morning."

Danny laughed. "Are you ever going to switch it so it's right?"

"Signs point to no. Hey, I have an idea. I dare you to go in and check it out~"

"Um. No. I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm not dying for your home movie. I'm going to go wait for Sam and Tucker upstairs."

"Come on!" called Andy after Danny. "I'll go with you if you're scared!"

The lab door shut.

"Tch," grumbled Andy. "Whatever." He thumbed the power switch.

.

"And here's the boring lab full of stuff that doesn't work!" said Danny loudly, spreading his hands in presentation. "Can we go back upstairs now?"

"Boring? Just look at all this tech! This would make a great set for a TV show," said Tucker.

"See? See?" said Andy, excitedly. "That's what I said, too. We really are true friends."

"Think your parents would let us use it for an amateur film?" asked Tucker.

"Maybe if they ever 'gave up the ghost,'" said Danny, with air quotes. "Which they aren't. Ever."

"I don't know, Danny, they seemed pretty down after the portal didn't work."

They turned towards the dark, empty hole in the wall.

"Yeah..." said Danny. "They did look kind of sad..."

"Maybe you guys can do something with it," said Sam, adjusting her camera settings to take a picture.

"Sam," complained Andy fiddling with his camera, "stop it, you're messing with my camera brightness..."

Sam stuck out her tongue.

"What do you think we could do?"

"I don't know," said Sam. "Didn't you guys find some wiring issue with that other thing they made? Something silly they overlooked or something?"

"Yeah, that was ages ago and way simpler than this," said Danny.

"I don't know, I think she has a point," said Andy.

"Dare you two to go in," said Sam.

"True frien- Wait, two?"

"Yeah, two heads are better than one. And make for a cooler picture. We could make, like, movie poster mockups or something. Plus, Danny, haven't you ever wondered if there really is another world over there? You could be like an astronaut."

"Ooh, yeah, good point," said Andy. "Do you think we should wear the hazmat?"

"Do I think we should wear protective gear while messing with dangerous lab equipment?"

"Good point, but I was talking about for the picture," said Andy, walking over to the cabinet. "Which one of these is yours and which is mine?"

"Doesn't matter, they're identical," said Danny, leaning over his shoulder and pulling one out. He let it unfold. "I changed my mind, you can have the one with Dad's face."

"It's just a sticker, weirdo." Andy pulled it off. "Ugh, one second... Do you ever wish you had another set of arms...?" He put the camera down.

.

Andy turned the camera back on. "Okay, here we go! Into the portal! To the stars!"

"Or the Ghost Zone, according to Mom and Dad."

"Yep, yep, go on, explore the supposed doorway to the afterlife," said Sam.

"That isn't very sci-fi of you, Sam," said Tucker. He was promptly elbowed.

"Give me some poses!" she said, snapping pictures.

"I thought we were supposed to be looking for what's wrong with the portal," said Danny.

"Come on, it isn't as if you believe in ghosts anyway," said Andy, nudging Danny.

Danny, scowling, took a step away from him and tripped on a wire. He caught himself on the wall and-

Click.

.

"The rest of the video is completely fried," said Tucker. "Should we keep it, or...?"

"Delete it," said Danny.

"Keep it," said Andy.

"I'm getting some mixed messages here," said Tucker.

"I think," said Andy, "that it would be a good idea to have a way to prove we are who we say we are."

"And it has nothing to do with wanting to preserve your camera work?"

"I wouldn't say nothing."

Chapter 70: The Infamous Attempted Wombing

Summary:

Based on a tumblr prompt: Okay no but Vlad just trying to womb Danny before Clockwork does, not bothering to explain one goddamn thing to the poor lad. Just a one-shot. Danny escapes and flies off at the end. Clockwork in his tower laughs/chuckles at Vlad's attempt. How would that go. What would the attempt even look like

If Danny were to make a list of his least favorite places to be, all iterations of 'Vlad's house' would rate somewhere below lovely vacation spots like the River of Revulsion, the Consuming Maw, and Hell. Despite this, he wound up at one or another of Vlad's residences with some frequency.

But he'd never been to Vlad's lair. He very much did not want to break his streak of 'not being in Vlad's lair,' because as bad as being in all of Vlad's other houses was, a ghost's lair moved according to its owner's will.

Which is why his current predicament (hit with the Plasmius Maximus and in one of Skulker's nets) was so disturbing.

"Uh, Skulker, when you said lair you meant his stupidly oversized castle mansion thing in Wisconsin, right?"

"Didn't you blow that up?"

"Oh. Well, yeah, but he rebuilt." Danny subtly began picking at the knots tying the net together.

"And then you blew it up again."

"Okay, I can see how you'd think that, but the second time wasn't me. It was the government."

"Right. Sure." If Skulker had recognizable irises pupils, Danny was sure they'd be rolling.

"No, really. But I'm sure I could blow up his actual lair, too, you know? So, I'm not sure why he'd want me there. Actually, I'm not sure why you're taking me there instead of, you know, skinning me yourself."

"Something I've been asking myself since you woke up and started talking."

"Always such a kidder. But seriously."

"Well, you see, I like having an independent existence," said Skulker, "and that takes money and resources. Besides, I can always hunt you again after this. You'll be even more of a challenge!"

"Why will I be more of a challenge in Vlad's stupid lair? You know he's just going to try and clone and replace me again."

Skulker snorted.

"How do you even do that in a robot suit?"

"That's for me to know and you to never find out."

They came to a stop in front of a purple door decorated with elaborate gold inlay.

"Ugh, he's so pretentious," complained Danny, covering up the fact that his heart was currently beating out of his chest.

Skulker knocked on the door, which immediately flew open, revealing Vlad as Plasmius.

"Wow, were you waiting for us at the door? Needy much?"

Vlad looked down his nose at Danny. "I don't expect you to understand, Daniel. Yet."

"Do you practice being ominous in the mirror? I think you'd benefit from improv classes. More feedback from real people. I'd say get it from your friends but- Ow!" Danny yelped as Vlad hit him with a miniature ectoblast.

"You'll receive your payment in the usual way," said Vlad, blandly.

"Great," said Skulker. "Have fun, whelp."

Danny struggled reflexively as Skulker handed the net over. It didn't do any good. The door to Vlad's lair shut with a definitive thud.

"Whatever you're planning," said Danny, "you aren't going to get away with it."

"I daresay I already have, son."

"I'm not your son, fruitloop," hissed Danny. (The Plasmius Maximus might have rendered his ghost half dormant, but that didn't mean it was gone, or that he didn't retain behaviors learned from it in all forms.)

"Hm," said Vlad. He touched the back of Danny's neck through the net, then traced over his skin to the edge of his jaw, which he forced up so Danny had to twist uncomfortably, his hair catching in the net.

Danny scratched at the hand, but of course Vlad was, as always, wearing those thick gloves, and Danny's fingernails were currently very human and blunt.

"You're a feral little thing, aren't you?" He pushed Danny's neck into a position that was actively painful without the benefit of ghostly flexibility. "Not for long, though, I should think."

Without another word, he strode off into the depths of his lair.

Vlad's lair was much like his mortal residences. Vampire meets football fan meets dramatic gothic romance that missed the point. If Danny had access to his ghost half, he suspected he'd be able to feel Vlad's ectosignature permeating the ectoplasm in the air to an oppressive degree.

As it was, the heat was bad enough. His body had long since offloaded the task of cooling to his ghost half, and was having some trouble remembering how to act.

"Here we are," said Vlad, stopping in front of an especially fancy door. He opened it, and threw Danny in, then closed the door without entering.

Danny, a bit confused by this turn of events, took stock of his surroundings. The door had smoothed out into a tapestry-covered wall. The room was lit only by ectoplasmic glow and felt oddly... soft. All surfaces were upholstered with ornate, green and gold embroidered cloth. There were many pillows, but no hard furniture.

Also, the ectoplasm in the air was so thick it almost felt like Danny was underwater and so charged with energy his hair was standing on end. Even with his ghost half thoroughly zapped by the Plasmius Maximus, it was making Danny feel a little tipsy. If his ghost half had been active at all, he would have been blissed out and essentially immobile as he involuntarily gorged himself.

He shuddered at the thought. The energy here was probably very Vlad, not to mention putting Danny into that state was probably Vlad's plan.

Which, Danny decided, was the most disturbing part of all of this. Small doses of energized ectoplasm acted like side-effect free energy drinks for Danny. Sufficiently large doses, or prolonged exposure to high-energy ectoplasm, however, acted like a euphoric and a depressant for reasons Danny didn't understand. Since this didn't seem to be the case for any other ghosts he'd encountered, Danny had chosen to keep it quiet.

This meant that either Vlad had the same problem, and it was a halfa thing (no evidence, plus, if that was the case he'd have a hard time getting Danny out of here... assuming he'd eventually want to do that), or he'd been putting spy cams in Fentonworks again (historical precedent).

Either way, it meant that Danny had a time limit. Once the Plasmius Maximus wore off, it was limp noodle time for Danny.

He squirmed until he found the tied-shut opening of the net. As opposed to the structural knots, this would probably be easier to deal with.

... of course Skulker was also good at tying knots, darn it.

Eventually, with slightly raw fingertips, Danny crawled out of the net. Now what? The room had no doors.

If he had been in the larger Ghost Zone, he could walk through walls as a human with little effort, convincing unattached structures to go intangible around him through force of will. Even Walker's Prison, that he claimed and maintained, could be cajoled.

Lairs were different. Lairs were tied to the wills of their ghosts. Unless the power levels of the ghost in question was vastly beneath your own, attempting to fight a ghost in their lair was futile.

Getting this room to let him out would be hard.

But maybe not impossible.

Thing was, lairs were tied to their ghosts' wills. Not their brains.

(And Vlad wasn't the brightest guy to begin with.)

Danny put on his 'acting' face. "Wow, I sure love unkie Vwad~"

.

After several long, excruciatingly embarrassing minutes of monologuing about how awesome Vlad was and how cool it would be if he let him out, Danny was able to push through the wall into the corridor outside.

Embarrassing for Vlad, that is. Even having done it on purpose, Danny was still rather surprised that Vlad fell for it.

Okay. Now, all he had to do was find the door out, and assuming that Vlad's lair wasn't one that shuffled itself internally all the time...

There!

It wasn't even locked.

He dove through the door and out into the Ghost Zone, not caring that he couldn't fly in human form. Falling was fine. It was fast. There wasn't anything for him to hit.

Well...

He was inching closer to terminal velocity now.

It was mostly fine.

How long ago had he been hit by the Plasmius Maximus?

.

Far away in a very different lair, Clockwork smiled fondly at Daniel's antics. Plasmius, Plasmius, Plasmius. Didn't he know that he'd never get anywhere like that?

Clockwork set his chin on his fist as he watched Daniel fall and gently nudged various real world debris out of his path. He had a room like that in his lair as well, infinitely more suitable, waiting for Daniel. Waiting for the right time.

And, as Master of Time, Clockwork was sure it would come soon.

Chapter 71: Come Again?

Summary:

Tumblr Prompt: Danny is going through eldrict abomination puberty

“It’s a ghost thing, right?” he asked as he worried at his cuticles.  “It has to be.”

Frostbite stared at him.  “No,” he said, finally.  “Not a normal one in any case.”

“Oh,” he said, dejected.  “Are you sure?”

“Great One,” said Frostbite, seriously, “I am sorry to tell you this, but while ghosts may forget their names, the effect does not to extend to others.  Much less other ghosts.”

“I remember my name just fine,” he said, looking back down at his hands.  His cuticles were gone.  He flexed his hands and started counting knuckles.  “It’s other people who are having trouble.  Jazz, Sam, and Tucker haven’t even forgotten it, they’re just having... trouble.”  Fifty was too big a number, and ten was too small.  Nevertheless, he reached both numbers at the same time.  

"Some of the other... symptoms," said Frostbite, "are normal for a ghost of your age or a ghost of your general power level. The rest are... not."

"Not even the dreams?"

"Most ghosts don't dream."

Danny's tentacles waved dejected until he realized he wasn't supposed to have those, and they turned into wings instead, then shadows. The dreams, after the name thing, had been the most prominent symptom.

"So, I'm definitely sick, then?"

Frostbite didn't answer.

"Frostbite?"

"There is," said Frostbite, "another option. I just hadn't thought it could be..." He turned to Danny with a haunted expression. "Real."

That wasn't encouraging.

"Okay, well. I mean, I'm a half ghost, I'm kind of weird and unbelievable to begin with."

"You... well, yes. I suppose you have a point there. This may be somewhat startling for you to hear, however."

"I'm ready for it," decided Danny. "Can't be worse than not knowing."

"You could be becoming a god."

"Come again?"

Chapter 72: Rot

Summary:

A continuation of chapter 39!

Danny made the split second decision that he wanted none of this.

He ran.

It was easy for him to run. He knew this city. Knew it better than ever, since the merge. Every angle, line of sight, and warp of space was known to him with the ease of familiarity and reflex of long practice. Portals opened for him and shadows hid him. He knew exactly how to step out of sight. How to be invisible without actually becoming invisible.

This gave him time to ponder the words of the ghosts the Chicagoans had brought with them. Ponder, and reject.

Just because the merge happened on his birthday did not mean it was because of his birthday. It was a coincidence. Unrelated. Not his fault. He'd been over this. He'd gotten over this.

It didn't take him long to get from the mall to the center of the outdoor portion of the market fair. The main body of it was held in what had become a large clearing in the middle of town, although it had long since spilled over, into the adjoining streets, a patchwork of green grass and trees, lavender moss, five different kinds of asphalt, brick, and antique stonework. Some of the bricks held remains of windows in them. There had been a rumor that a building had been crushed to make room for it all, at the beginning of the trouble, but the building in question had eventually been located two dozen miles to the east, none of the residents the worse for wear.

After that, it was only a matter of weaving in and out of all the shoppers until he got to the tent his parents set up on market days. He waved to Jack, who was manning the front desk and cleaning a rather intimidating and violent looking tool that Danny knew to be, surprisingly enough, just a vacuum, and pushed through the flap into the tent.

Safe. Mostly. Rumors spread by out of town ghosts or not, there weren't a lot of people who would antagonize the Fentons. Although their (admittedly softened) attitude towards ghosts was becoming progressively less acceptable, they were the main reason Amity Park and Elmerton were doing so well.

(Danny had heard some dreadful rumors about other cities. Certain people did not take the apocalypse well at all.)

He leaned against the wall of the building the tent was built against and sighed. Outside, he heard the familiar sounds of Ember checking the tuning on her guitar and restarting her performance.

"Danny? Is something wrong?"

It was probably too much to hope that no one had recognized him. That didn't mean anyone would come after him, but...

"A case of mistaken identity, I think," said Danny, picking himself up off the wall.

"What kind of mistaken identity?"

Danny made a face. "I don't even know. The person looked kind of sketchy, so I got out of there."

"Do you think they're likely to find you again? Or come looking for you?" Maddie's hand strayed to the grip of a all-purpose stun blaster she kept in her boot.

Things might have been relatively peaceful in Amity Park now, years after the event, but immediately after the apocalypse there had been anarchy. From humans and ghosts both. A great many people were armed at all times, and it paid to be vigilant against threats to oneself and one's family.

"I think so. It was pretty out there, so I don't think they were entirely in their right mind. But there are going to be rumors now." He tugged at one of his longer strands of hair.

"That's good, if that's all," said Maddie, relaxing marginally and gesturing at the workbench in front of her. "Will you help me with this? We got some same day refill and repair orders already this morning."

Danny nodded. That was, after all, one of the reasons he was here. He let himself get lost in the repetitive motions of refilling ectoplasm charge capsules for small ecto-armaments. It was soothing, to a degree.

There was a bit of a thump from the front, loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of the market fair. Both Danny and Maddie looked up.

"I don't know who you think you are," came Jack's voice, filtering back through the fabric of the tent, "but you can't come here and start throwing baseless accusations around about my family."

"It isn't baseless," shouted a dismally familiar voice. The Baxters never were going to give it up, were they? "You freaks are the reason we had ghosts in Amity Park to begin with! How do we know your portal didn't decide to go ahead and fracture all of reality?"

"We never dealt with anything of that power level, and it wouldn't have done that anyway!"

"So you claim, but it isn't as if there's anyone else around who could check-"

"Please, we're only looking for some information, and have no association with this... person. We represent the government of the Greater Chicago Area, and-"

"Oh, you're a customer, then! We have many models to choose from, if you're looking for protection against ghosts, whether they be the sentient variety or mindless ecto-scum! What kind do you have in mind? Big? Medium? Small? Intimidation, or something easily hidden? Or maybe you're just looking for something to get those nasty ectoplasm stains out of your clothes?"

As Jack went through his version of the standard sales pitch, Maddie stood up and pulled open the tent flap. Danny winced as he saw the faces of the Chicagoan woman and her companions, Dash Baxter's father, a large crowd of curious bystanders to whom Jack was utterly oblivious, and, across the street, the cohort of ghosts that had accused Danny of being a prince and then 'blessed' him.

"Hey! It's you!" shouted one of the Chicagoans, pointing at Danny.

The crowd quieted for a moment.

"See!" crowed Mr. Baxter. "See! He's the one they said was responsible for this."

"That's not what we said, sir. Perhaps you could leave, this is a matter of national, no, global importance, and," she turned to look at Danny, "we must talk to-"

"What, exactly, do you want with my son?" asked Maddie, icily.

The Chicagoan's leader, the man, swallowed. "We we informed, by what we believe to be a reliable source, that a person in this town... er. Has significant influence over ghosts and can be negotiated with regarding the current state of the world. A ghost king of sorts."

"A reliable source? Ha!" said Jack with a scoff. "I hope you don't mean a ghost. Even the smarter ones exist for nothing but trouble. And they hate us!"

"There was a ghost king here," said Maddie, "but that was years before the merge with the Ghost Zone, and he didn't stay long. I am also," she said, wielding the word like a knife, "unsure of what that has to do with my son."

"He was indicated by our contacts as a person who might be connected to this ghost king."

"That's nonsense," said Maddie, Jack nodding along.

"Still, we must insist-"

"You aren't insisting anything about my children, you-"

"Excuse me? Doctors Fenton?"

They broke off their conversation to look at the newcomer.

"I've just come in from near Henry's Hill," she said. "An elemental pool came in overnight."

"They aren't elemental pools. They're ectoplasm-matter integration points. Ectomat points. Integration points. Pools of transmutation, if you must. Ectoplasm isn't made of normal matter, so calling it elemental is just-" She sighed, cutting herself off. "How big is it?"

The argument had been abandoned. Integration pools, no matter what you decided to call them, could be dangerous. From a distance, they appeared to be simple pools of ectoplasm, but they were much more than that.

Anything nonliving that made contact with one would be dissolved and remade as something both material and ectoplasmic. Stronger ghosts could resist to a degree, and from what Danny had observed, it seemed to leave ghost cores alone, but weaker ghosts were vulnerable. Even then, with living things, they would be infused with ectoplasm, although Danny couldn't call them half ghosts.

The results tended to be... unpredictable.

"It was a few meters across when I left." She swallowed. "It was in the goat pasture. We let them roam during the summer, they..." The woman clutched at the hem of her shirt. "Some of them were missing."

That could go a lot of different ways. Many of them were not good.

"We need to finish the orders we already have," said Maddie. "We should be ready to go in an hour. You'll have to guide us there."

"You have something you can do about the pools? Something to negate them?" asked the Chicagoan.

"It doesn't work all the time," said Maddie, adjusting her belt. "But what we can do is take care of anything dangerous that comes out of one." She regarded him rather coolly. "If you want to see, come back in an hour. Danny, make sure the Speeder is prepped."

"Got it," said Danny.

.

It took a few hours to get to Henry's Hill.

By the time they got there, the sky had decided to be stranger than usual, broken into tiles like in a mosaic, the moon smeared across the sky in all its phases even as the sun burned pink and yellow from an inscribed disk. Better than red. The red sun was rarely a good omen. The red sun was for storms and fires and mist that didn't clear.

But a worse omen was the presence of the Chicagoan's and the ghosts who had decided to proclaim him king.

He really needed to figure out what they called themselves, but he didn't want to talk to them again, for obvious reasons.

"Danny, stop daydreaming," said Maddie. "Keep an eye out for ecto-goats. Jack, help me set up the perimeter for the shield."

The transmutation pool was large. Big enough to be called a pond, big enough to swim in, assuming it was a respectable depth. It had formed around the trunk of a large oak tree, and little green lights drifted above its surface. The oak tree had glowing green veins stretching up through its bark, which was a deep, dark color. Its acorns were oddly pale. The grass around the pool was purple.

The air smelled of decay and rain. Danny licked his lips. It felt like there should be more moisture in the air.

(Sometimes, Danny got the urge to wade into one of the pools. To sink in. He resisted.)

There was no sign of the goats.

"You'll probably have to burn the tree," said Maddie.

"I know," said the woman who had fetched them, wringing her hands. "But you can get rid of it, right?"

"It's big," said Maddie. "I'm not sure we have enough. We might have to wait it out."

"But the earth and air elementals," started the woman.

"Earth and air are not elements," said Maddie. "We're more than equipped enough to handle those, if it comes to it."

"Rot and petrichor, my prince," said one of the ghosts. "Don't you feel it in the air? Can't you taste it?"

Rot and petrichor. Decay and rain. Danny grimaced, and deliberately looked away.

"This moment was made for you, my prince. To confirm you in these blessings, as you should be confirmed in all blessings."

"I'm good, actually," said Danny.

"Don't engage with those no good spooks, Danny boy! They're just here to stir up trouble!"

Danny rolled his eyes. Still on the 'no good spooks' thing. Typical.

The shield went up with a fwoop and an electric crackle.

"Still no sign of the goats," said Maddie. "We might need to make this a real hunt."

Gosh, Danny hoped not. Odds were, the ghosts, ahem, the goats, the ghostly goats, weren't any more aggressive than normal goats. It wasn't like the personalities of the things involved changed.

But goats, hm... Actually, that might be problematic. He didn't have a lot of experience with farm animals, so... Yeah. Goats. They didn't have the best of reputations, did they?

Still, the way his parents went after elementals and mixed organisms made him uneasy. The few humans to accidentally slip into one of the pools had just been declared 'abnormally ecto-contaminated,' and Danny didn't have any evidence of ghost powers, but... Yeah.

Yeah.

Maddie finished setting up the integration negation delivery system, sticking the barrel of the gun through the shield. She sighed at the negation fluid capsule she had just filled, calculated to negate the estimated amount of ectoplasm in the pool.

"This will deplete our reserves," she said. "It'll take a while to make more of this." She slid the capsule into place and fired. Quickly, she pulled the barrel out of the shield and braced.

Ectoplasm splashed from the pool, staining the grass purple where it landed. A moment later, there was a flash of light that strained at the shield.

When the light faded, the insides of the shields were green smoke. Slowly, that began to clear as well, until it revealed a empty hollow full of purple grass where the pool had once been. The oak tree, less supported than it had been, now that many of its roots were exposed, creaked ominously.

At least, that was probably all the humans saw.

Danny rubbed his arms. Ectoplasm, much like normal matter, didn't just disappear. Not completely. In the past, it might have returned to the Ghost Zone, but not anymore.

And whatever was in the pools wasn't just disappearing either. Some of it was getting converted to energy, energy which might eventually be turned back into ectoplasm, but the rest was just going somewhere else.

The world was still changing. His parents were only slowing it down.

(Sometimes Danny wanted them to stop. There wasn't anything wrong with being between one world and the other. Especially since there was only one world now.)

The scent of ozone built in the air and ectoplasm seemed to leak from it, back into the pool, refilling it.

"That... has never happened before," said Maddie. "We have to take notes!"

Danny sighed. This would take a long time, then. The ectoplasm would either have to be absorbed by the grass, or the ectoplasm would have to dissolve the earth and stone beneath it, or the air above, for the purpose of turning them into 'elementals.' They wouldn't have any intelligence, at least at first, but they would, eventually, like most other things made of ectoplasm.

"My prince," said the spokesperson of the ghosts, "if you truly desired this pool of recreation to be gone, you need only command it to assume a form that suits you."

"I'm pretty sure I can't do that," said Danny.

"It wouldn't hurt to try, would it?" asked a Chicagoan.

"It might, actually," said Maddie, looking away from her notes. "Ectoplasm is psychoactive and there's a lot we don't know about this phenomenon, even three years later. Danny, can you help me with this?" She gestured at the ectometer she was trying to balance on her knee.

"Sure," said Danny.

This was when the goats decided to make an appearance, sheering out of invisibility and charging the crowd. Danny pushed Maddie out of the way of a goat's curved, glowing horns and was borne backwards, into one of the shield generators, which promptly broke.

Danny tumbled, following his usual 'oh, no, I'm just a weak human, I can't possibly fight these mutant goats, no matter how good I am at other ghost-related things' act, and rolled right into the transmutation pool.

Ah.

Hm.

He shouldn't have done that.

"Danny! Quick! Get out of there!"

He stood up quickly, but it was like the liquid in the pool had turned into putty. It didn't want to let him go. It wrapped around him, almost lovingly.

Danny really didn't want to know what prolonged contact with this stuff would do to him.

"Get off!" He shouted, a whisper of his wail leaking into his tone.

The liquid lost viscosity, collapsing again. Danny stood there dripping for a moment, then dragged himself the rest of the way out of the pool.

He dragged a cape woven of purple grass, wildflowers, and tiny mushrooms with him. His clothing was completely different. More formal. He still wasn't wearing shoes.

(The liquid ectoplasm sunk into his skin, leaving him dry. Behind him, he could feel the transformation pool evaporating, forming a cloud elemental many feet above. It would rain, soon, and there would be ectoplasm and other things in that rain. The hollow that once held the pool would contain mushrooms that glowed and glimmered and spread.)

"Um," said Danny.

"Ha!" said the Chicagoan's leader. "You said you weren't anything special and didn't know what we were talking about, but is there anything you want to explain now, young man?"

"No," said Danny, he turned back to his parents. "Can we go home now?"

"Quick, Danno, strip! We need to decontaminate you!"

Danny looked at the crowd of strangers and acquaintances.

"No."

Chapter 73: Yearbook

Summary:

Based on a tumblr prompt by need-a-new-reality: Danny’s 18th birthday he suddenly realizes that he’s not aging.

 

Senior yearbooks were delivered in August, just a month before Danny was due to start college as a freshman. On his birthday, in fact. Other schools got their yearbooks in before graduation, but Casper High was just special like that.

 

 

It was weird. What Danny once would have thought with frustration was now accompanied by rueful nostalgia.

 

 

He flipped slowly through the pages, giggling a little at the picture of Dash covered in ghost slime, then at the picture of Lancer covered in ghost slime, then at the final picture of the entire class covered in ghost slime.

 

 

That had certainly been a day.

 

 

A smile still played around his lips as he browsed the freshman pages. He didn't know anyone from that class well, but looking at their faces as they were presented with the robotic frog cadavers was funny.

 

 

Sam's legacy at the school, he supposed. Better than his legacy of several Danny-shaped holes in the walls. Good thing they didn't know he was Phantom, or else they might have tried to make him pay for them along with his last library fines.

 

 

Then, he got to the senior class pages.

 

 

Like anyone, he was most interested in finding his own. Every year, the yearbook did a special picture page for the seniors. It had each student's senior class picture, of course, their freshman picture, and their baby picture.

 

 

Danny found his, and suddenly his smile was like a brittle mask over his face.

 

 

His freshman picture and his senior picture weren't quite identical. He'd been wearing different clothes, for one, and for another senior Danny was better rested and more muscular, but...

 

 

If the pictures had been of someone else, he wouldn't have thought they were taken four years apart. He might have thought the pictures were of brothers. Twins with different lifestyles.

 

 

But they weren't of someone else. They were of him. They were his pictures. He should have looked older.

 

 

He didn't. Danny looked fourteen in both pictures.

 

 

He looked fourteen now.

 

 

The snap as he slammed the yearbook closed snapped him out of his panic. He took a deep breath.

 

 

Fourteen. Fourteen, the age he was when he'd walked into the portal and...

 

 

Died.

 

 

The age his life should have ended at.

 

 

If he'd stopped aging... There was nothing to say it wouldn't start up again, was there? Ultimately, aging was wear and tear on a body. Maybe he'd just stopped growing . But if he had stopped aging... at fourteen...

 

 

Maybe fourteen would be the age his life ended at anyway. Even if he was technically eighteen. He should have looked eighteen, too.

 

 

He closed his eyes. This wouldn't go unnoticed for long. Sam and Tucker would have gotten their yearbooks, too, and they'd be coming over today.

 

 

They'd know. Sooner or later. He could try to hide it, but...

 

 

No. He was eighteen. He was a mature adult. He was past this. Past trying to keep secrets that would inevitably come out from his friend.

 

 

He fumbled for his phone.

 

Chapter 74: I could use it to escape handcuffs

Summary:

Tumblr Prompt: Danny finding out he can shapeshift

“Guys!  Check out what I can do!”

Tucker made the mistake of looking up at his friend.  

“Dude,” he said, staring at the... Staring at whatever had happened to Danny’s arm.  “I’m eating.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  His arm returned to it’s normal shape.  

"Can you do anything else?" asked Sam. "Like, that's properly horrible, but it isn't exactly useful, is it?"

"Sam, don't encourage him," Tucker implored. "He's going to be insufferable."

"He's already insufferable," said Sam, "I'd just like him to useful at the same time."

"It is useful," protested Danny. "I could use it to escape handcuffs."

"You can use intangibility for that, too," said Sam.

"Not my parents' handcuffs I can't."

Tucker winced at the reminder that the Fenton's were literally hunting Danny and gave up on his chips, folding the bag over and putting it to the side.

"I could use it to help me dodge, too," said Danny. "In a fight, you know."

"I can believe the handcuffs," said Sam, "That's good. But I can't really see you using that to dodge."

Tucker saw the look on Danny's face and, regretfully, mentally braced himself to seeing his friend do... that to his body on a regular basis.

Chapter 75: Blob Danny

Summary:

Tumblr prompt: I can't stop thinking about an au where Danny's ghost form was a blob ghost until he spent some actual time in the ghost zone to nourish it. (So the Walker episode) how embarrassing to try to fight ghosts in human form only to accidentally transform and reveal to your enemies that you're just a newborn ghost. A blob trying their hardest. Vlad would be amused though if he found out.

Walker had encountered Plasmius often enough to be able to identify a halfa when he saw one, even if there hadn't been hundreds of rumors about Phantom beforehand. So, the sight of a human, a living being using powers that should have been reserved for the dead, didn't shock him. Sure, he'd been confused about why the boy didn't transform like Plasmius did, until he'd been forced to acknowledge how much harder it was to catch Phantom when he could phase through almost everything he had to throw at him, but not shocked.

No, even when Phantom was chained to a chair in Walker's office with twice-forged chains and seemingly struggling to call up the rings that seemed to typically precede a halfa's transformation, Walker hadn't been shocked. He didn't know how a halfa's powers progressed, after all, and Phantom seemed younger than Plasmius.

This, though? He'd spent nigh on a hundred years dead and buried and he'd never seen anything that set him back as badly as this before.

He stared at the absolutely miniature blob ghost sitting where Phantom had been.

"What in tarnation--"

The blob squealed and rocketed to the door. It was fast for such a little thing, but it clearly didn't have much experience manipulating its form and stalled while trying to squeeze itself under the door.

Walker grabbed it by the tail and dragged it back. It reflexively wrapped its tail further around Walker's fingers, even as it tried to bite him. It could not get through Walker's gloves and was reduced to something like gumming on the fabric.

Walker continued to stare.

"Phantom?" he asked, incredulously.

The blob - Phantom? - hissed at Walker.

The little menace was a blob? He had caused this much trouble and beat Plasmius as a barely formed blob? A blob that couldn't even squish its body enough to escape Walker's grasp.

Looking like this, Phantom couldn't have formed more than a handful of months ago.

... Walker realized that he hadn't so much as heard a whisper of Phantom's existence before this year.

He sat down heavily in the chair behind his desk as Phantom continued to do his level best to chew through Walker's glove and covered his face. A baby. They'd been fighting a baby. A baby who barely knew how to be a ghost.

A spear of dread shot through what had once been Walker's gut. By ghost custom, law, and, more importantly, the rules in his own book, it was now Walker's responsibility to raise this feral little... creature.

Phantom hissed at him again.

Walker slowly lowered his head to his desk.

Chapter 76: Vlad and Tiny Danny

Summary:

Prompt: Okay, on the Vlad finds Danny shrunk by the Crammer thing, imagine Vlad picks up tiny Danny and secures him in his work bag.

It was rare, but sometimes Jack invented something that was pure genius. On those infrequent occasions, Vlad made sure to make note of, copy, and, of course, improve said inventions. Mainly by giving them a reasonable name.

Fenton Crammer? Really? That was what Jack called his shrink ray? It sounded like something a student might do before a test.

Plasmius Minimus was so much better.

Vlad drifted behind the tour group, smiling blandly whenever Daniel shot him a look from his place at the back of the pack. Daniel, bless him, had been convinced from the beginning that Vlad's generous offer of a tour of Vladco for the students of Casper High was a trap.

He was right.

The paranoia was still amusing to watch. Daniel was so intent on keeping an eye on Vlad that he'd tripped five times and run into cubicle walls twice in the hour since arriving-- No, make that three cubicle walls.

Goodness, if Daniel kept this up, he was going to do Vlad's job for him.

Vlad shifted his gaze to Daniel's two friends, and suppressed a chuckle when Daniel bristled at him. It was, almost, cute. Like a feral kitten hissing at a large dog.

They were the greatest obstacle to Vlad's plan. But Vlad had a simple, easy method of getting them out of the way. Social conventions.

"Alright, everyone," said the tour guide. "We're not allowed to have too many visitors in the labs, so this is where we split up. When you hear your name, go to your group."

Easy, thought Vlad again, watching as Daniel's group was led away to the labs and his worried friends followed the other group to the auditorium. Vlad followed neither, but instead stayed on the office floor for a while before going in a completely different direction before ducking out of sight just long enough to duplicate.

The duplicate stayed on that floor, striking up a conversation with a secretary in full view. He himself transformed and phased through the floor, going down to the lab.

He probably wouldn't need an alibi, but it payed to be prepared.

The students stopped by the dressing rooms first, and the tour guide showed them how to put on the guest versions of the protective coveralls, masks, and goggles. A bit excessive for this lab and what they were doing in it today, but Vlad had insisted, for the protection of the students.

And for a little more obfuscation for the sake of his plan.

He waited until the students were jostling each other at the door, and then he struck, raising the small pistol and firing a single, quiet shot at Daniel.

There was a whisper of a gasp, and Daniel seemed to vanish. Vlad knew better. He caught the miniature ghost as he tried to phase through the floor, and pulled him out.

Daniel cursed at him, his voice tiny.

"And what were you going to do, if your powers went out while you were down there? Think, Daniel."

He phased a small glass jar, one that he had placed earlier, out of a wall, and dropped Daniel in before screwing on the lid. Daniel, predictably, banged on the glass.

"Come, now," said Vlad, amused. "You could at least appreciate the effort I went through to get this jar ghost proofed. There are even holes in the lid."

What followed was, of course, more cursing.

Chapter 77: Grandpa Greg

Summary:

Prompt from darkfoxkit: Danny runs into his late grandfather in the Ghost Zone. His grandfather's ghost just wants to rest in peace, but he was filled with worry for his family to rest. So Danny takes him to see the Fentons and how they're doing. The grandfather is on Maddie's side of the family, and he sees how well she's doing with her husband and kids. But Danny has to be careful that his parents don't see his grandfather's ghost or they'll hunt him.

Danny had known, intellectually, that ghosts were dead people. He had, perhaps, even known it emotionally. It was hard to miss dying, that collision with mortality, hard to miss Ember, and Technus, and Poindexter, and Desiree and all the others that held onto their deaths and lives so closely, so intimately.

Still. Seeing this, Danny could still safely say that he hadn't known. Not really.

"Danny?" said the ghost, softly, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "Is that you?"

Danny, for one, couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, either.

"Grandpa Greg?" he asked, ignoring the fact that he was in ghost form and his grandfather really shouldn't recognize him.

After all, he wasn't sure he should recognize his grandfather, either. A change in skin, hair, and eye color usually made that kind of thing difficult.

A relieved smile stretched across Grandpa's face. "It is you," he said. "I was worried... Well, never mind. How have you been?" He reached out to ruffle Danny's hair, like he always used to, and Danny let him. "What- How did you get out here?" Grandpa's face started to fall. "Why- Why are you out here, Danny? What happened to you?"

"I'm just, um," said Danny. "Exploring. Mom and Dad, they got the portal working."

"They did? That's, well, that's astonishing," said Grandpa. "I wouldn't have believed it, but then..." He trailed off. "I hardly believed it when I woke up."

Danny tensed. "Grandpa," he said, cautiously, "you do know..." He trailed off, trying to find the best way to put this. Often, ghosts weren't happy to have it brought up.

"Dead?" asked Grandpa. "Yes, I know. I..." He looked sad. "What happened to you, Danny? Did someone--"

"It's a long story," said Danny, even as he started to hear the faint buzz of a gathering ectoblast. "A long, complicated story. But I'm not dead. Promise."

"You're not dead."

"No. Here, I'll show you, but we'll have to go up a bit."

"What for?"

"Ectoplasm here is really thick." Danny gestured around at the wavering stairs, weeping walls, melting architecture, twisted trees, and gelatin-like masses of things that might have once been buildings but could also have been condensing islands. "Hard to breathe." He floated up, and gestured for Grandpa to follow.

They spiraled up, dodging other ghosts and more solid bits of reality. Danny kept looking back, checking to make sure Grandpa was still following him, that it hadn't all been a hallucination.

He'd wonder if it was some kind of trick from one of his enemies, but... Grandpa had died before the portal opened. None of them should even know about him.

They reached an area where ectoplasm and air mixed relatively evenly, and Danny quickly found something to land on - a crumbling old building that slowly rotated in the ether. He anchored his sense of 'down' to the wall, and landed, looking up at his grandfather, still making sure he was being followed.

"Are you ready?" asked Danny.

"I'm not sure what you're asking me if I'm ready for," said Grandpa. He said it with some levity, but it sounded forced.

"Well," said Danny, "it's hard to explain. Just--" He bit the bullet and transformed, kickstarting his breathing and heartbeat.

He didn't expect his grandfather to suddenly embrace him, crying.

"I was so worried," he said. "So worried that something terrible had happened, and you'd died. What is this? One of Jack's inventions, letting you look like a ghost? Are your parents out here too? I have to see Maddie--"

"No," said Danny, feeling himself tear up as well. "It isn't an invention. I was in an accident with, um, a little ectoplasm? So I'm a bit weird now, but it's fine."

"And Maddie? Alicia? Your sister?"

"We're all fine, Grandpa," said Danny. "Really."

Grandpa let out a shaky sigh. "I'm glad. I'm glad, Danny. I can still hardly believe it, you know? All those things about ghosts. They were true. Except the evil part, but I'm sure Maddie's figured that out by now, too."

Danny cringed and pulled back, out of the hug. "Not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... If they saw you, they'd probably shoot at you."

"But... I'm me."

"They wouldn't think that."

"But," said Grandpa. "I have to see them! I have to make sure they're alright."

Danny bit his lip. "Maybe," he said, "you can still do that. But we'll have to be really careful."

.

Danny went through first and checked to make sure the lab was clear. Grandpa followed after.

"Oh, my," said Grandpa. "That's different."

"Yeah," said Danny. He eyed Grandpa with worry. "This is your first time out of the Zone, right? If you need some time to adjust... I mean, we don't have to do this today."

"No, no, I'm fine."

"Right," said Danny. He let go of his ghost form. "Okay, now, go invisible, and stay near me." His parents were used to Danny setting off their detectors, so, this way, if they triggered anything, they'd assume it was just Danny again, and Grandpa would be safe. "And don't say anything when other people are around," he added.

"You're the boss, Danno."

He climbed the stairs. "They might not be home for a while, yet," he said, quietly. "I usually don't go to the Zone unless I know they're going to be out for a while. They were going to go investigate a haunting."

"Do you think they'll be safe?"

"Probably," said Danny. "It wasn't a real haunting. I checked." He pushed the door at the top of the stairs open and peered into the kitchen. "But we could go check in on them. Or Jazz."

"Is she still home?"

"She could be at the library," said Danny. "But she still lives here."

"I'd like to see her," said Grandpa.

"Okay. She does know about ghosts, so it's okay to talk to her, if she's here."

He took the stairs up to the second floor two at a time. "Jazz?" he called. "You home?"

"Yeah? What?"

"Can I come in?" asked Danny, stopping in front of her door.

"Sure!"

Danny opened her door and stepped in. Jazz looked up from her computer.

"What is it?" she asked. "You're back early."

"Yeah. Uh. I ran into Grandpa Greg out in the Zone."

"What?"

Danny nudged Grandpa. "You can be visible again," he said.

"Thank goodness. I don't know how long I can keep that up for."

Jazz gasped.

.

"Remember," said Danny, "when they come home, you have to stay hidden. They won't believe you're you."

"I will," said Grandpa.

"Okay," said Danny. He braced himself and went down the stairs.

"Hey, Mom, hey, Dad, how are you guys doing?"

.

"Are you sure you need to leave?" asked Jazz. She was definitely tearing up.

"Sorry, Jazzy," said Grandpa, patting her shoulder. "I just... I need to check on Alicia, now. And sticking around here seems to not be a good idea." He smiled at Danny, a little sadly. "But don't worry, kiddos, you aren't getting rid of me forever. I'll be back before you know it!"

"And we'll be here," said Danny. "Or, well, I will, I guess. Jazz might be in college."

Grandpa chuckled. "You might go to college, too, young man."

"Eh," said Danny, shrugging.

"I love you guys, you know that, right?"

"We know," said Jazz.

"Love you, too," said Danny.

They waved as he flew away.

Chapter 78: Nuclear God

Stars, at their cores, are nuclear reactions.

There is, perhaps, a reason Danny indulges one of his obsessions without thought and is so careful of the other.

The GIW thought that encouraging, promoting the obsession that didn't involve combat would make Phantom easier to contain.

They were very wrong.

.

Stars.

They seem peaceful, from far away. Benevolent. Small. Harmless. Incapable of affecting life on Earth, with its grand and ever-changing rhythms and cycles.

Even the closest, the Sun, which is relied upon, needed, and sometimes cursed for its persistence and burning rays, did not seem violent, did not seem dangerous in and of itself. It was something that nurtured, that helped, that illuminated. It was the origin of light, of life.

The Sun is a natural nuclear reactor that produces 3.8x10^26 joules of energy per second, or 3.8x10^26 Watts.

The 'Little Boy' bomb that exploded over Hiroshima produced approximately 6.3x10^13 joules. Once.

The surface of the Sun is not quiet. Sun spots, solar flares, filaments, coronal mass ejections- The worst conflagration of the Earth is as nothing. Nothing. The Sun is destruction and ruin and violence wearing a crown of light.

In 1895 a coronal mass ejection caused a geomagnetic storm, the most intense in recorded history. It washed the sky in green light from the poles to the equator, and set telegraph wires on fire. Our world is covered in wires, now. All of them so fragile. We live at the mercy of the Sun.

Beyond the veil of the Earth, beyond the atmosphere, those who dare step into the fuller glory of the Sun face also a greater portion of its fury. One hundred times the radiation faced by those still living quietly on the Earth.

The Sun is 2x10^30 kilograms in mass. It is an average star. Sirius, also called Alpha Canis Majoris, the brightest visible star is about 2 solar masses. UY Scuti, the largest observed star in terms of radius, is between 7 and 10 solar masses. Betelgeuse, also called Alpha Orionis, another bright star, is estimated to have at least 16 solar masses. The star Westerhout 49-2 is believed to have about 250 solar masses, although there is a great deal of uncertainty regarding that estimate, and some think it has only 90 solar masses.

These stars are not considered particularly unusual.

In the heart of a city, one might be able to pick out half a dozen of the very brightest stars. Likely less. Far from any cities, a person might be able to pick out 5000 over the course of the year as the Earth marched through its cycle. 2500 in any given night. There are approximately 100 billion stars in the Milky Way Galaxy.

The Milky Way is one of billions of galaxies.

It is a comfort, then, that even the beloved Sun is 150 million kilometers away.

And, so, you begin to the the mistake, the error, the crushing, overwhelming hubris committed by the GIW. That they should not only seek to bind death - for death, in the end, is of the living, for no thing dies that has not lived - but to contain one who could call on the stars themselves, the forges of worlds, the things from whose dust they were made-

They thought the stars peaceful. They thought the child violent.

They thought.

A race of people made of thought and emotion and passion and desire and all the things they love called to them out of time out of space and they thought-

The child wanted this: The safety of his people, their joy, their peace. He pledged himself to fight for this.

The child wanted this: The stars and the worlds they shepherded through the bleak vastness of space. He satisfied himself with longing.

They thought one desire more dangerous than the other. They pushed him to choose one, to choose their choice.

And, so.

And so.

Standing above what could not even be called ruins is the child, the merest touch of stellar lighting that could be held in fragile dust dancing at his fingertips. He burns, he burns.

And he is no longer safe.

Chapter 79: Keep the Clocks Ticking

Summary:

Tumblr prompt: AU where Danny learns to stop time out of sheer exhaustion and desire for some Sleep and that's why Clockwork ends up adopting him.

Time stopped for no man, or so they said. Clockwork knew better. He was styled Master of Time, but he often felt more like its repairman. A mechanic, perhaps. Or a janitor. Always putting things back together, cleaning things up, or patching holes. It was why he resented the Observants and their demands that always resulted in more holes and more work.

The fabric of time was a fraying patchwork quilt, and it was Clockwork's eternal task to keep one stitch from turning into nine.

But he was very good at it. He'd had a lot of practice. The last time he missed a stitch was... Well, it was, of course, difficult to say how long ago it was, but the effects of the mistake had long since passed from living memory.

At least, that was what Clockwork had thought. Seeing common time grind to a halt around him... Maybe not.

The Observants would be arriving to complain soon, doubtless, assuming this hadn't affected their own special temporal matrices. None of them understood the effort it took to keep time ticking over.

But regardless of the fact that time was standing still, he shouldn't stand around wasting it. He screens flicked to static, then started scanning for movement. Observants, another Observants, more Observants, Observants on the way to bother Clockwork, Clockwork himself, more Observants, Observants again...

Then, something different. A room he wasn't terribly familiar with, but an occupant he was.

Daniel Fenton, also known as Phantom, rolled over in his sleep pulling his blanket over his head. Clockwork frowned.

There were reasons Daniel Fenton could still be moving. His timeline could have been anchored to that of Clockwork's tower inadvertently. A portion of the medallion his older temporal counterpart phased into him may have broken off, giving him his own, small temporal field. Resonance with that older self, currently preserved in Clockwork's tower, might have transferred a small measure of temporal stability to Daniel.

Daniel could have developed his own temporal problems.

Except for that last, Clockwork could have easily removed the problem. Except for that last, it would not have caused time to stop.

He rewound the image. Daniel's alarm clock going off. A muttered five more minutes. A spark of light, of power. Time going away.

Goodness. No, Clockwork wouldn't be able to fix this. Perhaps it would be better to say it was not broken.

Best to take care of this before the Observants stuck their noses in, regardless. He stepped through the screen, into Daniel's room.

A thin stream of mist issued from the boy's mouth, and he startled, jumping into a fighting position on top of his bed. His eyes were wide and bright, but even Clockwork, as removed as he was from human existence, could see how pale he was, how dark the shadows were under his eyes.

The child was exhausted.

"Oh, god," said Danny. "Don't tell me he's gotten out."

"No," said Clockwork. "This is about a different matter."

Danny sank down, leaning against his headboard for support, looking relieved, but suspicious. "What is it, then?" he asked. "Not, I don't know, a different murderous time traveling version of me?" He grinned weakly.

"No." Clockwork became aware that he was looming over Daniel rather threateningly. He changed to his smaller, younger-appearing form and put his hand on Daniel's forehead.

"Uh, Clockwork?"

"This will only take a moment, Daniel."

Here, in person, it was easy to overpower Daniel's grip on time, delicately pulling his mental fingers back. Daniel breathed slowly, dazed.

This was not, Clockwork could see, going to be a one-time occurrence. He had never considered having a child before, but allowing this to go unchecked wasn't an option, to let the Observants handle this in any way would bring about abomination, and he admitted to some fondness for the boy.

He did not want to have to kill him, just to keep the clocks ticking.

So.

He reached in, to Daniel, and attached a slender tether to his core.

"What?" he said.

"Go back to sleep, Daniel," he said, "you can have that extra five minutes."

Chapter 80: Blob Danny 2

Summary:

Sort-of sequel to 75. I don't know if I'll consider this the 'real' continuation of that.

Danny had a lot of problems with the 'powers' the accident had given him. Mainly, that they were less 'useful powers' and more 'ironic curse.' It wasn't bad enough that he would, without warning, slip out of phase with reality, losing, in turn, visibility, solidity, and weight, but he was also periodically forced to turn into a tiny ghost with the general shape and consistency of a jelly-filled balloon.

That, at least, he had warning for. A slow, steady build up of not-quite-pressure and not-quite-electricity to the point of almost-pain over the course of days, culminating in a schism of light and an echo of agony.

He'd been getting better at controlling it, at releasing that energy when he was somewhere safe, like at Sam or Tucker's house, and, after it passed, pulling himself back together. He hadn't really wanted to practice with it, but Sam had insisted. It helped a little that both she and Tucker thought that the shape he was forced into was 'kind of cute' rather than an 'abomination of ectoplasm and post-human consciousness,' which is what his parents had called it the one time he had the misfortune to be spotted by them in that shape.

Stupidly, he'd thought that his practice would be useful, but no. Maybe he'd been able to get out of those chains, but he'd been caught literally seconds after. And now this stupid ghost body he'd been forced into was responding to the firm, steady pressure of Walker's giant hand with instinctive docility. Walker was big. Walker was strong. Walker radiated ectoplasmic power like a bonfire radiated heat. Walker could squish him to bits whenever he wanted.

Walker - and, admittedly, Danny's ability to read faces suffered when he was like this - looked like he was having a crisis. The fact he had his head on his desk seemed to support that.

Tentatively, Danny tried to bite Walker again. As before, he was foiled by the man's gloves.

Walker picked himself up and started looking through his desk. After a few minutes, he retrieved a jar from the back of a drawer.

Danny squeaked in alarm and tried to squirm away. In another few minutes, when he was recovered, he might have tried to transform back and break Walker's grip, but if he was put in a jar like that? He wouldn't dare risk it. He didn't know if the transformation would break it or... not.

"Don't give me that," growled Walker. "If I could trust you to stay put, I wouldn't have to." He unscrewed the lid one handed, inserted Danny with something approaching gentleness, then slammed the lid back on and rapidly screwed it closed.

Danny squeaked again, glad that he didn't need to breathe when he was like this, because it looked like Walker wasn't going to poke any holes in that lid.

He pooled sadly in the bottom of the jar, his stubby tail lashing with anxiety. He knew that his thought process tended to shift the longer he was like this, to the point where Sam and Tucker had a hard time getting him to turn back after their 'endurance test.' They weren't here. How long would Walker leave him in this? His whole 'sentence?' Would Danny even last that long in a little jar like this? He didn't have to breath. Did he have to eat? He didn't know.

Walker was carrying the jar. Where was he taking him?

Lashing his tail in anxiety had morphed into a whole-body ripple. This evolved to pure, keening, panic when Walker opened a door and Danny saw, warped by the walls of his glass prison, the characteristic equipment of an infirmary.

Oh, no, they were going to dissect him. They'd found out how much of a freak he was and they were going to pull him apart.

However, his all-encompassing panic was overtaken by a novel sensation. Something calming. Filling? Good. Something good that traveled through the glass beneath him and hit him in gentle waves that made him wiggle. This was good. This was nice.

Very distantly, the part of him that was familiar with the more technical, theoretical side of ectology recognized that he must have been placed on a source of ectoenergy the he was now... feeding on.

There was a grinding sound from above, and he looked up. The lid had been taken off. He'd wanted to go that way before. Why? He wasn't sure. The happy feeling was down here. He wasn't going to leave the good happy feeling.

A spoon full of something green was lowered into the jar. Ectoplasm! It got close enough to Danny that he didn't have to move away from the happy feeling to lick it clean. It was tasty and green. There was something else in it, though. Like an instruction, maybe.

The instruction was something very much like 'fall asleep.' So he did.

.

"What's the damage, doc?" asked Walker.

"Not much," said the prison doctor, washing his hands. "Malnourished, maybe. Fairly complex thought for someone at this stage of formation, but that might be 'cause he's a halfa or whatever you wanna call 'em." He turned off the sink and reached for a towel.

"Not what I meant."

"Yeah, I know. Kid isn't more than a few months old at the outside, and he's an actual kid on top of that. Probably not even a little over his death yet."

"Crap," said Walker. "What're we supposed to do with this? I run a prison." Not a great place for babies, all told.

The doctor shrugged. "Dunno that you have much choice."

"I don't know if I can even keep him here, if I let him out of that jar."

"Then you'll just have to keep catchin' him, I guess. Or, we've got those shapeshifter bracelets, for that Amorpho fellow. Maybe we can put one of those on? Round the main body part, maybe? Since he doesn't have hands?"

"He'd phase through when he turns human," grumbled Walker.

"Weld it to those specialty chains you've got or something. Gotta do something, right? He isn't going to learn how to be a ghost in the human world." The doctor snorted. "Maybe that's why he's so small, though. Trying to stay over there."

"Ancients," said Walker, rubbing his face. "He beat Plasmius. Bunch of the inmates here, too. He probably doesn't even know what an Obsession is. He already hates me. This is going to be hell."

"Eh. There are worse afterlives."

Chapter 81: Monstrous Dreams

Danny sometimes had strange dreams.  

Not the kind of strange you would expect.  He rarely dreamed of the accident, or of fighting ghosts, or of running from ghost hunters.  His dreams weren’t nightmares.  

He dreamed of transformation.  But not the transformation he was used to, the transformation he carried out with a thought during his waking hours.  Becoming a ghost was not the subject of his dreams, nor was the reclamation of life.  He did not dream about the shapes he could twist himself into when he was a ghost.  

His dreams, more often than not, concerned the transformation of his human body.  Gentle warpings that would have been horrific and painful under the the harsh realism of the waking world felt pleasant, felt like stretching, felt like a comfortable strain, felt like crushing a pillow in a hug, felt like pushing against a wall, felt like fingers running over grass.  

One time, he dreamt of standing in front of a mirror and watching his teeth grow.  First, his canines grew into small fangs that were easy to hide and almost cute.   But they didn’t stop there, and the rest of his teeth followed suit, lengthening and lengthening until they spilled over his lips and forced his mouth open at a strange angle.  They angled into tusks, then, curving lengths of ivory that Danny ran his fingers over.  When he held them, they fit neatly in his hands, like they were meant to be handles.  

He spent the next few days checking his teeth, running his tongue over them, looking for unexpected sharpness.  He wasn’t disappointed to not find any.  He didn’t want fangs or tusks.  They seemed inconvenient at best.  But the phantom sensations that came with them lingered, like the memory of a memory.  

He didn’t want them, but not having them felt as unsettling as the thought of having them.  

Another dream featured him reading a comic book in bed while his legs merged together into a serpent’s tail over three times as long as his usual height.  Scales crawled up his spine like shivers as the rest of him coiled.  His dream-tail had been entirely unlike his ghostly one, weighty, muscular, and tangible in a way he couldn’t put his finger on while awake.  

He asked Jazz if the dreams meant anything.  

She tilted her head.  “Are you comfortable with your body?” she asked.  “They might be your mind’s way of dealing with discomfort about the way you look.”

“I’m not uncomfortable with my body,” said Danny.  

“Then they might just be dreams,” said Jazz with a shrug.  “Sometimes they don’t mean anything at all.”

That night he dreamed of a pool full of viscous, silvery liquid.  It glittered pale under moonlight and steamed with cold.  He stepped into it and watched himself bleed from his pores where it touched him.  He knew that for every drop of blood he shed, a drop of liquid silver took its place.  When he walked out of the pool again, his movements were slow, almost heavy, but smooth and full of fluid grace he would never have been able to accomplish with red blood in his veins.  

He was woken up by the Box Ghost trying to cause trouble again, and Danny dutifully chased after him, but the moonlight was cold on his skin and when he got back to his room he wrapped himself in layers of blankets.  His pulse felt loud and warm.  

When he had a headache, he dreamed of horns erupting from his throbbing head.  Huge, curved, and slightly segmented, like a ram’s.  In his dream, he went through a day almost identical to the one he’d just lived, except for the horns.  They grew with pain.  The more he felt, the bigger they got.  They arced behind his head, then back, around his ears, caressing his cheeks as the tips grew ever closer to his eyes.  His dream self accepted this, accepted his imminent blindness.  

Danny himself woke before it could happen.  It was the closest the dreams had come to a nightmare.  

He asked Frostbite if something was causing the dreams.  

“You mean an outside influence beyond your subconscious?” asked Frostbite as he peered at Danny’s charts.

“Sure,” said Danny.  “Something that isn’t just, well, me. ”

“Not that I can detect,” said Frostbite.  “It is normal for people to have recurring patterns in their dreams, especially for ghosts.  We are creatures of habit.  Speaking of habits, you need to floss more.”

Danny dreamed of hands pushing out from his ribcage.  Each one strained against elastic skin until his sides were festooned with new arms.  He rubbed his hands against each other, then down his new arms.  The lowest joined his torso just above the hip, and touching the skin where it bunched up and creased made his stomach do strange things.  

It reminded him of his duplication accidents, and he tried to replicate the feeling while awake to no avail.

He dreamed he reclined, blindfolded, on a couch while someone sunk their hands into his throat like clay.  Deft fingers kneaded and sculpted his esophagus, his trachea, his vocal cords. They reached into his mouth to tug on his tongue and caress his palate.  When Danny removed the blindfold and sat up, they were nowhere to be found.  He went to the dining room and ate dinner with his family.  They asked how his day had gone, and he answered with a sound that was utterly inhuman but not quite animal.  It was quiet, as if too much volume would destroy it, oddly tame, and it tickled at the back of his brain.  

“Is there anything weird about my hands?” Danny asked his friends.  “Or my voice?”

“Other than the person they’re attached to?  No,” said Sam.  “Why?  Did something happen with one of your powers?”

“No,” said Danny.  “Just… they feel weird, a little bit.”

Tucker wrinkled his nose a little.  “Are you high?” he asked, his tone making it clear he was teasing.  

“No,” said Danny, teasing back.  “I’ve just been having strange dreams, lately.”

Tucker patted him on the back.  “I feel you, man.”  

Danny sat very still, a dream forest blooming all around him.  Branches sprouted from his temples like antlers, reaching up and twining with the surrounding trees.  They were beautiful, full of flowers and buzzing with bees, but he could not move without locking his branches against those of the trees.  So, he sat still and watched his branches multiply with his peripheral vision, becoming ever more entangled.  The flowers fell away, petals drifting with the wind, and Danny’s branches grew heavy with fruit.  He tried to reach up to pick one, but his arms weren’t long enough.  

He woke up hungry.  

Later, he dreamed of walking through the city, pressure compacting him on all sides.  It pressed patterns into his skin, stripes and spots and swirls.  They were words, he knew, but he could not fathom them.  He traced them, over and over, and as his fingers narrowed into needle-sharp points they became more clear.  

“It is because you are a monster,” said Clockwork.  

“What?”  Danny hadn’t asked a question, yet.

“Your dreams,” clarified Clockwork.  “They are the way they are because you are a monster.”

“Because I’m a ghost?” asked Danny, trying to feel his way around the concept.  It didn’t sound right.  

“No.  A ghost can be a monster, much as a human may, but it is not necessary, and as Phantom you are monstrous enough.  But a simple human form is not enough for what you are.  The dreams are a way of reminding yourself.”

“I don’t understand.”

"You are a monster," repeated Clockwork.  "A divine omen.  A portent.  A sign of the calamities to come."

"Does that mean my dreams will happen?"

"Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  It may be that all of them will come to pass.  Or only a few.  Or one.  Or none.  It will not change what you are."

“An omen.”

“Yes.”

“An omen of what?”

Clockwork took Danny’s wrist and raised it, turning it over so that his palm faced upwards.  “Calamities,” he said.  “You will feel them coming.”

“How do I stop them?” demanded Danny.  Something stirred inside him.  His palm tickled.

“You have been stopping them,” said Clockwork.  “That is why you linger like this.  You erase the need for yourself.  But you cannot do that forever.”

Danny knew that.  He’d known it.  He felt like he was drowning in it, air turned to liquid in his lungs.

“I have to try,” said Danny, the words dripping from between his lips.  

“Of course,” said Clockwork, soothingly.  “But there will come a time when all you can be is a warning, and all you can do is hope you are heeded.”

The tickling sensation had spread to the rest of Danny’s skin.  It was more of a prickling, now, like something trying to get out.  A whine built in the back of his throat, but he cut it off.  

“What’s coming?” he asked.  

“Many things,” said Clockwork.  “Many things.”

“And how,” asked Danny, “how do I warn them?  How do I warn everyone?”

“Any way you can,” said Clockwork.  “It is already inside you.”  Clockwork let go of Danny’s wrist and patted him on the shoulder before walking away to continue his work.  

The pressure on the inside of Danny’s skin eased.  Not yet , it seemed to say.  

Not yet.  

But soon.  

He’d be ready for it.  

Chapter 82: Traced Features

The forest was ancient. Trees that were some ideal platonic average between pines, oaks, and cherries towered up to scrape a sky that was deep indigo marbled with phlox. Their thin leaves rustled and petals from their heartbreak-pink flowers drifted down like colored snow. The ground cover was not grass, but a kind of tentacular, clinging moss, each waving tendril dark as shadow and soft as velvet. A rhythmic thump, like a heartbeat, made the trees shudder every now and then.

Danny was dreaming.

Oh, not because the place was impossible. He'd visited this very forest before, and the Infinite Realms boasted much stranger. But he was dreaming nonetheless.

The moss curled over his shoes and twined around his ankles. More adventurous lengths whispered at the backs of his knees.

He could break away whenever he wanted. It would hardly take any force at all. Still, they kept him in place, feet firmly planted on the ground, winding ticklishly through his toes. He was in his pajamas in the dream, shorts and an old t-shirt.

In front of him stood someone he knew. Or, rather, someone he was supposed to know, but in the manner of dreams he didn't recognize them.

They towered over him, tall and broad enough to challenge buildings, the edges of their all-encompassing cloak fading into the moss below. They had many hands, ranging in size from larger than Danny's whole body to child-sized. With those hands they traced over Danny's skin, lingering especially over the features of his face, each touch gentle, delicate, as if Danny was something precious, something beautiful.

Danny woke slowly. It was the seventh time he'd had a dream like that, although none had been set in the same place, and the figure in front of him had been different each time, the similarities being only the touching and the obscuring cloak. He hadn't thought much of them the first two times, except to savor the feeling of being… cherished, almost.

But having had the dream seven times, he couldn't help but feel there was something else to it. He did, after all, have enemies that could manipulate dreams. On the other hand, he'd mentioned the dreams in passing to Jazz, and she'd wondered if he was touch starved. So maybe not. Maybe he should put some time aside on the weekend to visit the Far Frozen.

He sat up.

There was a box sitting on the end of his bed. It was wrapped in black paper marbled with green, and tied with a silver-white satin bow.

He stared at it. The colors… it couldn't be from his parents. Jazz would have just given it to him. So who…?

The little hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he reached out to it carefully, like one would a bomb, and pulled it back into his lap. He grasped the end of the bow and hesitated.

No one would send him a bomb like this, would they?

He made most of himself intangible, just in case, and pulled at the bow. It unraveled easily, falling away to reveal the seams of the paper wrapping, which Danny pulled apart with just as much caution. Inside was a box made of dark wood, held closed by a brass clasp. He pulled it free.

His breath caught in his throat.

Three porcelain-white masks laid on black silk stared back at Danny with empty eyes. Three masks with his own features, and yet… not.

The mask on the left was him, unmistakably him, but somehow anonymous. Forgettable. Bland and dull. The face of someone unremarkable and uninteresting. A face that wouldn't be questioned, wouldn't be suspected. The face an entirely normal person with no secrets would have. It was, the thought occurred to him, as if pressed into his mind by an outside source, a safe mask.

The mask on the right was also him, but different. Just as surely, that was his face, but it was stronger, braver, better. Like someone who could be relied on. Like someone who was a hero for real, rather than the pretense he put on day after day. A face that could win or lose but could never be defeated. Not really. It was a mask that he tried to put on whenever he was Phantom, but could only rarely pull off in reality.

The third mask…

Oh, it was him, definitely him, exactly him, but each part of it had been shaped with exacting, exquisite, delicate detail. Each rise and curve imbued with a sense of value, of care. This was his face, as sculpted by someone who loved it, loved him.

He picked a mask up out of the box and turned it over. He could see that the inside, like the outside, was perfectly sculpted, perfectly fitted, to a degree that there would be no need for other ties or clasps to keep it on.

This was a trap. With a foreign depth of certainty, he knew that none of these masks would come off as easily as they'd go on.

And yet… and yet…

This was the face he'd always wanted to wear.

The dark hollow inside seemed to call to him. Call for him. He found himself raising the mask, lifting it closer and closer. Not to put it on, but to imagine it, just for a second. To imagine that this was his face, his truth.

And then the shadows in it reached out for him.

Danny blinked himself awake to the sound of his alarm clock going off and fumbled for it. He'd been dreaming… Dreaming about what? He couldn't quite remember. Something about a gift? Or a friend? The Far Frozen? He really needed to visit sometime soon.

Alarm off, he sat up slowly and stretched, then wasted a precious minute staring at the foot of his bed. He really felt like there should be something there.

He was still half asleep, probably. He scrubbed his hands over his face, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Then he paused, letting his fingers trace over his features. His skin felt smooth today.

Maybe he was finally getting over his acne problem.

Chapter 83: A Personal Thing

Death is a personal thing.  

To be sure, everyone dies eventually, and, in that, if nothing else, they are equal. But no two people know death the same way. No two people are touched by death the same way. No two people see death in the same way. No two people are taken by death in the same way.  

And no one may know another’s death. Not beyond a glimpse through a window at night, not beyond a tale of a country undiscovered.  

That country of death was much the same.  

The Ghost Zone. The Spirit World. The Infinite Realms.  

Many names. Many faces. Many forms.  

It was personal.  

.

Vlad Masters knew what the Ghost Zone looked like. He had worked with Jack and Maddie to extrapolate its composition and appearance long before they’d even gotten the proto-portal running from the tiny samples of ectoplasm they’d been able to synthesize.  

Once they had… Well. Even the small uncertainty he’d had before was gone. The Ghost Zone was green and pulsating pain, ooze and rot, twisted abominations and power.  

He could feel it inside him, even in the hospital, even dying from ecto-acne. He knew. He knew.  

And his knowledge was vindicated the first time he stepped through a portal.  

.

Danny grew up hearing stories about ghosts, even if he didn’t believe in them. Stories about how evil they were, generally, but also about what the Ghost Zone was supposed to be like. Vast voids. Glowing ectoplasm. Islands of stability.  

It shaped him. But it wasn’t the only thing that did that.  

(He remembered, distantly, Grandpa Fenton saying that he was going on one, last, long journey…)

He stood in front of the empty porta, smiling. “You’re right. Who knows what kind of awesome, super-cool things exist on the other side of that portal?”

Danny didn’t know. But he imagined. He imagined a journey of a lifetime, of a death, of an eternity.  

The light that killed him and saved him was green, but it was followed by diamond-studded black.  

His first journey into the Ghost Zone showed him a world of wonder. Eternal night stretched as far as the eye could see, strewn with luminescent islands - each a wandering star, populated by strange trees, strange fruits, strange beings, strange technology, all glowing in the dark.  

.

For Sam, the Ghost Zone was a vast wilderness full of extinct and endangered creatures. All those things Sam cared so much about saving. All the things humanity had failed to save. All the things humanity had driven into the dark.  

Not only a wilderness - a hungry, grasping wilderness. Beautiful, but deadly and eager to take.  

It was about her activism. Her passions. Her understanding of killing.  

(It was really about Danny.)

(About losing him.)

(About dooming him.)

(About killing him.)

(Making him a member of a not-quite-species with only three members.)

But she could find her place here, too. She knew. The jungles, the deserts, the mountains, the tundra. The creeping vines, the snarling beasts, the towering trees. There was a place here for her.

.

The Ghost Zone was dead, and to Tucker Foley dead meant two things. Broken tech and hospitals.  

His version of the Ghost Zone had both. Great landfills and huge, almost industrial buildings that seemed to ooze illness and injury in an apocalyptic landscape. There was rust and gray in the sky, streaked with mossy, algae-like green. Verdigris. Even gold oxidized and crumbled.  

The thing was, junk could be repurposed. Broken things could be fixed, or scavenged for parts. Brought back to life, as it were.  

He just had to avoid the hospitals, and everything would be fine.  

.

First and foremost, Jazz’s view of the Ghost Zone and ghosts in general was colored by the general concept of ‘her brother, the superhero.’

This was the world beyond the portal for her. One where death wasn't, and she still didn't have to see.

.

Valerie hated the Ghost World and everything in it. It was a bottomless pit that did nothing but take and take and take.  

… It did seem a little different, though, after the first time she'd actually worked with Phantom. There seemed to be other changes after her second suit. The whole place just felt more inviting.  

But surely that was all in her head. 

.

And Jack and Maddie? Well. They already knew everything there was to know about ghosts… and they knew they weren’t ‘souls of the dead’ or any such nonsense. They were simply monsters from another dimension! One made of ectoplasm and energy! A green world! An exciting world!

A hostile world.  

One that would do anything it could to lie to them, to trick them, to kill them. Just like the ghosts that inhabited it.  

That's why they needed the Specter Speeder and all their other protective gear.  

That's why they needed protective gear, unlike, say, Sam, who could walk through her wilderness unharmed, so long as she kept an eye out for prehistoric megafauna, or Tucker, who'd had to get his tetanus shot renewed after a nasty fall into a junk pile that first week. The Ghost Zone would destroy them, just like they tried to destroy it.  

That was just what death was like, after all.  

 

Chapter 84: like giving candy to a baby

Ghosts did not have obsessions in the way human ecto-scientists meant when they used the term.  They did, however, have patterns, ticks in behavior, impulses, habits, that were nigh impossible to break.  Carryovers from their lives, or, in many cases, their deaths, impressed upon their thought patterns.  Easy paths for them to follow.  

In Daniel’s case, the pattern was curiosity.  More specifically, the indulgence of it.  

To be sure, he had made himself into a tutelary, a protective spirit, and the more he followed that narrative, the more he would fit his chosen role.  But, like any other person, living or dead, that was not all he was.  

Curiosity was what had killed him.  Such an event would, naturally, either burn the feeling out of him altogether, or render any other, lesser deterrent meaningless.  

If one were to place Daniel, unsupervised, in a room with an interesting object, he would interact with it.  Examine it.  Touch it.  Smell it.  Taste it.  See if it turned on or off.  Not indiscriminately, mind, there were various variables involved, and it was true that thinking beings, when underestimated, tended to seek out simulation, however unpleasant.  One might also argue that the environment in which Daniel was raised made him less cognizant of certain risks.  

But it was also true that if the object in question looked remotely edible, it would wind up in Daniel's mouth long before hunger could be said to have any impact on his decision making.  

As such, Clockwork was very careful when it came to the items he left Daniel alone with.  

Over the ages Clockwork had spent as the Observants' solution to everything even remotely inconvenient, he had collected a vast array of cursed objects.  It was only right that he should bring them to bear against the latest problem they'd dumped in his lap.  On the whole, he thought a series of subtle curses was a much more elegant and ethical solution than assassination.  

Letting Daniel walk himself into curses was easy to the point Clockwork almost felt guilty about it.  

Almost.  

He knew Daniel did not want to become Dan, either, after all, or blunder into any of a number of other bad futures.  Needs must.  

.

Danny floated into Long Now, Clockwork’s lair.  He’d been visiting Clockwork regularly ever since the incident.  He wasn’t sure how that had really happened, but it had, and every time Clockwork seemed pleased to see him.  

It was a little strange, but Danny didn’t want to question it too deeply.  

“Ah, Daniel,” said Clockwork, warmly, switching from old man to infant, “I am in the middle of something, but if you can sit there for just a moment…”  He nodded to the sitting area.  

“Sure!” chirped Danny.  He really was just here to hang out.  Maybe take a nap.  Didn’t need to do anything in particular.  

He floated over to the couch and let himself drop.  He laid there for a few minutes, contemplating his place in the universe.  Introspection, however, was boring, and maybe he didn't want to sleep as much as he thought he did.  He sat up and looked around instead.  

Last time he was here, he'd had a good time checking out all of the statues Clockwork had in this room.  They were pretty cool.  

But today Danny's attention was arrested by the huge decorative hourglass sitting on Clockwork's coffee table. Ruby red sand floated slowly from the top lobe to the bottom one, twisting and swirling on their path down.  He stroked the silvery metal casing with one finger, liking the texture.  

It was pretty.  A conversation piece?  Danny couldn't think of any other reason Clockwork would have it out here.  He flipped it over and watched the sand run the other way for a while.  There was a lot more sand in one bulb than the other.  With how slowly the sand was falling and how big the hourglass was, it'd take forever even to get that little bit.  

He flipped the hourglass over again, wondering if the pattern the sand moved in would change at all, then shook it, testing the way gravity behaved on sand in all areas of the glass.  He flipped it again.  He wanted to see if it would do anything special when the sand ran out, but given the speed it was moving at, even that would probably take years.  

"So, Daniel, what have you been up to?"

Danny jumped, but turned to face Clockwork with a smile.  "Oh, you know."

"I do," said Clockwork, "but I'd like to hear it from you."

.

Clockwork carefully transferred the hourglass from the table to its case using telekinesis and being very careful not to tip it over.  Having gone through the trouble of getting Daniel attuned to it, he didn’t want to carelessly break that attunement.  

A few hundred years ago, the Observants had cracked down on tools one could use to reduce one’s age or extend one’s life, but the hourglass was easily the least obvious.  Clockwork estimated it would take Daniel nearly a year to notice that he was aging backwards.  

It wasn’t a complete solution, but if Daniel didn’t grow up, he wouldn’t grow up into that.  

.

Danny spun the top edge of… it looked a bit like an ancient rubix cube.  The metal squares had symbols instead of paint, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out the internal mechanism.  Then again, he didn’t know what the internal mechanism for a regular rubix cube was, either.  He should take one apart when he gets home.  It’d be fun.  

But it’d be even more fun if he could compare it to the mechanism in this one.  

The last row of symbols clicked into place, and all the sides were made of the same symbols.  Danny spent a few seconds admiring his work.  He’d never managed to solve one of these before.  

The cube fell apart.  Danny yelped, propelling himself over the back of the couch then peaking over the top of it.  It was just cubes.  Little dice.  No internal mechanism at all.  Huh.  

“Don’t worry,” said Clockwork, “it’s supposed to do that.”

Danny nodded and put himself on the couch again.  He prodded one of the dice, half worried that it would fall apart, too.  It didn’t.  It simply rolled over to a new symbol.  

His fingers felt… tingly.  He flexed his hands.  If Clockwork said it was supposed to be like that…

“How do I put it back together?”

.

Putting a limit on Daniel’s powers was a must.  If he wasn’t strong enough to destroy the world, then he couldn’t do it.  

The Box of Spes existed to seal ‘troubles.’  Pandora had made it long ago.  In this particular case, the troubles were Daniel’s powers, neatly bound with each piece he put back into place, the potential curtailed.

Most of them were powers Daniel hadn’t even touched yet, or that he had only used once, and Daniel was notoriously forgetful about his powers.  He would do just fine without the stranger, more dangerous ones.  

But if he did ever need to reach further, all Clockwork needed to do was open the box.  

.

Danny eyed the goblet Clockwork had put down…  Was it twenty minutes ago, now?  It was a pretty metal goblet.  Silvery black.  Fruit and chain designs sculpted into it.  Filled almost to the brim with purplish-red juice.  

Danny licked his lips.  He was… curious.  He’d never seen Clockwork eating or drinking anything before, and he wanted to know what it tasted like, what it was.  It smelled tasty.  Sweet.  

He wanted it, but he knew that drinking someone else’s drink was the absolute peak of rudeness, so he was not going to do that.  

He was also wondering what Clockwork was doing that was taking so long, but he’d learned better than to go looking for Clockwork after last time.  At least, he thought he had.  He definitely still wanted to know…  Just, he didn’t want to walk in on anything like that again…  That had just been weird.  

So.  He waited.  And waited some more.  And (inside his head only) wished he’d brought a book.  Or a rubix cube.  He’d taken one apart and solving them was a lot easier now…

Waiting.  More waiting.  

He really wanted to know what it tasted like.  

A tiny sip wouldn’t hurt.  

He slid over to the goblet and picked it up.  If it was wine he’d be so mad at himself.  Cautiously, he sipped at it.  

It wasn’t wine.  It tasted a lot like cranberry juice.  A little bitter, but also sweet.  It was nice.

He carefully put it back down on the table.  Because he definitely hadn’t done that.  Nope.  

…  But then, Danny had never been successful at keeping things from Clockwork.  

Actually, Clockwork probably already knew.  

Ugh.  Danny really had to work on his impulse control.  

.

Pomegranates were a traditional medium for curses in the Ghost Zone, but the addition of the Stygian Goblet would make the natural effects of them much worse.  Protective spirits were especially vulnerable to them.  They wanted them, on some level.  Wanted that security.  

Bindings.  Tethers.  Chains.  Like the ones that brought Persephone back to the underworld every winter.

For now, the one linking Daniel to Long Now was weak.  But Clockwork could make it stronger… or shorter… as needed.  Reel him in.  Keep him close.  Keep him out of the way.  Keep him safe.

And bring him in when Clockwork needed to add another layer to the curses.  

Yes.  It really was almost too easy to curse Daniel.  

But it was the way things were meant to be.  

Chapter 85: Promises, Promises

“At its most basic,” said Clockwork, pouring a cup of tea, “a frailty is a psychic injury a ghost deals themself, repeatedly, until it becomes an incontrovertible, irreversible, indelible portion of their being.  Not always purposefully, mind you, but it is still self-inflicted.  Tea?”

“No, thank you,” said Jazz, leaving her hands folded in her lap.  

“Very well.”  He set the tea down on the coffee table and started pouring a second cup.  “During the incident with his future self, Daniel promised that he would not become that person, would not become a killer.  But, as you may imagine, a promise by itself is flimsy, breakable.  He needed it to mean something, to be unbreakable.  But why should one promise be unbreakable when no others were?”

“I suppose it couldn’t be,” said Jazz, voice clipped.  

“Precisely.  For this vitally important promise to mean something, all his promises must be similarly weighty.”  He sipped his tea.  “It is a very common frailty, overall.  The general category it is traditionally placed in is Stygian, after the river, which also includes inhibitions against lying, dishonesty, and dishonor, but there are other name schemes and other methods of classification.”

“And this is relevant because…?”

“Because, you see, Daniel has made a promise.  Are you sure you wouldn’t like any tea?”

Jazz smiled thinly.  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t trust you at all.  What promise did he make?”

Clockwork smiled slowly, fondly.  “It is rather sweet, actually.  But you know how he is.”

Jazz clenched her hands, the fabric of her slacks crumpling in her grip.  “What.  Happened.”

“You do understand this will largely be speculation on my part?  I may know what has, will, and could happen, but I have no ability with reading minds, least of all your brother’s.”

“Yes.”

Clockwork nodded.  “Daniel is, perhaps surprisingly, careful with his frailty.  When he must make a promise, he qualifies it.  He says, I will try, or, for today, or, even, if disaster does not strike.   In his own idiom, of course, but the point stands.  However, he broke this pattern earlier this week.”

“I made him promise me that he’d start sleeping a healthy amount,” said Jazz, briefly closing her eyes.  “I told him not to say he’d try, to say he’d do it.  But that shouldn’t have caused all this.”  She spread her hands angrily, her little finger almost catching on the lid of the teapot.

“No, by itself it wouldn’t.  But that is also not quite what you said,” said Clockwork, “although I cannot fault you for misremembering your exact words.  He did manage to put a time limit on the promise, although it was a much more distant one that he usually uses.  He appended his promise to attain a healthy amount of sleep with this month. ”  Clockwork shrugged.  “But you are not the only one who can compel unwise promises from him.”

Jazz’s eyes narrowed.  “Who?”

“Sam and Tucker,” said Clockwork, “although they are aware of their role in this as much as you were aware of yours when you first stood on my doorstep.  In an attempt to satisfy his promise to you, Daniel took to sleeping in unconventional locations.  Under the bleachers at school, park benches, trees, bushes, rooftops, alleyways…  After all, ghost attacks didn’t stop attacking just because he promised you he would get more rest.”

On the couch, Jazz squirmed just a little as Clockwork paused, sipping his tea.

“His friends were naturally alarmed.  Upon retrieving him from a tall tree for the second time, they made him promise to stop sleeping in unsafe places.  The promise was extracted with the best of intentions, but I believe you can see why he never would have made it if he hadn’t just been woken up.”

Jazz opened her mouth to deny that statement, then closed it.  “He doesn’t feel safe at home, does he?  He doesn’t feel safe in Amity Park.”

“As I said, I cannot read minds.”  Clockwork gestured with his cup.  “But considering the circumstances that brought you here, I would reach that conclusion as well.”

“And then there was whatever happened in the Far Frozen.”

“Yes,” said Clockwork.  “Daniel asked Chief Frostbite what ghost sleeping schedules were like.  Chief Frostbite, naturally, told Daniel that for ghosts of comparable power, when they feel the need to sleep, they sleep for months.  As you can imagine, that only exacerbated the problem.”

“What do I–  How can I fix this?  Can I fix this?  Or is the only way out to wait for the end of the month and hope he’s still–”  She cut herself off.

Clockwork hummed.  “Perhaps.  On the other hand… It is possible,” he said, “that you or his friends could release him from the promises he made to you.  It is a common feature of Stygian frailties, though not a universal one, and not one that has been tested on Daniel.  You would, however, have to find him first.”

“And where is he?”

“That,” said Clockwork, “I cannot tell you.”

"Excuse me?"

"I am already bending the rules by giving you information you may have put together on your own from information you have already gathered.  I have done what I can do.  Further action on my part would be… unwise.”

Jazz pursed her lips.  “Fine.”  She stood up, hauling her bazooka back up over her shoulder.  “Thank you for…”  She waved in Clockwork’s general direction.  “This.  But if you aren’t going to tell me where he is, I need to go.”

She made a quarter-turn away from him and raised the bazooka, engaging the lever that would allow it to make portals back to the human world.  She fired, a beam of green light splashing to a stop on an invisible wall and a scintillating portal spun itself into being.  Jazz stalked forward, her speed just a few steps below running.

“Jasmine.”

“What?”

“Are you entirely sure you will not take some tea?  You have a long journey ahead of you.”

Jazz’s face scrunched, the lines of it thrown into stark contrast by the glowing portal behind her.

“No.”  She stepped through, leaving Clockwork behind.  The portal rippled and flared, then vanished.

“Well,” he said.  “I tried.”  He finished the rest of his tea and put the cup down, folding his hands in front of him.  After a few seconds, he looked down and adjusted one of his wrist watches.  “Any time, now.”

The door of the clock tower creaked open, a shaking figure in the doorway casting a long shadow.

“Hello, Daniel,” said Clockwork.  “Would you like some tea?”

“I wh– What?”  Danny’s teeth - fangs, really - flashed white in the dimness of the clock tower.

“Would you like some tea?  It should be cool enough now for you to enjoy.”

Danny, still shaking and visibly nodding off between steps, made his way to Clockwork’s couch and sat down, his weight on it so feather-light that he didn’t even bend the cushions.

“I made it,” he said.

“You did,” said Clockwork.  He stooped to pick up the still-full teacup and the corresponding saucer and pressed them into Danny’s hands.  

“Wh-what?”

“Tea.  My own blend.  It should help you sleep.  Which you do need to do eventually.  It has been days, Daniel.”

“Sleep,” said Danny.  “Safe?”

“It is safe,” assured Clockwork.  

Danny nodded, eyes slipping closed again, and raised the cup to his lips.  He drank it all at once, then immediately slumped to one side.  Clockwork caught the cup and saucer before they could hit the ground and sighed heavily.  

“Yes,” said Clockwork, patting Danny’s cheek.  “You are quite safe here.  I promise.”

Chapter 86: Disec Bingo

Notes:

Based on Dante's Disec Bingo on tumblr!

Does not contain any actual disec!

Danny woke slowly, softly, aware of muted light falling over his face, filtered by his curtains.  He turned over, snuggling more deeply into the cushions and blankets around him.  A blanket brushed over his front and dull ache down his front became a prickling, burning stripe of agony, from groin to sternum, radiating up to his shoulders.  

He gasped and curled in, suddenly painfully awake.  

What– Where– When– How–

He didn’t remember getting an injury like this.  He didn’t– He didn’t–

It hurt.  Hands shaking, he pulled his blankets away, revealing a chest swathed in clean, white bandages.  He touched them.  There was something underneath that hurt.  It hurt.  

What had happened?  He looked around for his phone.  Sam and Tucker would know what– No, they had moved out for college years ago.  They had…  No, they’d come back after they graduated.  They…  Where was his phone?

His phone wasn’t here.  Not on his bed, not on his bedside table, not on the floor.

He had to see.  

With steadiness that came from years of experience, he stripped the bandages off layer by layer.  When he was done, what was left was…  

His breath caught in his throat.  No, no, no, no, it couldn’t be.  

It was.  

An autopsy scar, clear as day.  

He stared at it for a long minute, barely daring to breathe.  A tiny whine built in his throat, eventually escaping.  The sound jolted him into action.  He couldn’t stay here.  He had to go.  

.

Danny had maintained a go-bag for years.  It wasn’t because of his parents.  Rather, it wasn’t just because of his parents.  There were so many other people that were more of a threat, especially once his lack of aging became obvious and coming clean to his parents became necessary.  

Or so he’d thought.  Autopsy scars didn’t just materialize while you were asleep in bed.  They had to be put there.  By people.  

He didn’t think they would ever do it.  He didn’t think they would ever do it.  He didn’t think they would ever do it.  Ever.  

Jazz had thought otherwise.  Not seriously, maybe, or else she would have made him come with her when she moved for her residency.  But she had never fully dismissed the possibility.  Neither had Sam.  

Apparently, they were just smarter than Danny.  

He didn’t move quickly.  Jumping from his bedroom window had been painful, and he didn’t want to see what his ghost form looked like.  He was scared.  He was so scared.  He couldn’t remember the last time he was so scared.  

He pulled the hood of his hoodie down lower, aware of how strange he must look in the sweltering heat.  Why was it so hot?  Temperatures usually didn’t get this high until August.  

It didn’t matter.  Sam’s house wasn’t far.  

Maybe he should have gone into the Ghost Zone instead.  But to do that, he’d have to go down into the lab.  He didn’t want to go into the lab.  

But Sam’s house loomed–

No.  That wasn’t her house anymore.  She had an apartment downtown.  

He leaned against a nearby power pole, dizzy and confused.  Why was he having so much trouble today?  He never slipped up like this, except when… When…

Well, waking up with an autopsy scar probably wasn’t good for his mental health.  

Paper crinkled under his elbow, and he looked down to see–

Himself.  A faded color printout of Phantom grinned up at him sandwiched between the words INFORMATION WANTED ON PARKER PARK INCIDENT and REWARD .  A picked over fringe of telephone numbers hung off the bottom.  The paper looked weeks old, at least.  

Danny didn’t remember any incident in Parker Park worth a reward, least of all one he was involved in.  He hadn’t even had a fight there since…  He didn’t know.  He reached down and pulled up one of the telephone number strips so he could see what was written on it.  

He… he felt like he recognized it.  

He shook his head.  He had to get a move on, get to Sam’s apartment.  

.

The sun looked strange.  The light looked strange.  All the wrong angles, shining down the streets and humming off the sidewalks with a high, headache-inducing buzz.  His go bag hung heavy on his shoulders, biting into the stitches that inched up his clavicle with every step.  

He didn’t want to be here.  

He couldn’t go back.  

Could he go forward?  How long had he been missing?  Had they noticed he was gone yet?

Would they come after him?

He was breathing too fast.  Running too hot.  Almost human temperature, and clammy with it.  Had he picked up an infection?  Was it shock?  

The shadows of a nearby alleyway beckoned invitingly.  He just needed a moment to rest, and he’d be on his way again.  

He stepped into the tunnel-like alleyway.  It was cool, almost cold.  The light didn’t reach all the way down, but glinted green off of glass in the concrete.  Why anyone would put decorative concrete in an alley, though, was beyond him.  

He walked deeper, trailing his fingers along the left-hand wall, fiddling with the hoodie of his zipper with his other hand.  This alley seemed so familiar.  But of course it would.  For that matter, he was intimately familiar with most dumpsters .  He’d been protecting this city for over a decade, now.  It would be stranger if he didn’t recognize this alley on some level.  But–

He hissed and pulled his hand away from the wall.  Something had cut his palm.  He glowered at the wall.  He did not need an infection from some… alley…

Since when was he wearing gloves?  

He turned his hands over, the black plastic reflecting the little green lights all around him.

And then the lights weren’t so little.

Green flared ahead of him, brighter than neon, an electric, impossible glory.  Brighter than life.  Brighter than death.  

And he screamed.  

.

“Thank you so much for calling us,” said Maddie.  “When we went up to check on him this morning and he was gone…”  She didn’t finish the sentence, settling instead for checking Danny’s vitals again.  

“Least I could do,” said Dash, his smile tight and strained.  He fidgeted with the work gloves stuck through his belt.  “Is he going to be okay?”

“He’ll be fine.”  She hoped.  She’d been hoping, ever since Danny had– Since what happened last April in Parker Park.  

“I’ve never heard him scream like that before.  Even last spring.”

Maddie pressed her lips together.  “I know, it’s just… side effects.”  Of what, she didn’t say.  Of the near-fatal wound he’d taken back in April?  Of his half-death eleven years ago today?  Of whatever kept the scar from his emergency surgery from healing all these months?  Both?  All?  Neither?  None?  

She didn’t know.  

“He’s been getting better,” she said.  

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” said Dash.  

“This was just a bad day.”

Danny groaned, head turning away from her.  

“It’s okay, sweetie, Dad will be here soon.”  Jack had been looking for him across town.  It would take another few minutes for him to get the GAV, and the medical supplies best suited for Danny, here.  

“I hope you find the bastard that did it,” said Dash.  “I hope he rots in hell, doing that after all Danny’s done.  If that’s worth anything.”

“I’m sure Danny would be happy to hear it,” said Maddie, trying not to feel too brittle with the knowledge that Danny might not remember enough to make a statement like that mean anything to him, no matter how pretty the sentiment.  

“Mom?”

“I’m here, Danny.  Do you remember what happened?”

“The portal…  I was…  The portal?”

Really not a good day, then.  But he squeezed her hand, and it was better than being limp and insensate.

“I should go,” said Dash, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.  “I’ve got work.  You guys gonna be okay?”

The sound of the GAV shrieking down the street was distinctive.  Maddie forced one more smile.  It would be the last one today.  “We’ll be fine.”

Chapter 87: Bittersweet Flavor

Vlad floated forward, mouth open, to tell Skulker to stop, that he’d hired him and rebuilt his suit to capture the boy, not to kill him.  That Vlad had other plans, but–

But Vlad had never tasted the fear of another half ghost before.  

Yes, that was what he was feeling, and it was almost intoxicating.  

Oh, Daniel had been afraid before, when they were fighting, but he hadn’t been human then, he hadn’t really had time to be afraid, and Vlad hadn’t had time to savor it.  The fear of a ghost was different.  This… Vlad inhaled deeply.  

He glided forward, and was delighted when Daniel flinched away from him, no-doubt remembering their fight the previous night, even as he made a pathetic attempt at information gathering and banter.  He reached out, cupping one side of Daniel’s face in his hand, smiling as he felt Daniel’s heart rate start to climb through the contact.  

Then, quick as a snake, Daniel turned his head and bit Vlad’s wrist.  Or tried to.  His human teeth weren’t nearly up to the task.  Vlad laughed.  Oh, the boy had some fight in him, didn’t he?  But that wouldn’t do, would it?

He reached over to the ‘shock’ button and pressed it ever so delicately.  

The boy seized, head snapping back for a moment before listing forward, dazed and reliant on the Containment Cube to stay upright.  His eyes were glassy and his breath ragged, and he was oh so scared.

“Plasmius,” said Skulker, snapping Vlad out of his reverie.  Something on his wrist tweedled, but Skulker ignored it.  

“What?” snapped Vlad, angry at being interrupted.

“Remember, he’s young.”

Vlad felt his eyes flare.  “So?  You try to skin him.”

Skulker’s faceplate made a jittery motion, like it was trying to settle into a configuration it hadn’t been designed for.  “You know things aren’t that simple.”

“Wh- what are you two talking ab-about?  Who ev-even are you?” Daniel’s skin was pale, and he was trembling badly enough to stutter, but he still, evidently, had enough energy for sass.  

Vlad pursed his lips.  Right.  He had another goal here.  Doubtless, he would be able to indulge his ghost half’s emotional appetites later.  Perhaps even when he finally showed everyone what an oaf Jack Fenton was.  He smirked.  “Oh, haven’t you put together the pieces yet?”  He let his rings sweep over him, revealing his human form.  “It’s me, the first human-ghost hybrid created by your father’s stupidity.”

Chapter 88: Bones

Notes:

Body horror and description of broken bones throughout this chapter.

You don’t think about your bones.

No, really, you don’t.  They’re there all the time, sure, and you use them all the time, but you don’t think about them.  You think of your skin, more, or your hair, or your teeth.  What you see.  The surface of things.  

You don’t think about your bones.  

Not until something’s wrong.  Not until they’re broken or wasting away.  Not until they’re crushed or fragmented.  Not until they’re burnt and blackened.  Not until something takes up residence in them and–

You don’t think about your bones.  

You don’t see them.  Of course you don’t think about them.  When you do, you think about them dead.  Long and white, smooth and cold.  Dry.  Empty.  You don’t think of them alive, full of life, full of blood, wrapped with sinew and muscle, tendon and fat, warm to the touch beneath your flesh.  

But what if they changed?  

What if you changed?

Remember that persistent chill next to your heart, the one that pulses with its own rhythm.  That cold embraced your breath, first, its gift a shiver from a grave (not yours, not yet), a warning you needed, a warning you heeded, every time.  But its second touch was on your bones, and it sank in, deep, with long fingers.  

You noticed, when your bones went cold, when you froze even beneath a blazing sun, when the touch of your nails sent fractals spiraling across every surface, when the grass died beneath your feet.  But your breath was cold, too, and there was an enemy before you, and you fled to a place so far from warmth that you forgot what it felt like.  

You didn’t think about your bones.  You thought about your core.  

You thought about crystal hearts and ice, but not your bones.  

But they changed before that, didn’t they?  

People say you’re a hundred pounds, soaking wet.  They’re wrong.  You’re lighter, far lighter than you should be, considering your height.  You blame it on gravity’s uncertain hold. 

You don’t think about your bones.  

But birds have hollow bones, don’t they?  They’re not just for flight, but for breathing, you know that from a documentary you left on while doing your homework, one day, although you’ve forgotten the details.

Could your bones just be less?  Less of them, less of you, vanished between the walls you phased through?

Don’t think about your bones.  

Don’t think about how they felt burning, lightning rod, lightning wreathed, trapped and stricken and blasted, green light shining through transparent and splitting, severing, because to leave your bones means to leave your life, and you have no intention of doing that.  

Don’t think.  

Breathe.  

You feel that?  Your ribs, rising and falling.  Your spine, bending to accommodate.  Your hyoid, the only bone not directly connected to any other, moving with your throat.  Your jaw, held in position.  

Remember the fight you had with Skulker, two weeks ago.  You thought of your bones then, your arm twisted and splintered all the wrong way.  A spiral fracture.  Not your first.  Not even the first where your radius and ulna were back to front.  You set it best you could, and trusted your body to fix it, to heal, and it did.  

It did, but something wasn’t right.  Something moved, needle sharp and painful, with the thin muscles of your forearm when you fought, when you wrote, when you gripped the handle of a fork.  It got worse.  It spread.  So you went back to where it was cold, to where you had been helped before.  

They took you to their machines, to the devices of their doctors, and asked questions.  

They have bones, too, these friends of yours.  One of them has the bones of his arm encased in clear and glittering ice, so you can see them.  He spoke to you fondly, when you came, then softly, and with some concern.  

But it was easy, he said, a minor problem that might have solved itself, albeit with more pain than necessary.  It could be fixed, he said.  He had let you lean on him then, and he was so solid, so soft, so cold, even colder than you, the kind of comforting cold that might tempt you to sleep forever, if you were not who and what you are.  

You did need to sleep for a little while, though, so your arm could be fixed, and you saw nothing wrong with that.  You have been at their mercy before, many times, under worse circumstances.  

You slept as they cut into your arm, as they removed the fragment of bone that had been causing you so much trouble.  Then, when it was done, you woke, ever so slowly, the sheets and pillows around you the same temperature as your skin, the green-white light gentle against your eyes.  

They thought you might like to see it, see what they removed, that little piece of bone.  You, always curious, even to your detriment, agreed.  

So, now you sit here and look at it, floating over that tray, above the stark white cloth.  It doesn’t look like bone.  Its color is black, and it shines like polished stone– No.  Like glass.  Like obsidian, if it had veins of silver and crystal.  Its shape is wrong, too. A dozen vine-like, needle-pointed spires radiating out from a central mass.

You lift it, and it is as weightless as ice in water.  It pricks at your fingers, drawing blood.  

It is smaller than the smallest joint of your smallest finger, and you yourself are small for your age, with delicate… features.  

You let it go, and it floats there, tiny specks of blood orbiting it.  You run your fingers over the already-healed incision in your arm and wonder if all your bones are like this, or if this is some aberration, if it is something strange, as foreign to your body as it is to your mind.  

You ask your friend if it is really part of your bone.  It was, he says.  

He lets you lean on him again.  He feeds you.  He distracts you.  

You go home.  

You don’t think about your bones.  

Chapter 89

Notes:

I also added chapter 88 today, so check that out if you haven't.

Warning: body horror.

He leads you blindfolded between rows of ticking clocks for that first meal.  It was, he said, the first time he had cooked human food, and its appearance was greatly wanting.  You do not understand how he thinks this could bother you, knowing what kind of a house your grew up in, and what kind of food was put on the table, but it is enough for you to know that it bothers him.  You allow it.  

The color of the blindfold is red.  So is the cloth loosely twisted around your wrists.  You have not seen that cloth, did not see it before the blindfold covered your eyes, but the color is vivid beyond mere vision.  It is not a color you usually associate with him.  

It is strange, you think, but then you are strange, the two of you, singly and together.  

Ghosts are strange.  Time is stranger.  

Whatever ritual this is, you let it pass, unremarked.  

You are seated.  You know all at once that it wasn’t only the meal that was made for you.  So was this chair.  So was this table.  So was this very room.  

He insists on serving you, feeding you.  Your hands, still bound, rest idly in your lap.  

The first feather brushes your lip and you know something is terribly wrong.  

You open your mouth anyway.  He was very excited to do this, and you do not want to hurt his feelings.  You think, perhaps, that you will try to convince him that you should cook together, next time.  You are not worried that this meal will harm you.  There is very little that could.  

The feather lies along the length of your tongue.  You chew and swallow.  It is not… bad, exactly.  You can taste salt and savory, and the lime-and-copper of ectoplasm, and tentatively identify a handful of herbs, courtesy of your gardener best friend (not to be confused with your technophile best friend).  You also would not describe it as good.  It certainly isn’t something from any human culture you have ever heard of, although it is true that you are not acquainted with every human culture that has ever existed.

You’ve eaten worse, all told, even if the texture is hard to get past.  

The meal is light, but filling.  You imagine you feel feathers, whole ones, brushing against your stomach lining, and wonder if you should have chewed better.  

Are you sure it is only your imagination?

He leads you out of the room, and back through a maze of clocks.  You go blindfolded all the way to the front door.  You wonder if this is about confidence, control, or something else entirely.  

He presses a kiss, feather soft, to your forehead before he removes the blindfold.  He does not untie your hands, but that doesn’t matter.  They’re only tied with a half knot, and it gives under the slightest pressure.  You put the cloth in your pocket.  

You fly home.  

(The cloth was red.)

.

You sleep uneasily and dream of feathers.  You do not eat breakfast.  You aren’t hungry.  This is normal so it goes unremarked - Skipping breakfast, that is, not the lack of hunger.  You’re always hungry.  That’s why you agreed to let him feed you.  One of the reasons, anyway.  

But the lack of hunger becomes something like nausea.  You can feel the feathers in your stomach pressing outward, growing upward.  

You think that can’t be right.  That doesn’t make sense.  You think this might be heartburn.  Maybe even food poisoning.  Although, that would be impressive.  You have eaten worse.  

The lower end of your esophagus prickles.  

You have probably eaten worse.  

You go to school.  You always go to school, when you can.  You don’t have any more sick days, and you’ve been forced to skip too many classes.

The day marches on.  You march on.  The feathers, too, march on, anchoring themselves further and further up, ticklish and soft.  

You are frightened.  But your fear is not the desperate kind, or the dread that comes from facing something like death.  Maybe you’re desensitized.  Maybe you face too many ghosts in your life.  Maybe it is the simple knowledge that you can’t die of suffocation if you don’t really need to breathe.  

Or die at all, if you’re already dead.  

By the last period of the day, the feathers are in your throat.  They muffle your voice, make it as soft and silky as the barbs of a feather.  By the end of it, they tickle the very back of your tongue.  

You go to the bathroom and stare at the mirror.  You imagine what they look like, and you think they should be red, as red as the blindfold and the cloth still in your pocket.  

You open your mouth.  You see no feathers, even though you can feel them brushing the sides of your tongue, new, downy feathers sprouting from your gums.  Your hand trembles as you raise it, as you reach into your mouth to touch.  

The feathers, it seems, are invisible.  It is convenient.  You think it could be convenient.  At least, this way, no one will see.  

You walk home.  You aren’t in the mood for flying.  The feathers fill your mouth bit by bit, coating your tongue, the roof of your mouth, your cheeks.  It reminds you of the night before, of when he placed the feathers on your tongue with careful precision.  They grow between your teeth, filling your mouth full, as if you had taken a bite out of a feather pillow.  They grow all the way out to your lips, then stop.  They tickle the back of your lips, but go no further.

It is quiet, somehow, without the feeling of feathers growing inside you.  

You open your mouth as you walk, and raise a hand to brush the feathers.  They pull weirdly on your skin, but they are so, so soft, like what you used to imagine clouds must be like, before you could fly up and touch them yourself.  You grasp one, and give it a sharp pull.  This accomplishes nothing but making you yelp - and the sound of that doesn’t leave your throat.  

You arrive home, sulking, and leave just as quickly.  You go back to him, to the halls and towers full of clocks and ticking.  He is not surprised to see you.  He never is.  

However, he is surprised when you take his hand and raise it to your open mouth, so he can feel.  

He apologizes, then, and blindfolds you again.  You offer up the cloth that bound your hands.  He ties them differently, this time, palms together, facing up, as if to cup something, but no more securely.  He leads you back to that room, the one where he fed you, and you sit again, in that chair meant for you, and only for you.  

His thumb brushes over your lips, and you open them.  He takes a feather between his fingers, the very same one you pulled on earlier, and with only the gentlest and softest of pricks, it comes free.  He places it in your cupped hands, then pulls free another, and another, and they settle together.  

He apologizes again.  You think he might be crying.  

There is something not entirely unlike life forming in your cupped hands.  There is warmth.  There is something like a heartbeat, between the feathers.

He apologizes.  He says he was not made for this.  Not kindness.  Not care of something smaller and softer than himself.  Sitting there, in this room made just for you, that you have not yet laid an eye on, with something like a bird, soft and warm, cradled in your bound hands, you think you were not made for this, either.  You were not made for anything.  You were not meant to be made.  

You think, perhaps, that this does not matter.  

You think, that was only the first meal, not the last.  

Chapter 90

The bottoms of your feet itch.  

That’s not such a strange occurrence, but as you stand there, under the full and punishing August afternoon sun, you can’t help but feel as though something is wrong.  There is, you feel, something more, whispering at the edges of your senses, beneath the high-pitched buzzing of insects in the trees and the sounds of city life.  

You’re missing something, and it isn’t your heartbeat.  Not this time.  

Your friends call you over into the park, and you let your weight fall heavily on your feet, hoping to drive out the itch with each impact.  You try to remember if these socks have made you feel like this before, or if you should blame it on some combination of sweat and heat and your shoes wearing out.  You’ll need to go shopping for the new school year sometime soon.  

The park is green and cool, the grass still wet from the last run of the sprinklers.  You think your one friend (the technophile, not to be confused with the goth) might have been here, then.  He’s wet, too.  He doesn’t deal with heat well, unlike your other friend (the goth, not to be confused with the technophile), who never seems to sweat, and you who really doesn’t sweat.  But, for you, the real draw of the park is the shade.  

You all lay there, for a while, but then you hear the ice cream truck on the other side of the park, and without even conferring, the three of you make your way across the park.  You know your order before you get there, comfortable with a ritual that has been more or less the same since you were in middle school.   

Your feet still itch.  

You pay for your ice cream, after all three of you have gotten tired of the teasing attempts to mooch off of one another, and go back.  The feeling of something being wrong intensifies as you look over the park.  Something is off, something is definitely off.  

Or are you just being paranoid?

Other than this feeling, and your itchy feet, you can’t see anything wrong, you can’t feel anything wrong.  The chill that accompanies the city’s less canny visitors is absent.  No one is screaming.  No one else, including your friends, seems alarmed.  

You go back to rest in the shade.  It doesn’t seem as comforting or as deep as it did before.

.

When you get home, you go up to your room and take off your shoes.  Your house is a ‘shoes on’ house.  Too many experiments taking place on the kitchen table.  And in the living room.  And the downstairs bathroom.  And in the master bedroom.  It just isn’t safe to walk around barefoot, is the point.  You only take off your shoes in your own room, and sometimes not even then.  

But there’s nothing strange in your shoes, not that you can see, and your feet are still itchy, so you strip off your socks, too.  

The bottoms of your feet are the absolute velvety black of a starless sky.  

The division between the black and the pasty paleness of your normal skin is razor sharp, as if it was painted on with a knife.  

You touch it, the tips of your fingers brushing against the arch of your foot.  It itches, and you pull away.  You examine your fingers for changes, but find none.  

This, you decide, deserves pacing.  You stand and walk back and forth across the length of your room, trying to work out what kind of a curveball your body has decided to throw you this time.  You stop.  

Something is wrong.  

Something is wrong with the shadows in your room.  The ones you have always known.  They’re too light. They're transparent.  

You look down.  Does the black on your feet reach higher?

You step through the barrier between life and death.  You are wearing boots, now, and you sit in the air as you take them off, too.  The black is still there.  

You decide you need help.  

.

The place you usually go for help is your sister and friends, but you doubt they know what this is.  The other nearby option is Vlad, which is bleh.   You don’t want to go there.  

Depending on where the islands and portals have drifted lately, you have other options.  They’re hard to get to, though.  That will take you all night.  

It’s the middle of the summer.  You don’t need to wake up early.  

You do need to write a note to your sister, and send a text to your friends, so they’ll cover for you, on the off chance your parents decide this is a family dinner night.  

.

Shadows don’t work right in the Ghost Zone.  Everything there glows.  There are darker spaces, and lighter spaces, but there’s nothing like the sun, nothing like the moon, to cast the light that makes shadows sharp.  

You feel… hungry.  

Which is strange.  You did just eat an ice cream.  But you think… you think you think you might be hungry for something else.  

You can put two and two together.  You’ve been eating shadows.  Through the bottom of your feet, no less.  You kind of hate that.  You hope that you haven’t broken the laws of physics in Amity Park any more than they’ve already been broken.  You hope the shadows recover.  

A shape rises up through the brilliant mist.  Elysium.  Not your first choice, but the Far Frozen is even further and Clockwork’s place is weird about when it shows up.  

You touch down at the mouth of the maze.  The Labyrinth.  You’ve solved it before.  It’s easy.  

The lights of Elysium flicker as you enter.  

You’re greeted at the end of the maze.  You talk.  You explain.  

They don’t know what’s wrong, either.  But they’re sure that someone in Elysium does.  You ask around.  

You’re empty, they say, that’s the problem.  Empty, like shadows are empty.  You’re trying to fill yourself.  Fix an absence.  

You don’t feel empty.  You didn’t feel that way this morning, lying in the shade with your friends.  

You don’t know what you’re missing.  

You have no idea.  

Chapter 91: Blood Allergy

Summary:

Tumblr Prompt: "Fenton's started coughing up blood occasionally in spring. He says it's an allergy, but no one quite believes him. (based on my own very intense allergy to dust)" <- direct quote from prompt (not my allergy, it's the anon prompter's allergy).

"Mr. Fenton, are you alright? Are you hurt?"

Danny quickly folded his tissue and smiled up at Mr. Lancer. Lips closed, of course. He didn't know if there was any blood in his teeth. "Yep! Completely fine. Just allergies, you know?"

Mr. Lancer still looked worried. "If you're coughing up blood, that's more than just allergies. At least, more than normal allergies," he amended. "TV and movies aside, most of the time, coughing up blood is a sign of tuberculosis or serious internal bleeding. Have you seen a doctor about this?" 

"Yes," said Danny, who felt like he'd had this conversation a dozen times already. Frostbite was a doctor, after all. "I have. It's just allergies. Really." 

"If you're sure," said Mr. Lancer, expression still worried. "If there's anything I can remove from the classroom–"

"There isn't," said Danny. "It's a seasonal thing." 

"Alright, but if that changes, let me know." He moved away, back to the front of the classroom. 

Danny sighed, air catching on his raw throat, and looked out the window at the lawn in front of the school. Dozens of red-purple flowers waved in the breeze.  

He couldn't wait for blood blossom season to be over, even if it meant ghost attacks started up again. 

 

 

Chapter 92: Comparative Mythology

Physics and engineering major or not, Danny still needed credits in the humanities.  Comparative Mythology and Folklore was the obvious choice for that.  All through high school, Sam and Jazz had been on his case about knowing so little mythology, on account of his ghostly enemies and allies sometimes being mythological figures.  

(Also the constellation thing, but they didn't bring that part up all that much, funnily enough.)

At the time, Danny had figured (see what he did there?) that there wasn't much point to it.  Pandora wasn't all that similar to her mythic version, Medusa didn't turn people to stone, and winged horses were, by and large, not friendly.  

Recent events had made him reconsider that stance.  

Anyway!  The class was a "two birds, one stone" sort of deal.  He got both credits and practical knowledge.  Theoretically.  

So far, they'd covered creation myths and etiological stories, gods and goddesses, the monolith and the hero's journey, and now, in the tiny slice of time before they had to start studying for the final, they were looking at weird minor similarities without clear causes.  

"Now," said the professor, "this next one is probably my favorite, because it's so specific and so widespread .  Of course, the most obvious reason for this is that it's a story that traveled, much like how the pre-Indo-European gods traveled. However, the times and locations involved make that very unlikely, at least in my opinion.  The other end of the spectrum is, of course, aliens, which are even more unlikely."

There was a soft smattering of laughter throughout the large classroom.  Danny started to get a bad feeling about this.

"The other strange thing about this particular similarity is that it comes out of seemingly nowhere, with regards to the larger culture.  There have even been several instances of it in this century - although, given modern information infrastructure, those instances may not be entirely organic. But Imperial Rome, China, Colonial America, just to name a few… That's weirder.  Any guesses about what I'm talking about?"

No one raised their hand, and after a couple of minutes, the professor used their remote control to go to the next slide of their presentation.  Danny sank down in his seat as he stared up at a collage of himself in a dozen different art styles.  

"All around the world, there are stories about a young man or boy with white hair and dark clothing coming from 'distant lands' to either fight off 'monsters' or to retrieve unspecified objects.  As you can see, despite some of these pieces being from cultures that never had any contact with one another, the resemblance of the figures is striking.  The– Yes, you have a question?"

"Will this be on the final?" asked a student a few rows down from Danny.

The professor sighed.  "As a general rule, if I'm teaching you about it, I'll be testing you about it.  Moving on–"

Danny forced himself to start taking notes.  He couldn't believe he was going to be tested on himself.  Especially when he was pretty sure he hadn't even been to all of those places yet.  

Clockwork must be laughing his head off.  

Chapter 93

He doubted anyone would believe him, but Clockwork did not, in fact, plan for this. If anything, he'd expected to never see this version of Danny Fenton again after he'd reset the timeline that first time. Yet, here he was, napping on Clockwork's couch. His couch which, incidentally, Clockwork had only acquired because otherwise Danny would nap on bookshelves, gears, time-screens, and, harrowingly, pendulums.  

Actually Clockwork had wound up with a lot of human things that he never used but Danny did. Maybe, with all the time Danny spent sleeping here, Clockwork should invest in a bed.  

But, regardless, Danny was here, unpredictable, asleep, and about to miss his curfew if he didn't start home in the next five minutes. Clockwork wasn't going to rewind or slow time for something like this. Even if he was researching healthy, shelf-stable snacks for human teenagers, so he could keep a few on hand.  

He shook Danny's shoulder slightly. "Danny," he said, "you need to wake up. You'll be late."

Danny groaned. "Just five more minutes, Dad."

Clockwork, who had been about to say, no, he couldn't have five more minutes, froze. Intellectually, he knew that Danny didn't mean to call him 'Dad's at all, that this couldn't even be classified as a Freudian slip, considering his sleeping state.  

However… no one had ever called him Dad before. Not even by mistake.  

He stepped away, adjusting the controls on his staff. Maybe, just this once, he could give Danny those five more minutes.  

 

Chapter 94: Galaxy Door

Summary:

Tumblr Prompt from library-of-cronos: I like the idea that, whenever a ghost has emotionally adopted a young ghost, their lair makes room, sometimes a literal bedroom, for them. So even Clockwork can't predict what's behind the mysterious galaxy door that appeared in his tower.

There was a door in Long Now that Clockwork had never opened. It was a recent addition to the ancient tower, only created in the last year or so.  

Clockwork was widely regarded as the closest thing the Infinite Realms had to omniscient. Closer to all-seeing than even the Observants. The ultimate know it all.  

He did not know what was behind that door. He didn't look.  

That is to say, he knew, generally, why the door was there, what it represented, and what was probably behind it, but he had chosen not to look into any specifics. It would be better, he thought, for the one who the door was meant for to open it.  

Although… All things considered, it was likely that Clockwork wouldn't be able to see what lay behind the door even if he "cheated." Lairs were strange like that, and so was Daniel.  

Now… if only he could actually bring himself to have that conversation with Daniel. Unfortunately, neither of them were terribly communicative about such things, and Daniel had what might be termed baggage regarding familial relationships.  

.

"Daniel," said Clockwork.

"Mm?" said Danny. He'd been sleepily watching Clockwork make minor adjustments to the timestream via one of the larger viewing screens. "What?"

"You are practically falling asleep floating," he said, not unkindly. "Would like to go to bed?"

"I don't want to go home," said Danny, a great deal more bluntly than he normally would.  

Clockwork hummed and paused the viewing screen. "Let me show you something."

"Okay."  

They went across into the main hall, then flew up a spiraling stair. Just past the stairs was a strange door, one that just didn't fit with the rest of Long Now. 

The door was a deep, almost black, purple, which wasn’t so strange in the Ghost Zone, but the style was surprisingly modern, and it was painted with hundreds of almost-white spots that swirled together to make a galaxy.  

"What is it?" asked Danny.

"A place for you, whenever you should need it."

"For me?"

"And only for you."

Danny reached out and opened the door. 

 

Chapter 95: Niece

Summary:

Tumblr Prompt from thenerdycupcake: Undergrowth wants his Daughter back. Whatever it takes

A vast and nameless rainforest spread itself over several islands in the warmer regions of the Ghost Zone, reaching out hungrily in all directions. Although the rainforest of the mortal plane shrunk, this forest only grew.  

Many ghosts made their homes in this rainforest, and civilizations, too, empires, kingdoms, and tribes driven to extinction on Earth finding a second life among spectral branches and vines. Of course, one could say the same of nearly anywhere in the Ghost Zone. It was, after all, an afterlife.

Undergrowth also resided here. Along with his family.  

"Why is he sulking this time?" asked Silvagenitus, lying along a reaching upper branch and peering down through the understory to the depths Undergrowth lurked in.  

"What is he always sulking about?" asked Liana rhetorically. "As if those skyscrapers won't be trellises in another few hundred years or so. This is the ice age all over again." 

"I don't know," said Canopy. "This seems different. And he isn't wrong that humans have destroyed a lot of forests the past few centuries."

"Here, let's ask Mycorrhiza," said Liana. "Oi! Mycorrhiza! What's Undergrowth sulking about?"

"I'M NOT SULKING!" rasped Undergrowth, clawing his way halfway up the nearest tree trunk.

"He won't say," said Mycorrhiza, quietly. "Something about humans."

Undergrowth snarled.  

"Well," said Silvagenitus, reasonably, "we can't help you if you don't tell us what's going on."

Undergrowth snarled and grumbled some more. "My children–" he started.  

"Oh, here we go again," said Liana. "They aren't children if they don't think."

"My daughter–"

"Your what?" chorused the other ghosts.  

Undergrowth sneered. "It's not like you care."  

"It's hard to care if you don't tell us anything," said Canopy. "But a daughter, really?"

"A precious seed among human refuse," said Undergrowth with a sniff. "We only had a brief time together before she was unfairly lured away by that horrible boy, but I would do anything to get her back."

"Anything but ask your family for help," commented Liana.  

"I will win her back–"

"Has your daughter actually been taken, or did she just leave?" asked Liana.

"It's that boy's fault. He's no good for her, that cold-hearted little weed."

"I hate to be the one to bring this up," said Mycorrhiza, "but did you actually ask her if she wanted to be your daughter? Or talk to her at any point? You do have to do that with real children, you know."

"You do have a bit of a consent problem," agreed Liana.  

"I don't want to hear that from the two of you parasites." 

"Excuse you, I'm symbiotic."

"Okay, so you'll do anything but ask for our help or actually talk to your daughter, is that right?" asked Liana. "What actually was your plan here? Because I don't get it."

"It would be helpful to know what you intended to do about this," said Canopy.  

"I will unmake that pestilent city–"

"Ah, there isn't a plan, then," said Liana.  

"You should have a better plan," agreed Silvagenitus. "Maybe a gift. What does she like? Any hobbies?"

"She has a great love of all things green and growing," said Undergrowth. "And I am not apologizing."

"We don't expect you to, honestly," said Liana.  

"But we will help you, won't we?" said Silvagenitus, graciously.  

"Of course," said Liana. "We are family, after all. I want to meet my niece, too!"

.

Mycorrhiza went first. They were more subtle than their siblings, better able to sink into the ground and sneak. Humans didn't often pay heed to what lay within the soil, and neither did their ghosts.

Also, the seasons were beginning to turn, and Mycorrhiza's siblings didn't deal well with cold. They could prepare the way for them. 

.

"There are a lot of mushrooms this year, huh," said Danny, leaning over an indigo and orange toadstool. "I've never seen one like this before."

"It's because of global warming," said Sam confidently. "All these oil and coal companies pumping chemicals into the air with no thought to how that's going to affect the ecosystem."

"You might as well blame something closer to home," said Tucker with a scoff. "Like, you know, Undergrowth, Vortex, the portal to hell in Danny’s basement…"

"Don't call the Ghost Zone hell," said Danny. "We've got friends there."

"Yeah, and Danny's parents should have been way more careful. Like, who knows what kind of crap the portal lets out into the environment? I mean, beyond the ghosts."  

"Yeah, they could have tried a little harder to make things safe," said Danny with a sigh. "You don't have to tell me that."

.

Pamela Manson looked out her dining roo. window and scowled. "How much do we pay that gardener?" she asked.

"I don't remember offhand," said Jeremy Manson. "I'm sure it's reasonable. Why, dear?"

"Well, if they can't keep those awful mushrooms off our lawn, it's obviously too much."

"I think they're great," said Sam. "Weren't you the one complaining about how there isn't any color in the garden in the fall? This'll change things, won't it?"

"Samantha Analise Manson, if I find out you seeded our lawn with those weeds–"

"Mushrooms don't even work like that! They aren't plants!"

"I don't care what they are. They're ugly, and– Where are you going, young lady?"

"School!" Sam shouted angrily over her shoulder before slamming the door behind her. And good riddance! 

.

"So," said Silvagenitus, clearly in a good mood, "what's your verdict? Our niece? This mysterious boy?"

"Our niece is lovely, and her human parents are awful. If Undergrowth hadn't already claimed her, I'd be tempted. As for the boy… Being angry with him is like being angry at winter. It's ridiculous."

"Undergrowth is a little ridiculous at times, isn't he? I suppose that is what little brothers are like."

.

Danny frowned up at the cloud of fog over the trees in the park. "Is it just me," he said, "or do those clouds look a little green?" 

"Could be," said Tucker. He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. "Hard to tell with the light. Do you think it's 'cause ectoplasm's gotten into the water cycle or something?"

"It wouldn't surprise me, but I hope not," said Sam.

"Yeah," said Danny, shuddering. "Can you imagine? The hot dogs are bad enough, but what if all the roadkill in the city came to life? Or whatever is dead in the sewers and rain drains? Or you're eating a sandwich outside and it starts to rain, and now you've got to fight off bologna on rye… I'm going to check it out. You guys go ahead without me."

"Don't forget the English homework!" shouted Tucker after him as he flew up and towards the park.  

.

"Ugh," said Pamela Manson, "why has there been so much fog lately? It's so dreary."

"The weather doesn't exist to please you, Mom," said Sam, rolling her eyes.  

Although… Danny had called her last night and said that he'd felt something in the clouds, although he hadn't found a ghost. So maybe her mother had a right to complain after all. The fog had been thick in their neighborhood. On the other hand, the weather really was just like that, sometimes.  

.

"How is it?" asked Canopy.  

"What's 'it'?" asked Mycorrhiza, playfully.  

"The girl, the boy, the city, the soil, the… artificiality. The pollution."

"Oh, it's not so bad as all that," said Silvagenitus. "Much better than… When was it? Fifty years ago? When were we last on this side of the veil?"

.

"Okay," muttered Danny, "I can accept the mushrooms, and the green clouds, but this? This isn't natural."

He and Tucker stared down the street, Danny floating a few feet in the air. Yesterday, the street had been an entirely unremarkable one, only of interest to Danny and Tucker because it led into Sam's neighborhood. Yesterday, it had a few normal trees - just barely past the sapling stage - and today, each of those trees had grown dozens of feet, tall upper branches reaching into the sky.  

Those new branches dwarfed the original trees, and also had massively different leaves, each one dark, thick, broad, and waxy, unlike the smaller leaves of the trees they grew from.  

"Yeah, I don't think this is structurally sound," said Tucker, gently pushing on a slender tree trunk. The whole tree swayed. "Undergrowth?"

"No," said Danny. "It feels different. It all feels different." He shook himself. "Ugh, my skin feels all prickly. It's like whatever it is has been here for a while, but I haven't been able to find them. Come on, let's go find Sam."

.

"So, your neighborhood's turned into a jungle," said Danny.  

Sam rolled her eyes. "My parents consider it a personal attack. Figure out what ghost did this?"

"Not yet. I'm sure I'll get attacked sooner or later, though. What about you? How are you holding up? After all, you know, the whole thing with Undergrowth…"

"Come on, I'm not letting one bad week dictate my life and keep me away from the things I like. You guys haven't, after all."

"I still have nightmares," pointed out Danny.  

"And you don't let them stop you. Besides, this is kind of cool, and also not hurting anything yet, right?"

"Yeah," said Danny. "That's true."

.

"Okay, you've got everything ready for me over here? Because I'm so tired of Undergrowth's whining."  

"Yes, Liana, we're ready for you," said Silvagenitus, tiredly. "We've been ready for you for a month at least."

"Hey, no need to get snippy."

"Hey! Hey! Liana, you're here. Guess what? She thinks I'm cool."

"Wow, that's a first for you, huh?"

.

"Yeah," said Danny, glaring at the curtains of flowering, glowing vines. "I'm drawing the line here. Yoohoo! Ghosts! Ghosts! I'm talking to you! Come on out! I'm sick of waiting for the other shoe to drop! If it's Undergrowth– well, you'd better bet I'll be kicking your butt for coming back out here after what you did to Sam!"

"Hey, what about me?" asked Tucker. "I got one of those vines plugged into my neck, too."

"And Tucker!"

"I don't know if this is a good idea, Danny…"

"I don't care! I've been stressing about this since the mushrooms, and you'd better believe I'm ready to fight!"

"Well," said Mycorrhiza, "if you put it like that…"

A circle of mushrooms sprung up around the three teens, and a glowing green portal opened inside of it. Two fell through, and the third dove after them.  

They landed among ghostly branches, and four large ghosts grinned at them.

"So," said Canopy, "humans. Let's talk."

.

"Let me get this straight," said Tucker. "You're Undergrowth's siblings, and he recruited you to hold some kind of… family intervention so Sam will join him on his take over the world mission again?"

"Well, it's more that he complained so much that we got curious, but, yes, essentially," said Silvagenitus. He passed Danny a cup-sized and shaped flower full of nectar. Danny held it loosely, as if he was afraid it'd bite him.  

"Who does he think he is?" demanded Sam. "He has no right to talk to me at all– He doesn't have the right to be anywhere near me, and he somehow thinks he's my father? Is he crazy?"

"What about the conquering the world thing?" said Danny, who looked vaguely ill. "Shouldn't we focus on that?"

Sam waved him off. "They've been here for over a month and haven't hurt anyone or anything except for my parents' sense of aesthetics. Besides, they've been great for the local ecosystem. Where was I? Right. That jerk Undergrowth–"

.

Liana sidled up to Undergrowth. "Hey," she said, smugly. "You'll be happy to know our plan worked. She's coming to talk to you."

Undergrowth brightened. "She is?"

"Well. It's more that she's coming to yell at you, and bringing her friends to beat you up, but baby steps. After all, you did start your relationship with mind control."

"I hate you."

"Sorry, I'm too busy for you to hate me. I'm too busy thinking up birthday presents for my niece– oh, but you don't even know when that is. Ha ha."

.

"Do you think sending Liana to tell him was the right choice?" asked Silvagenitus. 

"Eh," said Mycorrhiza, "better to get it out of the way, now. Consider it softening him up for Sam."

 

Chapter 96: Clockwork x Danny Fusion

Notes:

Based on this prompt from blacksheep-alien https://www.tumblr.com/five-rivers/754328620241174528/wait-i-can-send-prompts-awesome-time-to-take?source=share

"Clockwork, I've been wondering..." Danny trailed off and made a face.

"Yes?"

"I've been wondering... Maybe I shouldn't, it's kind of a weird question."

Clockwork turned away from the time screen with a raised eyebrow. Danny made another face. Clockwork didn't have any visible scars from what Dan had done to him, but Danny wasn't blind or an idiot. He'd noticed that Clockwork wasn't age shifting anymore, and Danny didn't think that it was just the instability in the time stream that had caused the reduction in his powers.

So, this question, even if it had been driving him crazy, was probably at least a little insensitive.

Okay, it was definitely insensitive.

"You are wondering what the criteria are for two ghosts to fuse together."

"There's a timeline where I--?"

"There is a timeline where you asked."

"Sorry," said Danny. "But, um."

Clockwork sighed, which Danny knew was an affectation, seeing as Clockwork didn't need to breathe at all. Then, he held out a hand. "Would you like to find out?"

"Uh," said Danny, very intelligently.

"It will be faster to show you, rather than go over the intricacies verbally."

Danny bit his lower lip, then put his hand in Clockwork's.

It was like color. A kaleidoscope. Vivid. Strings of fire wrapping back and forth around the perception of something like forever. And then--

He blinked. Looked down at his hands. Gloves. A shiny, grayish bronze. He pulled them off. Pale blue, bleeding into peach at the tips of his fingers. Strands of silvery-white hair fell into his vision.

Hm. Interesting. He brushed them back, absent-minded, and started twisting it into a simple over-the-shoulder braid.

He hadn't been this particular age in a while. Hopefully, he - that is, Danny - would find this educational. This fusion was certainly more stable than the Dan-Clockwork fusion, if less so than Dan's original Danny-Vlad fusion. It would hold for a while.

And... He smiled slyly. As long as it held... He knew that Danny wasn't opposed to a little righteous mischief, neither was Clockwork. Nor was he, for that matter.

Lovely.

He stretched, getting a feel for his body, then flicked his fingers, getting a feel for his powers. Yes, this would do, this would do.

The Observants would have no idea what hit them.

Chapter 97: Wisp? What wisp?

Summary:

Tumblr DP Prompt: "Uhhh... wisp? What wisp?"

"Uhhh... wisp? What wisp?" said Danny, tucking his shirt into his pants as if that was what he'd been trying to do all along. "No wisps here."

Jazz stared at him. He couldn't even call her gaze flat. It was heavy. And sharp. He cringed.

"There's really no wisp," he tried.

More staring.

"Really."

"Danny," said Jazz, finally speaking again, "I saw you put it in your pants when I came into the room. That's-- Well, first off, that's unsanitary for the poor wisp, it's a thinking creature, isn't it?"

"They don't mind things like that, actually. Not that I have one."

"Secondly, hiding your drugs like that is just... Well, it's kind of pathetic, Danny."

"Wisps aren't drugs, they're thinking creatures. You said it yourself."

More staring. More staring. Finally, "Are you serious right now?"

"Yes?"

"Danny, they make you high."

"They've been getting better at not doing that, actually!"

"Danny..."

"They're practicing! It's really hard for them to practice, you know, on their own, though."

"Take the wisp out of your pants."

Danny, defeated, raised his leg and fished the wisp out of his pant leg, where it had fallen. He opened his hand and it floated up, away from his palm.

Jazz opened the window. "Time to go, little wisp." It floated out.

"I don't know how you get them to listen to you like that," said Danny.

"Skill," said Jazz. "Don't do stuff that could make you high alone anymore." She paused. "Or bring ghosts home when Mom and Dad are here."

"Technically, am I really alone when the wisps are..." He trailed off. "Okay, I won't."

"Good."

Chapter 98: pranks by technus

Summary:

Prompt by trinoxtrinox: There's talk that a new ghost has been haunting a certain website on the internet, where if you connect between 3:00 and 4:00 and do some steps, he'll end up jumping from the screen and strangling you... It's Technus, doing a prank... always Technus with a prank...

"Okay," said Tucker, sitting down across from Sam and waggling his PDA at her, "I've got some leads on ghost activity."

"Are they actual leads, or just more low-effort creepypastas?" asked Sam.

"They're actual leads. They're always actual leads."

"You tried to send us after Slenderman."

"Little kids were murdering each other over it, excuse me if I thought that maybe there was some other explanation."

"Can't really argue with that," said Danny, setting the frying pan down on the trivet in the middle of the table. "But Sam is right, too. You've given us a lot of false leads."

"Fine, whatever," said Tucker. "But I researched these more than that. So, first up, there's a pretty persistent rumor that if you go to the wiki page for Tesla at three in the morning, then search up Thomas Edison, and then--"

"It's Technus."

"What?"

"It's Technus," repeated Danny. "Technus, playing a prank."

"Wait, you already knew about this?" asked Sam, waving the serving spoon at him. "Why haven't you done anything about it?"

"Because while he's coming up with pranks, he isn't plotting world domination. Next."

"Okay, well, there's this company called Tesla Motors, and their website--"

"Still Technus." Danny took a bite of his broccoli and chewed loudly.

"Seriously?" asked Tucker. "That's Technus, too?"

"Just assume that anything that has anything to do with Tesla is Technus playing a prank."

Tucker sighed and made several swiping motions with his PDA stylus. "Alright, then. There's this website called ghoulishfascinationwithtechnology dot com that--"

"Yeah, that's also Technus."

"For real? The whole website?"

"Yeah, it's his website. I helped him set it up."

"Why?"

"Same reason?" Danny shrugged. "The more time he spends on that website, the less time he spends harassing me."

Tucker frowned down at his PDA, then put it to the side. "Can you maybe give me a list of things that are Technus? So I don't waste my Saturdays chasing his hobbies."

"Sure," said Danny. "It's on the computer in Technus's file."

"Great." Tucker looked at the frying pan and wrinkled his nose. "And what's that?"

"Broccoli, carrot, celery, onion, pepper, and tofu stir-fry," said Sam, "and we're very grateful to Danny for making it."

Danny leaned over. "I made some pork for you earlier, but you'll have to heat it up yourself."

"Ugh, fine."

Chapter 99: dani's 'birth'

Summary:

Prompt by unsure-sincerity: Danielle is 'born' and Vlad holds her in his arms.

Vlad dozed in his chair.

It wasn't the first all-nighter he'd pulled in his basement lab, and he doubted it would be the last. There had been more of them since he'd begun this latest project. Each time it seemed like the project was over, like this time he might have some success, he just couldn't leave.

This time was no different.

Oh, like all of the trials thus far, there were issues with this particular batch. But there were some promising numbers this time. The core complexity had increased much more quickly than his last attempts, and the stability numbers were much higher. It was too bad he hadn't been able to get detailed readings from Daniel to compare, but if that ship wasn't long since sailed, he wouldn't have started this project to begin with, would he?

The alarm he'd set blared, startling him badly enough that he phased through his chair, showing an embarrassing lack of control. But who was here to see it? The failures? They didn't have enough of a mind between them to tell when he'd done something embarrassing.

He brushed himself off and straightened his lab coat - he, unlike Jack, actually cared about lab safety and contamination protocol - and hurried to the tanks.

At the moment, only two of them were full. Glowing green ectoplasm filled both, with dense, spiderweb-like strands hanging throughout it. They pulsed with energy around the core-kernal in the center. Both tanks were also seeded generously with stem cells cloned from Daniel.

It was the only way Vlad had been able to get any success at making half ghosts, although it had a high rate of failure. The three still-extant failures were the exception, not the rule. Most of them failed to coalesce, and almost all of the rest collapsed back into ectoplasm in hours, if not minutes.

But the monitors on the left tank were screaming that a ghost was about - for lack of a better word - to be born.

Vlad watched, every nerve burning in anticipation. It was almost enough to make a man pray.

The ectoplasm pulsed, contracted, the spiderweb strands folding them together into a humanoid shape. Even better: an intact humanoid shape. Eyes, head, arms, legs, hands, it was all there. A little on the small side, but Vlad could live with that, if only it gave him the son he craved.

A blinding light flared behind the glass, and Vlad smashed the release button. A thin ectoplasm-water soup, largely depleted of useful elements, poured out, followed by a slender body. Vlad caught it. White hair - long, but it could be cut. Tan skin - the shade was an exact match. Proportions tended towards childish, but that was all to the good. And--

Ah. Of course, even at this juncture, he couldn't have a success. This body was female. Still, it was a step in the right direction. He could study it, see what had worked, what hadn't.

The alarms on the other tank started to blare, and Vlad put the failed clone down. The ectoplasm in the other pod underwent a similar process, but it refused to open when Vlad hit the release. The stability numbers were too low.

But... inside, behind the glass...

If Vlad didn't know better, Vlad would say that was Daniel.

He licked his lips. He had to stabilize him, somehow.

He turned back to his equipment, and the female clone caught his eye. With a disgruntled and annoyed sigh, he shrugged out of his lab coat and draped it over it. Her. Whatever. She'd wake up soon enough.

Chapter 100

Summary:

Prompt by miniosprey: What if all the other ghosts don't realize Danny's a new ghost because of all his time travel shenanigans with the Infimap? Like Ghost Writer probably would be just "No no no, look he's been seen through out history " and brings out the receipts, " This much time traveling and then getting back here if it's his original time? Impossible"

"Alright," said Walker, "what do you have to say for yourself?"

"What do I have to say for myself?" repeated Ghost Writer, incensed. "What do you have to say for yourself? You're acting like I started this! He's the one who destroyed my poem! And then mocked it!"

"Uh huh," said Walker. "And?"

"And what? Destroying other people's things is a violation of the truce, too, isn't it?"

"Phantom didn't know about the truce until you dropped him on our party. He still breathes, Ghost Writer. He's so fresh you can smell the blood on him. Didn't you notice?"

"That affectation? Please, I would have thought that at least you would do your research. Phantom has been harassing people for at least two centuries, if not longer."

Walker put down the file folder he'd been idly flipping through. "What in tarnation are you talking about?"

"Don't go all western on me, Walker. He's littered throughout the historical record."

"I don't know anything about that, but I've met the punk's family. He's not a year dead yet."

"Impossible. There are paintings of him. There are photographs."

"Then it's either someone else or he time traveled."

"And got back here, assuming this is his original time? Impossible."

"Nah," said Walker, leaning back. "Just improbable. And I have read Sherlock. You've just gotta accept that you attacked a baby."

Ghost Writer scowled.

Chapter 101: asleep on the couch

Summary:

Tumblr prompt: last thing Damon expected was to come home to find his daughter and PHANTOM both fast asleep on the couch while watching a movie

Damon closed his eyes and walked back to the door, briefly leaning his head against it. He started cursing in his head.

He knew they were kids. He knew it. They didn't have the discretion or the experience they would when they were older. He shouldn't get mad.

But they made it so hard to avoid knowing things.

Valerie wouldn't stop. Damon knew that. And if his own daughter wouldn't stop when he asked, how could he possibly get Danny, a child who wasn't his, a child he barely knew, to stop? There was nothing. Anything he could do would put both of them in danger, and who knew how Danny would react to Damon knowing his secret.

Lord knew that Valerie hadn't reacted well, and history showed that white boys didn't always act rationally when they were threatened. Sure, Danny was a good kid, he had the whole hero thing going on, risking his life regularly, and Damon didn't think he was like that, but still... The stakes were too high.

More than that, the best protection Damon could give Danny, could give Valerie, was to know nothing. Nothing about Danny. Nothing about Phantom. Nothing about how he and Valerie were apparently working together, now, even if they weren't public about it. If he didn't know anything, he couldn't tell anything to the GIW when they came snooping. And they would come snooping.

Law enforcement always came snooping. The more corrupt they were, the more they did it.

The GIW were very corrupt.

Damon opened the door and stepped back out into the hallway before closing it softly behind him. He walked down the hallway a few steps, then took a moment to mourn his relationship with his neighbors, such as it was.

He stomped down the hall, as loud as he could, and went through the motions of unlocking the door, dropping his keys twice. Those kids had better appreciate this, someday. Damon wasn't this clumsy when he was drunk.

By the time Damon slammed the door open, wincing at the dent he'd leave in the wall if he kept this up, the couch was clear, the TV was off, and the door to Valerie's room was open. She was curled up under her covers, her breathing far too fast for sleep. Danny was, of course, nowhere to be seen.

Damon sighed and walked over to the side of Valerie's bed, avoiding the ghost hunting paraphernalia and teenage detritus scattered on the floor.

"Goodnight, sweetpea," he said, kissing her hair gently.

He straightened up and yawned. He was getting too old and tired for this sort of stuff.

Chapter 102: tetchy

Summary:

Tumblr prompt: Danny spontaneously develops a new power but it happens in human form so he like,, calls down lightning or a comet or whatever on some hapless ghost or whatever and he’s just like ‘huh I didn’t know I could do that haha neat’ and continues on with his day meanwhile the people who just witnessed Danny Fenton’s apparent superpowers are Sweating

Some ghosts got on Danny's nerves more than others. In the same vein, some humans got on Danny's nerves more than others. When those two groups intersected, Danny got a little... tetchy.

At the moment, he was more than a little tetchy.

The Box Ghost and Youngblood had decided to team up, although that was probably overstating the situation. It looked like Youngblood had prodded Box Ghost into attacking Amity Park at the same time as him. The problem was, no one was afraid of the Box Ghost. Not really. The Box Ghost was basically harmless. Mr. Lancer could drive him off with a rolled up newspaper.

On the other hand, Youngblood was a threat. Youngblood was a threat, and only about half of Danny's classmates could see him. Certainly, none of the staff could. So, half of the students were convinced that the mayhem was all Box Ghost, and the other half thought that if the teachers and everyone else weren't afraid of Youngblood, he wasn't something they should be afraid of, either.

So! They were all there! Staring! Standing! Keeping Danny from going somewhere to transform! Because they were in the middle of the football field! For some sort of activity Danny hadn't payed attention to! Because Youngblood was the single most distracting things in the entire universe!

And unless Danny could do something about it, someone was going to get hurt. Youngblood had no limits on his pranks, and pranks without limits were indistinguishable from assassination attempts. Or something like that.

Although, at the moment, the only prank he was playing was 'got your nose.' Repeatedly. With only Danny.

... Maybe Danny was overstating the danger level here. And his inability to get away to transform.

Still, Danny didn't want to be known as the only guy who still ran from the Box Ghost. Everyone thought he was a wimp and a coward already. That would just cement his reputation. Forever. At least with the half of the class that fancied itself all grown up.

And maybe the fact the he still cared about his reputation explained why he could still see Youngblood. Whatever.

"Hey, hey, hey," said Youngblood, dipping back into Danny's view as Mr. Lancer attempted to herd the Box Ghost off the field. "Guess what, guess what, guess what--"

"I AM THE BOX GHOST! FEAR ME AND OBEY! I WILL NOT VACATE THE PREMISES UNTIL I RECEIVE MY TRIBUTE OF BOXES, SQUARE AND--"

"Guess what I'm gonna do, I'm gonna sing the song that never ends. It gOES ON AND ON--"

Danny took a deep breath. It was meant to be a calming breath. It was not.

"SHUT. UP!"

A tongue of light forked down from the admittedly cloudy sky, licking towards both the Box Ghost and Youngblood. It burned green when it hit them, leaving bright, ectoplasmic imprints on the back of Danny's eyes.

"You're no fun!" said Youngblood, much quieter than before. "I'm going home!"

"The Box Ghost will retreat... FOR NOW!"

Danny rubbed his eyes and sighed at the blessed silence.

Wait. Silence. That wasn't right. This place should be full of kids talking, at least. He looked up. Everyone was staring at him.

"Oh, huh, I didn’t know I could do that. Haha. Neat. Can we, uh. Get on with things?"

Very slowly, Mr. Lancer walked back into position and started his lecture again.

Chapter 103: underestimated

Summary:

Tumblr Prompt:

Vlad thought he had seen the extent of Daniel’s anger, with his ‘scary eyes’ and growls.

Now, hiding behind a chunk of debris, he realized that he couldn’t have been more wrong.

He couldn't have known. Of course he couldn't have known. How could Daniel have expected him to have known? There had never been a procedure like this before. They were the only two half ghosts in existence.

They had been the only two half ghosts in existence.

Now, Vlad supposed, they were the only two former half ghosts in existence.

A cabinet fell several stories from above and exploded into splinters, glass shards, and a flood of some of the most expensive liquor in the state. A shard skipped across Vlad's face and he yelped, pressing his hand against the cut to stem the flow of blood.

He scrambled backwards. How-- No, Daniel had taken out the ceiling there before. Where-- Where was safe? Where could he...? There. He crawled over to the more intact side of the lab.

He waited.

Above, the sounds of destruction became more intermittent and more distant. Finally, they stopped.

Vlad limped out of his hidey-hole. Stairs-- The main ones were wrecked. Daniel knew about them. But Vlad never had only one way out. That was just foolish.

He stumbled his way to the back stairs, breathing hard. He was human, now, only human, and injured on top of that. Was his body going into withdrawal? Ectoplasm withdrawal? Or was this shock of some kind?

The phone was buried under rubble. He needed to get out. He needed help. He needed-- He had a private doctor on call, someone who never asked too many questions. And he'd have to call the police about the damage to his castle, otherwise they would have questions. And then--

Then--

He'd have to find Daniel. He probably went off, flying into the woods to wreck things there. But once Daniel calmed down... Vlad could undo this. All of this.

He looked over his shoulder, down into the depths of the lab.

He could undo almost all of this. And for the parts he couldn't, well, he'd been looking into cloning, and with Daniel's... With Daniel's body right there... He was sure he could do it. And once Daniel calmed down, he could convince Daniel of that, too. It would be difficult, with this latest failure between them, but Vlad was sure that, given time, he would manage it. Daniel would see that Vlad had only acted with the best of intentions, regardless of results.

He reached his siting room and stumbled, tripping over the remote for his TV. It turned on.

"-- where some kind of being is rampaging through the streets," said a reporter, breathlessly, "buildings are being torn down, I saw--" There was an explosions on-screen, behind the reporter, who ducked. Briefly, a figure with pale green skin and flaming white hair was visible. "People are being killed out here, send help--!"

The screen dissolved into static.

Vlad stared.

Then he sat down.

"Oh, Daniel," he said. "What have we done?"

Chapter 104: after curfew

Summary:

Tumblr prompt: After months, if not years of missed curfews, failing grades and lies Maddie is done with her son’s behavior and decides to confront him once and for all, waiting in his room since he so rarely uses the door. Imagine her suprise the infamous Danny Phantom, injured and exhausted stumbles through the wall and detransforms into Danny Fenton.

She doesn't turn the light on. She doesn't know how Danny keeps getting past her and Jack, and that is one of things she intends to discover and put a stop to tonight, one way or another.

She'd prefer to talk, but if she has to nail his window shut from the outside, inside, or both, that is what she will do. It isn't safe out there at night. She and Jack did their best, but there are so many ghosts, and they can't do much about the more human dangers.

(The only good thing about this situation is that Danny showed no signs of taking drugs. Or, at least, Maddie hadn't found any of the related paraphernalia in his room.)

Outside the window, the light increased. Maddie frowned. The Fentonworks sign was bright, she knew, but it was also very specific neon colors. This was something paler, whiter, cleaner, and it wasn't bright enough, or coming from the right direction, to be car headlights.

Maddie hadn't brought her weapons with her. She didn't like going around unarmed, but she knew that going to what was almost certainly going to be an emotionally charged argument with a weapon close to hand - even a nonlethal one - wasn't wise. Thinking about herself that way made her nauseated, but no one thought they would do something like that until they did, a fact Maddie was familiar with from unfortunate personal experience.

But she couldn't help but regret this wisdom when the ghost came through the wall. And not just any ghost. Phantom.

She held her breath, trying to stay as still as possible. If she got away before he spotted her, she could activate the defense system, but in the same room, she wouldn't be able to get the words out fast enough.

Phantom hovered over Danny's bed, and for the first time tonight, Maddie was glad that Danny wasn't here. Who knew what Phantom had intended?

Ectoplasm dripped from Phantom's arm and nose, onto Danny's bed. She would have to clean it before he slept on it again. Thoroughly. He'd be annoyed to have to sleep in the guest bedroom, but it was a matter for his health.

Why had Phantom come here when he was this damaged?

Phantom suddenly flared bright, like a camera flash. The room was dark in its wake, and something fell heavily onto Danny's bed.

She blinked the light out of her eyes, furious and terrified. Was this the precursor to an attack? Did he know she was here?

When her eyes adapted again, she saw...

Danny.

Danny, in his pajamas, with the same injuries Phantom had.

Maddie watched and waited while Danny turned over, cocooning himself in his sheets. She would like to say that her hesitance was born from an abundance of caution, but really, she was too stunned to act.

But, finally, what felt like hours later, she walked over to Danny's bed. His chest was rising and falling, slow but steady. She put her hand on his shoulder and felt its warmth.

Her hand, slowly, moved to his throat. There was a pulse, there.

He was alive. Her son was alive.

She just--

She took a step back, away, back to the door, which she opened as quietly as possible.

She needed to understand what was happening, first, what she had seen. Then, she could start to figure out how to fix it.

Chapter 105: lab accident

Summary:

Tumblr Prompt: Danny’s birth was an accident.

A lab accident, to be precise.

The problem with researching something as esoteric as ghosts was that you had to source all your own materials. If you wanted to know how high ectoplasm concentrations affected human cells, you either had to buy from ethically dubious medical supply companies or use your own.

Maddie used her own. Or Jack's. They worked together, and he was fine with it, so it was essentially the same thing, ethically, if not biologically.

Either way, they kept a whole variety of tissue samples, sourced from themselves. Cheek swabs, bone marrow samples, skin, hair, a tooth Jack had to get pulled, blood, serum and whole, a couple biopsies from different organs, spinal fluid, sperm, a collection of egg cells.

If they were going to market their inventions as family friendly and safe, they needed to know it wasn't going to render anyone sterile. They had Jazz already, and one child was quite enough, but other people might want more. Or assurances it wasn't going to mutate their children, before or after birth. Although in Maddie's opinion, that was quite ridiculous. Ectoradiation was quite different from electromagnetic radiation, or alpha radiation, or other traditional types.

So, that was what Maddie was researching now. Eggs and sperm. She wasn't about to do anything fertilized, of course. Too many ethical problems. But she would put a different concentration of ectoplasm in each test tube for one set, then duplicate those concentrations for the second set, then set up some eggs in one set of vessels, and a sample of sperm in the other, then run them for the same amount of time. Fourteen with eggs, fourteen with sperm. A bit of an odd number, but that's what happened in independent labs. Test tubes broke, and then if you wanted to control your experiments, and keep everything the same, you had to do things in odd numbers. Or buy new test tubes. But the more time you spent shopping, the less time you spent experimenting.

She started with the eggs. One by one, putting them into the the test tubes. One... two... three... four... bottom of the column... five... six... seven... eight... bottom of the column... nine... ten... eleven... twel--

"Maddie! I'm taking Jazz out to see you know who for you know what!"

"Dad!" said Jazz, her two-year-old voice squeaky with outrage. "I know we're going to the doctor!"

"Oh, right!" she called back. "That was today, thanks you for remembering, hun!" Usually, she was the one of them to remember important dates, but Jack was really on top of things for Jazz. It was nice.

"No problem, Mads! Good luck with the mutation experiment!"

"Thanks!" She turned back to the rack of test tubes. Now, where was she? She'd just finished that row... She had sorted them by row, hadn't she? Of course she had. So, she should start with the sperm. Right

She picked up the pipette and started from the top of the column. One.. two... three... four... She kept going, until she hit fourteen, and still had two test tubes left.

Well. That wasn't good. She must have-- Had she overlapped? Or had she just not finished filling the egg test tubes? If the latter, she could just put the last two eggs in the last two test tubes. And label them a little more carefully. She rearranged her worktable and peered into the container she'd carried the thawed eggs over in.

One. One unopened egg.

Hands shaking slightly, Maddie counted back to the thirteenth test tube. The one with the second-highest concentration of ectoplasm. The one that she had almost certainly put both an egg cell and sperm into. She pulled it out of the rack and set it in an empty one, then sat and stared.

This was a serious mistake.

Oh, she knew she could just dump it out in the sink or in the biological waste box, or any number of other things. Even moving at their fastest, sperm took a while to get into an egg. It might not have gotten there yet. And even if it had... Few people would consider a single cell a human being. But... Maddie had been raised Irish Catholic. She couldn't...

She sighed. Before she got carried away, she needed to check to see if it had even... taken, she supposed she should call it. If there was any life there. The ectoplasm could very well have acted as an inhibitor.

She licked her lips and reached for a microscope. First, find out what had happened, then talk to Jack, and then... then they would decide what to do. Together.

Chapter 106

Vlad stared down at the boy he'd just knocked out. His eyes were working just fine, but his brain didn't want to process what he was seeing.

It couldn't be.

It was.

Danny Fenton was a half ghost. Just like him.

Vlad sank down to the floor, then knelt next to the boy. This was real. This was true. This... this changed everything.

He wasn't alone anymore. He wasn't alone anymore because those two blasted-- chocolate-covered-- those two bumbling morons had done it again! He wasn't alone, and his companion in misery was the son of the ones who had done this to him in the first place.

He was stunned. He was disgusted. He was fascinated.

Which left him a question: What should he do?

He had a plan for this weekend. He'd had a plan. He was going to humiliate Jack and Maddie. Frame them for stealing from him and assaulting him and his guests. It would barely be framing them, at that. They'd stolen his health, his youth, and his humanity. Turning on the portal so carelessly when he was standing there, inspecting it, might as well have been assault.

He had to admit, he hadn't even thought about their children. He'd assumed they'd be more of the same. Arrogant, careless, blind little monsters that would only benefit from spending a few years in government care. Considering the way Jack and Maddie had behaved in college, removing children from their care was nothing less than a public service.

Today, the children had seemed... not like that, exactly. Not like that at all, really, although Vlad had paid them little enough attention beyond keeping up his genial facade. Not like Jack. Not like Maddie. Their own people. An obvious realization in retrospect, but...

A half ghost.

He wasn't sure if he should be delighted or furious. Both emotions certainly existed in his core, warring with one another.

He-- He wanted. He wanted this. Someone who knew. Someone who would understand. He hadn't wanted that person to be related to them, but...

In that moment, he decided. He could work with this.

He would have to scrap his current plants, which was its own kind of pain, but he could work with this. Jack and Maddie... They couldn't be good parents. For goodness' sake, they'd killed their son.

Just like they'd killed Vlad.

He'd have to do some legwork... Get the Fentons to trust him again, get them to put him down as a guardian for their children. Or at least Danny. Then, then he would expose them. For something they'd done or something they hadn't, it hardly mattered.

He'd have to do some legwork to repair his ghost half's poor first impression on Daniel, come to think of it. It shouldn't be too hard - some explanation about how this was his home and how he had reacted to a strange ghost in it should suffice, given how Phantom was rumored to be possessive and territorial over an entire city.

Yes, yes, that would work... He had a few days to put his plan into action. But first... He shouldn't leave the poor boy on the floor like this. He'd catch a cold.

He reached over and slid his arms around Daniel's shoulders and beneath his knees, picking him up easily. He was far too light, even considering his ghostly nature. Did his parents feed him? No, he thought, sneering, Jack and Maddie wouldn't have the time, with all their oh-so-important research in the way.

Now, which of the guest bedrooms had he put the boy in, anyway?

Chapter 107

Summary:

Prompt by samayia: I would like to know more about ghost wombs in Danny phantom, I really loved the the fics about them and the implications of them. Kinda just one see a fiction of Danny being bombed by Vlad or Pandora or walk and what would happen after that.

Danny hadn't thought much about it when Pandora invited him back to her palace after they'd gotten her box and the Box Ghost squared (heh) away. He'd helped her, and she wanted to say thank you. It wasn't as if it hadn't happened before, even if it wasn't exactly common.

They'd talked for a while, over sandwiches. Pandora seemed interested in what he did as a hero, how his thermos worked, and things like that. They were, she had pointed out, doing similar things, and his thermos was remarkably like her box.

Then, they'd walked through Pandora's gardens. The hedge mazes had seemed higher than they had before, their twists and turns tighter, more frequent, more disorienting. The Labyrinth, she'd explained, responded to need. There had been a need for Danny to get past it, so it had been simpler, the magics in it that kept ghosts passing through earthbound not as strong.

After a while, they'd turned back towards the palace.

"There is something I want to show you," said Pandora, once they had left the maze. "Something important."

Danny looked up at her, confused. He'd thought they'd gotten all of the important stuff out of the way already. "Did something else get stolen?"

"Nothing like that," said Pandora. "But considering how our interests align, it is something you should see."

Danny nodded. He wondered if it was going to be something like the Cave of History in the Far Frozen.

They walked under a columned porch. Water flowed across the marble in what looked like specially cut channels.

"The Lethe," said Pandora. "Be careful, a single drop can make you forget everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything."

Danny shuddered and pulled his feet up underneath him to float instead of walking. "That sounds dangerous."

"It is," said Pandora, "but some things need to be protected by more than walls."

Hesitantly, Danny nodded. He could understand that.

They crossed into the building proper. The floor was a maze of little streams and a dais rose out of the center like a tiny mountain. Pandora flew ahead of him, towards the dais. Danny hesitated for a moment, then followed, wary of the water.

On the dais was a plinth, and on the plinth was a... It wasn't quite a box. Or, it was a box, but it wasn't cubical. It was cylindrical, with a round lid. The sides were painted in detail.

"Go ahead," said Pandora. "Look inside."

Danny glanced at her, then looked down at the box again. He reached out and touched the lid's handle, offsetting it slightly. There was a rushing sensation, as if the box had been filled with wind. Danny blocked his face with his hands and arms.

When the wind died down, he lowered them and looked around. The room was entirely different. It was small and dark and round, and there was so much ectoplasm in the air that it felt wet. Other than the glow of the ectoplasm, the only light came from an odd, crescent shaped skylight high overhead.

As he watched, the skylight waned away to nothing.

.

Outside, Pandora closed the lid of the box, making sure it had settled into it's proper place. She patted it, gently, thinking of the child inside. Before too long, he would be changed. Remade. Reborn. And then she would let him out into his new, second life.

Taking him was, admittedly, a bit of an impulse decision, but how could she not, when they were so similar? When he had come to help her? When he was so young, so unformed?

But it would take time.

She turned and left.

Chapter 108

Notes:

Based on a tumblr prompt from littlelizardlover. :)

Light body horror.

There is something under the hazmat suit.

Of course there is. You're under the hazmat suit. It's what you're wearing - it's what you always wear, when you're a ghost.

There have always been things under the hazmat suit. You were wearing things underneath it when you died, in the portal. A t-shirt. Your jeans. Socks. That thin tank top that made you somehow feel more secure. Underwear. Socks. Not shoes. You're not the kind of lunatic who wears two pairs of shoes at the same time. The hazmat suit's boots are fine.

There's something under them.

You have always been under the hazmat suit, but the hazmat suit is also you. You know this. You died in it. They say the man makes the clothes. Or is it the other way around? You've never been great at remembering these things.

It's still you, under there. That's all that will ever be there. Except when you've been stabbed. Or shot. Or harpooned. That happened once. Then, there are other things lodged under your skin.

There is something under your skin, now. You can feel it moving. Sliding along the underside of plasticky hazmat. Bending the small, fine hairs along the backs of your arms. It is you. Of course it is. That's all it's ever been. But it's unfamiliar. New.

You are in the privacy of your own room. The door is closed, the lights dimmed, the curtains, drawn. You have a chair wedged under the doorknob. It's something you've been told not to do, and you're not even sure if it will work. Sometimes, your parents are human wrecking balls, and even if they weren't, there's the weaponry to consider. Even so, this is probably the best you're going to do.

You know you've been worrying your sister, lately, but that's not your fault.

You lie heavy on your bed and the air lies lightly on your human skin and clothing that isn't also you. Part of you feels like there should be more layers, and you know exactly what part that is.

You change.

Light ripples lightning-bright across your body, turning one kind of skin into another.

You raise gloved hands over your head and start to tug on the fingers, loosening them. You think that if you were more serious about this, you would start somewhere else and let your hands fall to your chest, still covered.

There are other ways to do this. There is a zipper.

You sit up, not entirely willing, and reach for the collar of the suit. You find the zipper and pull it down, down, down, until it catches on the sticker Sam stuck on there the second time you died for the first time.

Your life is strange.

You pull the sticker free and then pull the zipper the rest of the way down. Then, you pull away the suit, peeling it off your chest.

What's underneath is your t-shirt.

You knew this.

But it feels... You run gloved fingers over its surface. Something has changed. It is... It feels thinned. Worn. Like a husk of what it once was.

You wriggle, suddenly eager to get this over with. But when the suit slips off your elbows, you pause.

There should be skin there. Not hazmat-skin or cloth-skin, but pale, tan, flesh-skin. Tinted with ectoplasm and death, but still skin.

And there is some skin there, transparent and husk-like. But, there, peaking out in patches from a paper thin layer, is something else.

It looks, at first glance, like the hazmat. Woven. Black. Shiny.

But there are differences. Pinprick lights shine from the black threads, brighter even than his aura, gathered in tantalizing patterns. You pull your hands out of the sleeved, and therefore, the gloves. Most of the husk-skin on your fingers is gone, leaving a silvery material that is both like and unlike your gloves.

You reach out to a piece of loose skin and pull it back, slowly. It crinkles, slightly. It comes off in a long strip, up to your elbow, revealing even more of the strange, sparkling fabric. But then it stops, the skin there still, for a lack of a better word, alive, deep, connected.

You can't stop yourself, after that. You peel off as much skin as you can. It isn't everything. But it is something.

You flex your hands. They move easily, comfortably, under the new fabric. Where the fabric intersects skin, there is a slight, uncomfortable pinch.

This is a new surface. Underneath is you. A new you. But still you. Like always.

But it isn't done yet. It is too thin, too fragile. It would tear in a fight.

It is not yet time to shed your old self, the snakeskin-exoskeleton-husk of your first hazmat suit. You are still young. You are not ready.

You put your arms into the sleeves and zip up the suit, patting the sticker lovingly back into place. Then, you return to your human flesh. You inhale, exhale.

What will you be, you wonder, when you are ready?

Chapter 109

Notes:

Based on an anonymous tumblr prompt: 'Danny being molded by clockwork? Maybe into LBM (loss of autonomy, opposable thumbs,etc)?'

Soft body horror.

Clockwork stops you before you can run.

Stops you literally, freezing your body in time. But not, for some reason, your mind. You can feel yourself. You can feel the tingle of ectoplasm on your skin and the slight stirring of wind caused by Clockwork flying around you in ever tightening circles.

"This is for the best," he says. And then, he touches your wrist, and you go limp, almost boneless, in that your ghost form is so good at. So, maybe he hadn't frozen you in time, but done something else to keep you from moving.

He gathers you up and carries you. You expect, almost, to be placed on a table. You are not. He carries you to a couch - you didn't know he had a couch - and arranges you on his-- Is it a lap, if it is made of a coiled ghostly tail?

That is what he starts with, too, pressing your legs together into a sinuous, tapering tail.

This is when you find that you aren't entirely paralyzed. Not exactly. Your tail lashes, back and forth. Not under your control, but also not... not under your control. Its movement is dictated by something more like... instinct. Its lashing calms and it curls up next to Clockwork's.

Traitor.

Clockwork strokes your back, smoothing you down further. And, against your will, you do relax. It feels weirdly comfortable, and you feel yourself... softening. Like clay.

He takes your left hand and folds in your thumb. Then, he presses, and the digit sinks into your palm with little resistance. It is... fascinating. Even if you could look away, you would still stare as Clockwork molds your remaining fingers into something more like paws, complete with small, blunt claws. Then, he moves up your arm. You cannot, quite, tell what he is doing, there, but the way your muscles and tendons lay feels different, afterwards. He frees your other arm and does the same there, making you symmetrical.

You cannot see what he does to your shoulders and spine, but you can feel it, and it feels good, like those bones are finally slotting into place.

He turns you over. Your ribcage is, apparently, too large, too deep. Some of your organs are the wrong shape, or just... Wrong. Smoothed away so their mass could be repurposed elsewhere.

Most of your body can move, now. It is just your head and neck that are still outside of your control. You could run.

You don't.

Clockwork is very gentle when he sculpts your neck, dipping his fingers into your throat. You can feel it when the complexity of your voicebox is reformatted in its entirety.

He moved up to your ears, ruffling your hair as he does so. He tugs them, upwards, into points, then paints them with a soft layer of fur.

You purr with your new voice, and when Clockwork's hands move to your face, you nuzzle into them.

Clockwork chuckles, and arranges your features with gentle orbits of his thumbs. Your nose is pinched small. So is your mouth, but your teeth are stretched into fangs and your tongue lengthened, and you can feel seams that would let your jaw open much wider than it currently is. Your jaw is rounded, softened. So are your cheeks. Your eyes, on the other hand, are widened, made huge enough that you squint blearily at the dim light in Clockwork's lair.

But there is one final change. Clockwork gathers you up again - made harder by you being able to move and wriggle, and easier by your cooperation - and squeezes. You purr as you are compressed, your whole essence concentrated into something that Clockwork can hold in the crook of one arm.

"There," said Clockwork, apparently pleased. "Everything is as it is meant to be."

You find that the meaning of the words, of any words, is... slipping. Fading. Not all the way, you don't think. But enough that you would have to focus hard to understand completely. And you don't want to. It's enough to hear the tone.

You lean into Clockwork as he starts petting you, stroking you from head to tail. He says something else, the words making a soothing rumble in his chest.

You think-- You think that this, this sense of comfort, of contentment, is the way things are supposed to be.

And then, for a while, you don't think much of anything at all.

Chapter 110

Notes:

Based on a tumblr post by agent-jaselin: hmm soft body horror and Danny Phantom, I've been on a The Magnus Archives kick lately. There is a interesting trope in that fandom where eyes first start appearing where scars are. Danny getting wounds that manifest into wings or eyes or heal back permanently in a different, more monstrous way maybe? His human body breaking apart to reveal what he really is underneath like a cocoon.

Jazz insists on examining your wounds, after you've gotten a 'major' injury.

You don't exactly begrudge her this. You know you'd be the same way if she got hurt. She is your sister. But your definitions of 'major injury aren't the same. You don't begrudge that, either. Your definitions have to be different, when one of you can walk off a stabbing and the other is, well, human.

But it can get annoying. Like now. Jazz wasn't there when Sam bandaged you up - and you did need those bandages, this time - but she insists on being there when you take them off. You wonder - Does Jazz like seeing your stupid Florida-shaped birthmark so much? If so, you'll print out a picture of Florida and paste it to her wall.

You might say that out loud, because Jazz tells you to shut up and let her see, so she can make sure you're not getting sepsis or some equally horrible ghost disease.

And-- You do, even though you roll your eyes while doing it. You go ghost and unzip your jumpsuit before peeling your way out of it like a banana. The bandages are still where Sam put them, wrapped around your torso and upper arms.

Most of the injuries are on your back. The ghost opened the fight with a powerful slash and put you through several buildings. That's not getting into how you threw yourself in front of a group of unfortunate, trapped civilians. Multiple times.

You will admit, that was a bad fight. Violent. The ghost was vicious, and not one you were familiar with.

You find the end of the bandage and undo the clips Sam used to hold them in place before starting to unwind it. You go slowly, at first, to mess with Jazz, but this is boring to you, too, and you start to go faster. Finally, with all of them (and the cotton pads they'd held down) off, you roll them up around your fingers, and ask, "So? Am I intact? Clean bill of health?"

Jazz doesn't answer, and you turn around to see her staring, pale.

"Jazz? What is it?" you ask. She's been pretty good about things like this, all things considered. Not squeamish at all.

She points to your shoulder. You look. At first, all you notice is that the cuts there haven't healed as much as you thought, even though they aren't at all painful. The second thing you notice is the feathers. They are growing from the wound, soft, downy, black things.

You run your hands over first your shoulder, then your back, and twist to see your back as best you can. There are many of them, a whole, thick mat. Where your wounds were especially severe, a few longer, thicker feathers stick out.

Part of you wants to start tearing them out. Another part knows that would be unfathomably painful.

"Where," says Jazz, strained, "did those come from?"

You'd like to know the answer to that question yourself. You shrug, and your whole back spasm s, as if there was supposed to be something more to the motion.

Suddenly, you are concerned with a different question. Not 'Where did they come from?' but, 'What else will happen ?'

 

Chapter 111

Notes:

Prompt from anon: Danny phantom au where Danny became radioactive from the portal incident (radioactive power source for it perhaps?) and those around him start to mutate and stuff due to the radioactive ectoplasm

perhaps they start slowly becoming ghosts, not even realising they’re dying, and just thinking they didn’t sleep too well

they slowly deteriorate as their bodies replace the dying cells with ghost versions, basically slowly possess Every cell around them, spreading like an infection

soon it reaches everyone in amity

those around Danny being the first group who go on to spread it, and Danny is patient zero

People aren't afraid of dead bodies for no reason.

Oh, a dead body won't leap up and attack you. Many would instead urge you to be afraid of whatever killed it, and that is not precisely unwise. But dead bodies are dangerous in and of themselves. They are full of bacteria. Diseases, waiting to happen as they rot. Humans know this, instinctively. They avoid dead bodies.

Danny was only half dead. His body looked alive. This wasn't a lie, exactly, but it wasn't the whole story, and humans do not easily understand things by halves.

The people around him stayed close. They didn't know that they should stay away. They didn't know to be afraid.

They should have been afraid of what killed him, yes. But they also should have been afraid of him, because he carried that death with him. Slow, yes, but present.

Slow, slow... Slow enough that Sam and Tucker couldn't say for sure when their eyes lost their pupils. Slow enough that the students at Casper High were convinced that glowing was something bodily fluids just did. Slow enough that no one in Amity Park could say when they'd stopped aging and started stagnating.

But not slow enough that Tucker didn't notice when he started to grow a third arm. Not slow enough that Sam didn't notice when moss began to grow up her spine. Not slow enough that Jazz didn't wake up in the middle of the night and vomit ectoplasm into the toilet.

And not nearly slow enough that, when Amity Park realized they were a corpse, rotting from the inside out, they could do anything about it.

(But slow enough that one not-quite-dead boy could tell exactly where the rot had started, and how it had spread.)

Chapter 112

Notes:

Second one this evening. :)

Based on a tumblr prompt by misosuper: Soft body horror! Danny's parents theorized that ghosts' forms shift with their emotions, but Danny knew better: his ghost form shifted with his physical state, not his mental state. If he was hungry, his ghost form was a gaping thing with many teeth. If he was tired, his ghost form would shift to something soft and docile. If he was overheated, or freezing, or thirsty, or hyped up on too much caffeine, or in pain, or anything else that differed from baseline, his ghost form reflected it. The problem with that was, Danny couldn't always make sure his body was in a "normal" state when he had to transform, leading to several... incongruous ghost forms for the situation at hand.

You suppose you had some forewarning of this, being the son of ghost hunters. Your parents had, a few years ago, shifted from believing that ghosts had no emotions to believing that their bodies were inherently psychoactive, changing dramatically based on what they felt in the moment, with no sense of purpose, planning, or anything but their own pleasure.

Of course, this theory was thrown out as soon as ghosts that didn't shapeshift constantly started appearing in Amity Park.

(Regardless of theory, your parents are still adamant that ghosts are evil.)

Now that you've fought dozens of ghosts, now that you're half ghost, you know better.

At least, you don't think being hungry is an emotional state, and it gives your rows upon rows teeth, predatory instincts, and extra hands. Cold and hot aren't emotions, either, and yet both of them often turn you into something with blue white skin, pointed ears, lots of fluffy hair, and a hatred of heat. Something that, you are annoyed to note, does not help you with overheating at all and makes you hyper in cold weather.

As best you can tell, what, exactly, you're going to look like each time you transform is determined by the state of your physical, human body when you transform.

If you're thirsty? Dehydrated, even? Then you're either dry or something with gills.

Too much caffeine? You get what Tucker calls low-grade super-speed and your whole body becomes rubbery and bouncy.

Pain? That varied a lot, depending on what, exactly, was hurt and how, but it usually involved some kind of protective covering over the area.

It was... disconcerting, not knowing what your body is going to do, going to be, moment from moment. You think it would be worse if your ghost form changed while you were still in it. You can imagine - bones twisting, stretching, flesh melting, reforming-- It reminds you too much of your accident, the thing that started this. You are glad that this is clean. That you change in a painless flash of light.

However, you think you might like a little more than a guess about what you will look like and what powers and weaknesses you'll have when you transform. And, as a side note, you think it would be nice if ghosts didn't attack right when you're about to go to sleep. You'd like at least a few minutes of dreams.

You know that if you lie in bed any longer, trying to convince yourself to be more awake, you will instead convince yourself that you imagined your ghost sense going off. So, you transform, right there.

You are aware this is a mistake.

You rub your eyes and catch the sight of star-spangled pajamas, a far cry from the ratty t-shirt you fell asleep in. You pat them with rounded, too-soft, too-gentle hands. They are silky. Your eyelashes are too long, they make your eyelids feel heavy. You touch your face, and there is a raised area around your eyes, like a mask.

Something crashes outside. You sigh. You won't get any sleep if that keeps up. You-- Probably, at least some of your usual powers will work. You can make this work.

You float up, and blankets wrapped around your shoulders float up with you. Did you have--? No, these aren't wrapped around your shoulders, they are attached to your shoulders. They are part of your body. You can tell when you tug on them.

Cozy.

You look longingly at your bed, but bravely soldier on, phasing out through the wall. Then, you orient yourself. Where had the sound come from?

Somehow, despite your eyes spending more time closed than open, you spot Shadow first. You follow him back to Johnny, Kitty, and... Desiree? And the Lunch Lady? They're having an argument in the neighborhood park. Johnny's motorcycle is tangled in the swing set, but somehow that doesn't seem to be what they're arguing about.

Whatever. You don't care.

"Can you guys just," you say. You pause. You planned a rant, but it just didn't seem worth it, now. "Not," you finish, eloquently. "I want to sleep."

"If you wished for it," says Desiree, "you could have as much as you wanted and more."

You give her an unimpressed look. "You all know," you say, sinking down so you are closer to eye level with them, "that I can kick all of your butts..." You trail off, noticing how Kitty is staring at you. "What?" you ask.

"Ohmigod," she says, "ohmigod, Johnny, he's so cute right now. I want to take him home."

"Uh," says Johnny. "You do know that's Phantom...?"

Your feet touch the grass lawn of the park and collapse into a tail. This tail, you notice, is unusually thick, long, and plush, compared to your usual ghostly tails, and you sink down into it as if it is a pillow.

"If you guys just leave, then I won't have to fight you," you continue, unwilling to be distracted now that you've come this far. "So, just, like, go."

"You won't have to fight us, either, if you go," says Johnny.

"What?" says Kitty. "No, don't go, I bet you're so soft, right now, right?"

You blink at her, bemused. You didn't think she cared about things like that.

"Here, sweetie," says the Lunch Lady, who has snuck up on you while the others occupy your attention. She presses something to your lips. "Warm milk to help you sleep!"

Normally, You wouldn't drink anything given to you by Lunch Lady even if you were dared, but you've been surprised, and the second a drop of milk touches your lips, your stupid, traitor body decides it is exactly what you've been craving. You drink the milk in three long swallows, then you sigh and yawn.

"Oh, no," says Johnny, also yawning, "it's contagious."

You hear more yawns, but you don't know who's yawning. You've closed your eyes and rested your head on your hands. A few minutes later, someone lies down on the coils of your tail. Then so does another person, wrapping themselves in one of your blanket-capes. A third person cuddles you as if you were a stuffed animal. A fourth person just uses your tail as a pillow, the rest of them lying on the ground.

This, you think sleepily, is not ideal.

But, then, you are asleep, and you're happy enough with that.

Chapter 113

Summary:

Prompt from Jackdawsprite: since it seems a bunch of people sent stuff with things coming through Danny's skin, I thought I might give you an optional alternate prompt to go with instead of the one I last gave you:

Danny's bones turning pliable or growing into new shapes.

"Daniel."

You jump. You'd recognize that voice anywhere, but you didn't expect it here, now, in the middle of the street. You look around quickly, furtively. Has anyone noticed a ghost talking to you?

No, no one has noticed, because time is frozen and there is a gear-shaped medallion sitting heavily on your chest. You look up at Clockwork sheepishly, not really sorry for your reaction, per se, but embarrassed for it nonetheless.

Clockwork raises an eyebrow. You blush.

"I, um, I haven't broken the timeline again, have I?" you ask, because that's a legitimate concern in your life. Death. Half-life. Whatever.

"No," says Clockwork in a way that makes it clear that it wasn't for any care on your part. "I have come to request your help."

"Oh," you say, surprised. Certainly, he has a right to ask, after all he's done for you. It's just that you have no idea what you could help someone who could control time with. "Sure. What with?"

"You should ask that before you agree to help," says Clockwork. He waves his staff and a a portal opens up behind him. "Come, it is easier to explain if you first see."

You transform with a thought and join him by the portal.

"After you," he says.

You blink a few times, your eyes adjusting to the light. The first thing you notice is a large clock. It is shaped like a bell curve and overall looks a lot like a shelf clock. It is, however, easily twice as tall as you are at its highest point. Glass doors near the bottom reveal a space that's a room in and of itself, full of gears and weights.

The strangest thing, however, is what it's made of.

"It that--?"

"Bone? Yes," says Clockwork. "It is known as the Bone Clock." He lays his hand on its surface. "It has been broken for some time."

"What is it for?"

"Occasionally, a death must occur at precisely the right moment - or, it must not occur at a particular moment. These deaths are rare, and it is rarer still that the death is one that belongs to a thinking being. But when they occur, it is the Bone Clock that nudges their time into the right position."

You swallow. "What, um, what was--?"

"The last time it was used?" asks Clockwork. "You are wondering if it was used on the occasion of your death."

"Um." He isn't wrong, but you aren't sure if you should ask that.

"There wasn't nearly so much chance involved in your creation," says Clockwork. Before you can ask what that means, he continues. "A better question is what it would be used on next."

"What is it going to be used on next?" you ask, obediently.

"Even a fraction of a moment can make the difference between whether or not a death results in a ghost," says Clockwork. "Between whether a thought is held, or let go. Between whether a a person remains or passes on."

"Is-- Clockwork, is someone going to die?"

"People die all the time, Daniel."

"I mean, what you're saying, what you're talking about, is someone I know going to die?"

"Eventually, everyone dies."

You give up. There's no way you're going to get a straight answer out of Clockwork on this topic.

"So, the thing you need help with is fixing it?" You can't help but notice, after all, that all of its mechanisms are completely still.

"Yes. The materials are not easy to source. Many of the gears require very specific bones."

Although your grades don't reflect it, you aren't actually an idiot. "You're asking me to give you my bones."

"Rather, I am asking you to grow the gears from your bones. Your bones themselves will remain."

"So, they'll..." You find that you are hugging yourself, running your fingers over your shoulder blades. "Grow in me?"

"That is where they must come from, if they are to work."

"And this... it's important that it works, right?"

"There are workarounds, even if the Bone Clock is not repaired. They would be unpleasant."

You look up at him. "More unpleasant than this?"

He gazes back, his red eyes glittering deep within his hood. "That is a matter of opinion. For certain people, yes."

You take a deep breath. "Okay. What do I need to do?"

Clockwork smiles and ruffles your hair. You blush, swat away the hand, and immediately regret doing so.

Regardless, he reaches over your head and opens the doors of the clock. You go to step forward, but he stops you.

"Are you certain?" he asks. "This will be painful."

"I've been hurt before," you say, with something like a smile.

He nods and presses a key into your hand. It is small and white, with coppery fittings, the same as the clock. "The hole is in the back wall."

You enter the clock. It is eerily quiet in here. You look back. Clockwork is closing the glass doors. They click softly.

You shiver.

It isn't far to the back wall, and you find the keyhole easily. You put the key in and turn it. Then, you turn it again. And again, and again. There is an awful ratcheting sound overhead. Dust and small slivers and chunks of bones rain down on your head, and you shake it, to get them out of your hair.

You cannot let go of the key.

Something pricks along the backs of your ribs. Something like a cramp radiates up your arm. You realize, perhaps too late, that you did not ask Clockwork how long this would take.

You realize, also, that the gears directly overhead have lowered themselves. The lowest touches your shoulder, then rolls down to rest against your back. Its teeth fit nicely between your ribs.

There is something wrong with your ribs. Or perhaps something right. You can feel bone growing there, like the worst possible growth spurt.

The extra bone starts off as tiny lumps, then slowly expand outwards. You feel your skin separate wetly, ectoplasm smoothly flowing back.

They press into the teeth of the gear touching you, meshing. The rest of the gear is first built, then extruded, pushing against you and the gear. You, of course, give out first, dropping to your knees with a groan. Your bone doesn't just grow, it warps, flexes, and bends in order to make the necessary shapes.

Then, the last part of the gear separates from your ribs and the gears lift away, clunking and clicking into place far above you.

The formation of the large gear had occupied you, but there are other gears growing from your bones. Some of them are small enough to be nothing more than a needle of pain through that area. Others, though, are large enough to start tearing the skin above them. Two of them, near your left knee, have meshed with one another, locking its position.

Now, gears from overhead descend to meet the new gears and lift them back overhead. The way they emerge, especially the smaller ones, reminds you of pimples popping. The teeth of the gears on your skin and in your flesh feels like the deepest of massages. The floor beneath you becomes puddled with ectoplasm, your body unable to reclaim all of it.

You wonder, how long will it be before every surface of bone has had at least one gear sprout from it.

And then-- It is not just gears, that a clock is made of. It needed levers and rods, too, and your bones happily provide them as well.

But, then, the rate at which your bones grows new things dwindles, stops, and as the last piece is pulled away, your hand slips from the key. You push yourself up off the floor and hover for a minute, uncertain. You are no smaller than before, and not noticeably thinner, but you still feel lighter.

You flit towards the doors before the smoothly-ticking Bone Clock can change its mind. Clockwork is waiting for you, and he ruffles your hair as you come out. This time, you let him.

Chapter 114

Notes:

From an anon prompt: Ooooh what about the ectoplasm within slowly dissolving Danny’s human side over time

It isn't just Danielle, you know.

The progression from firm flesh to soft green ectoplasm. The drip of solid things gone liquid. The hissing sublimation as more volatile components turned straight into gas.

What is happening to Dani is what haunts your nightmares, but you knew all these things far before. Her transformation is just more obvious, more striking.

There was an expression on her face, when you injected her with the ecto-dejecto, that you see in the mirror, even now. You've learned to give yourself the injections between your toes, so the needle-marks don't show. You wear socks all the time, and shoes most of the time, even in your own room. The veins are green up to your ankles. They will go further.

You remember Vlad's 'perfect' clone, and how he woke, ever so briefly, to stare into your eyes. You remember the exact green of the puddle of ectoplasm that was all that was left of him. You remember the way it bubbled and frothed as it evaporated.

You know that when you saw him, you saw yourself. Not that day, or the day after, or even many days on, but someday. Someday soon enough.

But what you don't know is how to tell Dani that you don't know which one of you will go first and which one of you will have to watch.

Chapter 115

Summary:

From a prompt by princessfanonanona on tumblr: Ghost puberty but like bug version for the soft body horror idea request

.

You didn't know that Clockwork had a garden, but you are sitting in it now. You decide it suits him. It is divided into quarters, into seasons, the tree at the center flowering, fruiting, and withering all at once.

You are in the spring section right now, among copious flowers. There is enough pollen in the air that even your nose twitches, and you never really had any problem with allergies.

There is a tiny bare pavement square in the middle of the section, ringed with benches. At the center of the square, there is a plinth. On the plinth, there is a beehive, and this is what occupies your attention at the moment.

It is not a typical beehive, like what might be found in the human world. The bees weren't alive. But neither were they exactly ghosts. Instead, they were tiny clockwork automations, exquisite works of bright bronze, blackened steel, and gem-bright glass. They flit eagerly from flower to flower nonetheless, and you wonder what they get out of it, if anything. Not food.

A few of them land on the rim of your bowl, which you have momentarily set aside. Clockwork has been feeding you a lot, lately, mostly a series of sweet, parfait-like concoctions. You aren't complaining. You've been hungry, and your weird not-biology craves equally weird things. Whatever Clockwork has been feeding you, it helps with that.

"Bees are holometabolous," says Clockwork from his position next to you on the bench. "Do you know what that means?"

"Something to do with their metabolism?" you guess. You shake your head. "No, not really."

Clockwork hands the bowl back to you, a silent encouragement to eat. "Holometabolous insects undergo what is called a full metamorphosis. They begin life as an egg, then hatch into larvae, which then turn into pupae, and finally emerge from their pupae as adults. Butterflies and moths are other examples."

You nod, trying to show that you are paying attention, even as your eyes are on the mechanical bees that have landed on your arms. You scoop a large spoonful of maybe-yogurt, probably-granola, and hopefully-honey into your mouth.

"The mature versions of such an insect are often quite different from the larval form," continues Clockwork, "and, at least in the case of bees, their final form is dependent on what they were fed as larvae."

"Like, whether they're queens or workers?"

"Precisely."

You sit quietly for a while.

"Clockwork," you say, "what does this have to do with what makes an Ancient an Ancient?"

He doesn't answer right away, and in the meantime, you are distracted both by your food and by the bees. They really are beautiful, with all the intricate gears and fittings.

"Would you like a closer look?" asks Clockwork.

"Huh?"

"At the hive?"

Your spoon clinks against the bottom of the bowl, and you nod. "Sure," said Danny. "If it won't disturb them."

Clockwork smiles and holds out his hand. You take it. At once, you feel yourself shrinking, just like that time with the Fenton Crammer. You squeak and cling to Clockwork who is also shrinking. By the time it stops, the bees that were crawling around on your hands earlier are twice or three times as big as you.

Clockwork, still holding your hand, knocks on the abdomen of the nearest bee and it opens up.

"Here," says Clockwork, gesturing at the opening.

"Um," you say. "We can fly?"

"At this size?" asks Clockwork, mildly.

You are even smaller than you were when you and Dash were hit by the Fenton Crammer. Your powers failed very quickly that time.

"It is a very long walk," continues Clockwork.

"It's just weird to crawl into a bug," you say, as you crawl into the bug. It takes off, and you marvel at the smooth movement of the gears - and lean into Clockwork, wary of getting hair and fingers caught in them.

The flight to the hive is uneventful, otherwise, and when you arrive and emerge into the hive, the way that the mechanical bees bustle around makes you feel like you're some kind of celebrity or dignitary.

Clockwork leads you around for a while, showing you the honey-gold and bright bronze of the hive. Old bees are repaired by their sisters, and new bees are constructed, bit by bit in specialized cells. Then, you enter into a large, long room with a grand dining table complete with chairs in the center. Among all the honeycomb and the bees, it looks like something from a dream.

Your stomach rumbles.

"Hungry?" asks Clockwork.

You duck your head, embarrassed. You just ate. But maybe you're finally coming up on the growth spurt that will take you up to your father's height.

"A snack, perhaps."

You sit down at the table, and in doing so, you remember the conversation you were having outside, on the bench.

"You never answered my question, you know," you say, not accusing, exactly, but curious. You'd asked for a reason.

"I suppose not," says Clockwork. "One moment." He takes a tray from a bee. It is covered in small bowls of honey. "Here, try this."

He holds out a honey dipper to you, and, aware this is another tactic to distract you, you take it. "I still want to know," you say. Then, you decide to suck on the honey dipper like it was a lollipop, which is probably not the intended use, but you don't really know what is.

"Yes, yes," says Clockwork. "As I was saying, the type of adult depends on what it is fed as a larva, before it pupates. Queen bees are fed only royal jelly as larvae. Ancients are similar."

You squint at Clockwork and pull the honey dipper from your mouth. "They're given something special as younger ghosts? Something that makes them develop into Ancients?"

"And each of the Ancients has a version of royal jelly that they keep safe, in case they might want to use it."

You still, the dipper in front of your lips. You aren't stupid, really, and the implication there...

"The word pupa ultimately derives from a word meaning 'doll,'" says Clockwork, apparently oblivious. "It is very appropriate for the pupae of the Ancients."

You think, for a moment, that you can feel your skin hardening around you, but you shake it off. Or, at least, you think you do.

"Clockwork," you say, "this isn't- You haven't been feeding me--?"

Clockwork leans over and puts his hand on your shoulder. It is firm, comforting. You can almost feel the vibration from his ticking clock echoing through your bones. "Daniel, it is a metaphor. The 'royal jelly' of the Ancients isn't anything like food."

You nod, but you put down the honey dipper. "I think I'm done eating for today, though." You stand up. You must have been sitting longer than you thought, because the movement is stiff, your limbs half asleep.

(You experience a brief moment of alienation, as if your body isn't yours, as if it doesn't belong to you.)

Clockwork shifts his grip as you move, almost as if he is contemplating picking you up. He doesn't, to your relief. Instead, he pats your back and walks ahead.

"There are other things here that might interest you," he says.

You follow.

Chapter 116

Summary:

Prompt by jackdawsprite: Hmmmm how about his skin tearing open painlessly, to reveal something new beneath? something not muscle and sinew, something else. Is it in his human form, or his ghost one? I'll leave that to you to decide :3

They don't abandon their research, exactly, your parents. You don't think that's something that's possible for them to do, even. Things still change, after the accident. Your accident.

The more questionable inventions and experiments, the more dangerous ones, are removed. Where to, you aren't sure. When you came home, that's all the more Jazz would say about it. Anything with a greater potential to maim than, say, a properly used microwave oven is no longer in the lab and is probably no longer in the house, either.

The weapons vault (still in the early stages of construction when you... left) has allegedly been entirely refurbished. The Fenton Stockades have been child-proofed. The ecto-weenies have been cleared out, and there's a new, clean fridge in the kitchen. There is also a new, clean lock on the lab door.

It's all very strange. Not being down in the lab. Not having inventions up here, in the house. The Ops Center is still there, of course, and the schedule for evac drills is still stuck to the fridge with a magnet, but that's a different genre of thing than the lab, to be honest.

It's unexpected, but it's not... surprising, is the word, you think. You don't need Jazz's new psychology hobby to know that your parents were hit with two devastating psychological blows at once. First, the total failure of the portal. Secondly, your accident in the portal. Their confidence has been crushed, and they're probably overcompensating.

You feel guiltily pleased by that. You hate that they feel bas. You don't want them to feel bad. But the house is cleaner than it has been in years, and not having to worry about ectoplasm contamination in food is amazing . So is having your parents actually present. You didn't realize until now how much their work had taken over all your lives.

(You missed them.)

You feel guiltier when you're glad when they leave with Jazz on a college thing. You aren't sure that what they've been doing should be described as hovering, but...

... It's hovering.

They're worried about you. They feel guilty, too. Jazz's enthusiasm for the trip or not, you don't think they would have gone just a month ago. They still wouldn't have gone if you hadn't gently encouraged them, if you hadn't recovered so quickly.

If they had any idea what you were planning on doing the minute you were alone.

You checked out a book on lockpicking last time you were at the library, so, armed with a couple of Jazz's hairpins, you sit down in front of the lab door.

It isn't a very good lock, but you aren't any good at this, and you didn't expect to be. It's two hours before the lock clicks open.

It is... emptier than you thought it would be, in the lab, and you stare at it stunned, from the stairs. Oh, there's still plenty of clutter, and things like the Ghost Catcher and the Ghost Gabber are sitting out, but there are surprisingly few weapons, and parts of the lab are clearly in the process of being completely reorganized.

The portal - or, what would have been the portal, if it worked - sits in the wall, shrouded, as if your parents can't even bear to look at it.

You can barely bear to look at it.

Even so, it draws you forward, like a magnet. This is what all of this has been about.

You sweep the shroud to the side and examine the machine. There have been some attempts to dismantle it. The powers, certainly, has been disconnected. Vital cables and tubes have been removed. The beam emitter at the end looks like someone took a sledgehammer to it.

None of that matters.

You take a deep breath and step in.

You are-- It isn't like you want to be here. You remember-- And, there's a reason you were at the hospital for so long.

It was bad.

So, this is less want and more need. It's like a compulsion. Like your skin wanting to crawl off your body.

You step in, under the embracing arch.

There is still a power here. An echo, a sympathy. But also, more than that, a sort of hook. Something there that could dig in, that could attach.

It calls to you.

You know-- You feel--

You don't know if you can quantify it.

Ever since you woke up after the accident, you've felt as if there is something inside you. Or, no. That's not quite right. Nothing feels quite right. That's why you're here, hoping that you'll have a release.

There is a smudge on the wall, next to a gutted cable box. You raise your hand and lean towards it until you touch. Blood to blood, the circuit completes. You can hear something deep in the machinery begin to whir, and you pull your fingers back.

The skin of your fingertips is left behind. You look at them, your fingers, and where you might expect blood is instead a swirling green void.

You are-- You are-- You are--

The hook catches. It pulls. That itch you've been feeling, it tugs.

And your skin tears. Not like paper. Not in neat strips. It starts off in a straight enough line from your fingertips to your wrist, but then the tear turns, and it becomes a rounded flake, taking off the back of your hand. It dissolves in green light that floats towards the back of the tunnel.

No matter. You aren't hooked in only one place, and you aren't tearing in only one place. There are green slivers all up and down your other arm, too, light spilling out as you try to unravel.

You think, there is something inside you, too, that is unraveling.

You are--

You are afraid. As afraid as you were the last time you were here.

The emptiness inside you is spilling out, shrugging out of your body shape as if it was a too-tight jacket. It reaches towards the walls of the portal, the metal surface reflecting it back. You, though, you don't shine brightly enough for that.

Speaking of clothes - yours don't fit right, anymore. They lay against emptiness and strain in places where a limb has split and bloomed.

You kneel. Or do something like kneeling. Long curls have drawn back from your feet, and they barely exist anymore.

It doesn't bother you as much as you think it should. If you still had hands, they'd be scratching, pulling your skin even further back.

There is a rift across your chest. Another working its way up your neck. The hooks pull, and you are only a few curls of skin collapsed on the floor, and then you are nothing.

The Fenton portal blooms into being, nestled in the pit that was made for it. It swirls and pulses, like a heart.

And Danny Fenton falls out.

Chapter 117

So.

You are bad at duplication.

It's a power you've wanted since you first saw Vlad do it. It would make your life, essentially, infinitely easier. At least, it would make it so that you weren't obviously missing class and sneaking out at night. It's one of the things that make you actually think about Vlad's offer... even if never thought about it seriously.

You want to learn it. You've tried to do it over and over again. You work at it. You practice. Usually, practicing a power makes it easier to use.

But all your other powers developed naturally. Spontaneously, even. Most of the time, they're harder to stop using when you first get them, much to your detriment.

Duplication, you're trying to force.

You've had some... accidents. Two heads. Arms that just keep going. Bodies that won't break off and just sort of flop around. Limbs that weren't legs or arms or anything, really. Hands with mouths in them and tongues that were covered in hair.

And that's just touching the surface of the problems you've had.

But you think - you hope - that you have a solution. Rather, you think that you've found a... stepping stone, of sorts. You're quite proud of the idea, actually.

You've noticed that a lot of ghosts have extra limbs or other body parts. When you try, and fail, to duplicate, you often wind up with extra body parts. If you can control that, if you can do that on purpose, you think you could slowly push past it, onto actual duplication. And who knows? Maybe it will be useful! Extra arms seem to work for Pandora, anyway.

You are sitting in your room. Your parents are away, investigating a haunted house. Jazz is in her room, listening to Vivaldi and working on homework.

This is as private as you can get.

You transform and close your eyes, trying to be more aware of what you're doing as you strain for the power that lets you duplicate. Or that you think will let you duplicate. Eventually.

You decide that you'll try for an extra pair of arms. You know what to do with arms, after all, and there's a place to put them, on your sides. You're much less sure how to manage things like extra eyes or legs.

You picture the extra arms in your mind and focus on the almost-duplicate that you're making. The fingers, the joints, how it links to your rib cage. You do not think that your pictures are particularly accurate to how it should work physically, but you're a ghost, or half of one. The precise logic of should-bes does not apply.

Your skin itches as ectoplasmic muscle and bone knits together underneath it. Your suit knits in a more literal way, expanding itself, black and silver, complete with gloves.

Then-- You struggle. It is too easy for the power to run away from you, making more than you wanted. More fingers, more hands, more elbows. You push back. Your victory isn't complete. At the end of the fight against your own powers, you have two extra sets of arms on your sides, and you feel as if you might have wound up with an extra vertebra in your spine, to compensate.

You look at them, turning your hands, all six of them, over and over. You seem to be able to control them alright, which hasn't been a given with other extra parts you've made while practicing duplication.

There is a loud sound from outside your room, and you reflexively shift back to human, worried that your parents are back early.

"Sorry!" calls Jazz. "Dropped a book."

You exhale in relief, and rub your eye with one hand while using the others to--

The others.

The others?

You stare at the several bare, human palms in front of you, all yours. You try to pull them back in, and can't even get hold of the power. Still not panicking, you shift into ghost form and try again. The extra arms waver slightly, as all of your limbs do, when you are purposefully shapeshifting them, but they do not go away.

So.

You are not only bad at duplication. You are absolutely atrocious at it.

Chapter 118

Summary:

From a tumblr prompt: If Danny couldn't access his ghost form outside of the ghost zone, would that make things less or more stressful for him?

Danny didn't realize he'd gotten powers from the accident at first.

Oh, he knew he had problems from the accident, but even when you've had a front-row seat to the opening of a portal to a maybe-afterlife, the first thing you think when you've just gotten a big electrical injury and you start feeling a tingling sensation in your hands and dropping things isn't 'superpowers,' it's nerve damage. Or, well, Danny was a teenager. He didn't think the words 'nerve damage,' he thought 'all that electricity screwed me up.'

And... that wasn't wrong, exactly, in retrospect. He was screwed up, and electricity was a big part of what had done that.

But the way it had screwed him up involved giving him superpowers.

Still, dropping things didn't tell him that. There were too many other explanations. Turning invisible didn't, either. He just thought he was hallucinating, or seeing things wrong out of the corners of his eyes, and, yes, in both cases, there was a lot of denial going on. He couldn't deny that.

Actually, he could, he was great at denial, when he wasn't denying that. It was just that he didn't want to right now.

Much.

But it was hard to deny falling through floors. Especially when your friends were right there to see it.

And then the Lunch Lady ghost showed up, and that was... Well, Danny's powers were weak and unreliable compared to what ghosts had, and he had no idea what he was doing, but his parents were always aimed somewhere else, and no one else was going to do it.

So. He did.

He got found out almost immediately. He hadn't been planning on fighting ghost crime, and he didn't have time to create any kind of alter-ego.

It was... weird. Very weird, everyone knowing about his powers and just... going about their lives the same as before. Sure, some people thought it was cool, and the bullies backed off a bit, but no one stopped him from fighting ghosts and no one reported him to the government or anything. They must have thought the same thing: who else was going to take care of the problem?

(And the ghost situation was definitely a problem.)

But that was all it was, for a while. Powers. Abilities. Special qualities gained in a lab accident. Classic origin story. Nothing to stress over. Nothing to worry about.

Danny was very good at denial, after all.

Then he fell through the portal for the first time and, suddenly, he was a ghost. Suddenly he was dead. Suddenly, he was having an existential crisis he'd been putting off for months.

And a huge, skull-faced man in a white suit was threatening him over Aunt Alicia's divorce gift.

Chapter 119

Summary:

Ghost hunger ficlet, non graphic, no cannibalism.

Everyone's been hungry before.

Not necessarily serious, starvation-type hunger. More like, waiting on breakfast in the morning type stuff. Forgetting your lunch at home. Having a late dinner because you forgot to get groceries and had to go to the store. Hunger like that. Hunger that you can work through, smile through, shrug off, delay, that you can forget about, if you're busy enough.

You're that kind of hungry. You've been that kind of hungry since the accident.

You thought it was a teenager thing, at first. People said stuff like that, that teenagers were always hungry, always snacking on things, always trying to get just a little more food, but that wasn’t meant to be taken literally, apparently. It helps that it is mostly constant. That unless it swells or recedes, you can tune it out. Get on with your day.

Your day, which usually consists of fighting multiple ghosts. Your day, which partially consists of being a ghost.

Your parents think ghosts feed on fear. You know Spectra and Bertrand fed on misery. Looking at someone (Sam, Tucker, Jazz, your parents, Mr. Lancer, your classmates, random people on the street) and thinking about exactly what the logistics of that would be makes you lose your appetite, if not your hunger.

There is ice in your heart, but a fire in your stomach, and it burns without stopping.

Sometimes, your parents leave ectoplasm samples in the fridge. You stare at them when you open the door. You imagine the beakers, the test tubes, the tiny sealed jars, clinking against your teeth.

You've gotten ectoplasm in your mouth before, and not just from splashing. You fight so many ghosts with so many different specialties in so many different ways that you can't exactly fight with Marquess of Queensbury rules or whatever. Not when you're the only thing standing between them and everyone in the city being turned into ducks or something equally insane. You kick. You wrestle. You use weaknesses. You bite.

You remember the taste.

You don't know if ectoplasm's the thing you're hungry for, but sometimes, you think about that taste. Sometimes you crave it. Sometimes, during a fight, you have to stop yourself from just biting, and biting, and biting.

But you aren't stupid. An idiot, sure. No one but a fool would have walked into an electrified portal to an afterlife full of monsters in order to impress their friends. But not stupid. Not even your parents know everything that's in those ectoplasm samples, not with certainty. At least, that was your takeaway from the ectopurifier incident and the emergency 'ham' and the ectoweenies and the-- Well, listing all of the different contamination incidents, even just the ones that took place in the fridge itself, would take all day.

You're hungry, but it's the kind of hunger that you can put off, the kind of hunger you can ignore. For now. Forever, maybe. Even when you clean the ectofiltrator and you watch thick, toxic green ectoplasm dripping off the filtration matrix like honey.

You could ask the ghosts, you think. You do wonder, sometimes, what would have happened if you took the Lunch Lady's first offered cookie. You think about the Dairy King and his cheese. You think about the 'wedding feast' Aragon set up when he kidnapped Sam, and you think--

But you've been surviving without all of that, haven't you? Surviving and thriving. It's not like you're starving, just hungry.

(It's Vlad you think of, who you can't imagine dealing well with constant hunger when he hasn't even managed to let go of his gross crush on your mother, who hates him more than she likes him.)

So, you step away from the fridge, the filtrator, the ghosts, and you eat a little bit more than you probably should whenever there's food that doesn't attack you, just to feel the walls of your stomach stretch.

It doesn't matter. You don't know if ghost food is safe for someone like you, someone halfway alive, to eat, anyway. There are stories about that, you're pretty sure. Something Greek.

Then, Vlad clones you, and there's someone else you can ask.

"Are you hungry?"

She looks at you with eyes that are the same as yours down to the tiny darker dot right under the pupil of your left eye. You're sitting at the Nasty Burger, the wrappers of four combo meals strewn around the table (may they rest in peace), so there's no mistaking the question.

"Always," she says, and you both decide to leave it at that.

Then it's the GIW, Sam's 'boyfriend,' Freakshow, Vlad again - and your life has always been crazy, but is it just you, or are humans starting to be more of a threat to you and yours than the ghosts?

It's not a comfortable thought, so in the lull you go exploring. Your friends humor you (they're great, Sam and Tucker, and you know what they'd say, if you told them about how you're hungry all the time, if you said anything about eating emotions, so you don't), probably because they're still guilty about stuff that wasn't their fault. You take advantage. You might be superhuman, but you're still human. You've got limits. You've got selfishness and greed and hypocrisy. It's all there, all the parts that make a person a person and not the graven image of a saint.

But your life is ridiculous, so you crash.

You meet Frostbite. You meet the Far Frozen. You meet a fan club that's about a thousand times more fanatical than the one one at Casper High - and this one doesn't even have people who bully you in it. It's flattering. And maybe a little creepy, sure, but you have a high tolerance for creepy. It comes with the territory.

So, you feed into it, lean into it, give Sam and Tucker silly nicknames and ride around on the shoulders of people who are only too happy to be your personal transport now and forever and sit down at a feast you have no intention of actually eating. None of the three of you do, to be fair. You've discussed your thoughts about eating the food of the dead with them. Instead, you smile and laugh and talk. It's easy.

You're always hungry. One skipped meal is basically nothing.

But the Far Frozen and Frostbite in particular are sharper-eyed than you gave them credit for.

"It won't hurt you, Great One," says Frostbite. When you look up, cocking an eyebrow in question, he continues. "The food. We may not look it, but our research into the medical field is unparalleled. We've even done extensive research into humans and half ghosts, like you!"

You stare at him, not really understanding.

"Eat, Great One."

"Is it really safe?" asks Sam. She's always been faster than you.

"We would be terrible hosts, to give you something that would harm you. It is safe."

You're hungry.

You've been hungry for a long, long time.

(It feels like it's been forever.)

You pick up a forkful of blue vegetables in an ectoplasm-green sauce and maneuver it, mechanically, into your mouth. You chew. You swallow.

And, you think, you want to cry.

 

Chapter 120

Honestly, Danny knew this would happen eventually. From a certain perspective, it had already happened. Twice. Or more. The containment cube in the basement. Redirecting Danny and Maddie to Colorado under false premises. Forcing Danny to fight Jazz. Taking him in order to harvest his DNA. The DNA harvesting and cloning in the first place.

So, yeah. The only surprise about this plan was that Vlad hadn't tried it earlier. That didn't make this situation any more convenient, or any less dangerous.

Vlad had kidnapped him. Spirited (haha) him away to some creepy mansion in the middle of nowhere that Danny had never been to before and fitted him with a shock collar that would deliver a ten-hour Plasmius Maximus dose every eight hours. It was a simple and frustratingly effective set up. Vlad didn't even have to lock him up to keep him from escaping. The mansion was far enough away from everything that Danny couldn't get help before Vlad swooped in, picked him up, and brought him back. Danny had tried hiding a few times, hoping that he could run out the batteries, but since then, Vlad had gloated about how the collar had built-in tracking devices and it was run on ectoplasmic batteries that could last for years. So. That was fun.

Danny's current plans involved either finding the right tools to dismantle the collar, or catching Vlad gloating about something that would give him a clue to escape. Currently, Vlad had also gloated about kidnapping Danny (no news there), how Danny would soon submit and become his son (in his dreams), how genius the overlapping the duration of the Plasmius Maximus was (compared to his strategy in Colorado, which had been 'wait til the last minute,' apparently), how the dedicated site portal and lab was under a solid floor with no doors in it so Danny couldn't phase through (annoying, but that was actually moderately clever), how Danny would thank him, once he came to his senses (not likely), and how Danny was healthier with Vlad than he had been in years (possibly true, although it would take more than a shock collar to get Danny to admit it).

Danny picked at his food with his fork. Thus far, he hadn't noticed Vlad putting anything in his food, and he did have to eat, but... He looked up at Vlad eating across the table. That sight didn't exactly lend itself to easy digestion.

Vlad, apparently, noticed Danny's gaze and looked up, an indulgent smile on his face.

"Now, now, son, don't play with your food. Otherwise, we'll have to do some extra etiquette training."

Danny returned a sickly smile and sank the fork into the steak. He knew from experience that his ghost half, and, presumably, Vlad's ghost half, could take a lot of punishment, losing limbs, getting impaled, dismembered, that kind of thing, all without permanent damage. But as for their human halves...

Well. Danny wondered what would happen if he sunk a fork into Vlad's heart.

Chapter 121

"Daddy."

"Nmmhhnh?" said Danny.

"Daddy." Something patted insistently against his cheek.

"Wha-- Wha's wrong, sweetie?" mumbled Danny, opening his eyes enough to see the colorful blur of Phoebe's pajamas.

"Daddy," said Phoebe, very seriously, her eyes reflecting light like silver coins, "I fthrew up."

"Oh no," said Danny, coming more awake. "Do you have a fever? Do you feel sick?" He levered himself up so he could reach out to touch her forehead. Her temperature seemed alright...

She batted his hand away, making a face. "No."

Well, that was good, at least. "Do you need a shower? Clean up? Toothbrush?"

"No," said Phoebe more forcefully. She hugged her teddy bear to her chest and glared at him the way she always did when he failed to guess what she wanted to say.

Which left... "Where did you throw up?" It was probably her bed. She had a sensitive stomach, so she did have a plastic liner under her fitted sheet. It made it easier to clean up, but she still couldn't sleep there if it was full of vomit.

"Baftroom," said Phoebe.

"Toilet? Sink? bathtub? Flo--"

"Toilet," said Phoebe. Ah, she'd definitely gotten that tone from her mother.

Holy ghosts, she was so cute.

"That's good then," said Danny, sitting up. He should probably check, of course, and get himself a little more awake to make sure that Phoebe was just having sensitive stomach troubles, and wasn't really sick. And make sure she brushed her teeth, because she definitely did need to do that if she threw up. "Let's go flush."

"It moved," said Phoebe.

"What?" asked Danny.

"It moved," repeated Phoebe.

There was a crash from the vicinity of the kitchen.

"Aw, man," said Danny. He looked at the clock. It was two twenty-four. "Phoebe, am I going to have to fight a vomit monster that was born in the toilet? In the kitchen?"

Phoebe patted Danny's knee with one hand. "Fight? Fwoom? Pleeeeeeeease?"

There was another crash. Danny cringed. So much for being a full adult who was able to take care of a three year old by himself for one night without wrecking the house.

"Daddy?" Phoebe patted his leg again. "Fwoom fwoom? Ghost?"

"Yup," said Danny, scooping her up. "We're going to go fight a ghost."

"Eeeee!" squealed Phoebe in excitement. She waved her teddy bear around, and it hit Danny squarely in the face. "Fwoom fwoom!"

"Fwoom fwoom," agreed Danny. He went ghost, and the rings sweeping over him did indeed make a soft fwoom sound.

Phoebe shrieked and giggled. She couldn't transform on her own yet - something that everyone was glad of - but she had her own ghost form: long hair that always covered her face, eerie, glowing white eyes, and a full set of adult teeth in a mouth that could open much too wide.

She was, by any standards but especially Danny's, extremely cute.

Danny checked to make sure he was holding her securely, then powered up an ectoblast. "Let's show that vomit monster what's what, huh?"

"Whatswah!"

Chapter 122: yet

Notes:

Not really a complete story in and of itself, but I haven't quite worked out what to do with it. Might reuse it later, but for now, enjoy this snippet.

Jazz hurtled through the doors of Long Now, having thrown herself at them a moment before.  Her shoulder throbbed with pain, but she brought the bazooka up to her shoulder.  There was no one directly in front of her, so she swept the gun to either side, searching, hunting, finding.  

Clockwork regarded her with amused red eyes, totally unconcerned by the enormous gun pointed directly at his chest.  

“Hello, Jasmine,” said Clockwork.  

“Where’s Danny?” demanded Jazz.  

“Goodness.  No small talk?”

A muscle in Jazz’s jaw jumped, and she resisted the urge to pull on the trigger.  This wasn’t the first place she’d looked.  If Long Now hadn’t appeared in her path, out of nowhere, she might not have even thought to come here.  She’d only heard of Clockwork the once.  But now that she had thought of it…  

“Where.  Is.  Danny?  What did you do with him?”

Clockwork tsked.  “Let us conduct ourselves in a more civilized manner, hm?  Come, sit with me.”

Jazz abruptly found herself sitting at a small table covered in a white tablecloth.  A tiered platter of small pastries sat next to a tea set complete with a steaming teapot.  Clockwork reached over to the teapot, picked it up, and started pouring.  One cup for himself, one cup for Jazz.  

“I do not,” said Clockwork, “think you entirely understand what your brother is.”

Jazz’s bazooka was gone.  She reached for her backup blaster.  It was gone, too.  

“Daniel, in a very genuine sense, is a monster.”

“Shut up,” said Jazz, slamming her hands on the table and kicking back the chair.  

“Please do calm yourself,” said Clockwork, taking a sip of his tea.  “I did not say that he was evil, malicious, or even dangerous.”

Jazz didn't have time for this.  “Where is he?”

Clockwork sighed.  “So impatient.”

Jazz’s fingers curled in the tablecloth and the teaspoons jingled as it pulled the tea set closer.  “If you’ve done anything to hurt him– If you do anything to hurt him–”

“I have not,” said Clockwork, adjusting his saucer, “and I will not.”

“No, you're just going to kidnap him and call him a monster.”

“He came quite willingly,” said Clockwork.  He put down his teacup and sighed.  “Daniel is an outlier among outliers, a freak of nature, though not unnatural.”

“So what?” demanded Jazz.  Her eyes felt hot, and she wondered if this was what Danny felt like when he was so angry his eyes glowed.  “That doesn't give you the right to take him.”

“Please, Jasmine, I am trying to explain.”

“Then do it.  Without going around in circles.”  

“Very well,” said Clockwork.  “Daniel is not human.  He is not progressing through the usual stages of a human life, and never will, but he is changing.  He is being brought to a place where he may change safely, and in peace.”

That still wasn’t enough information.  “Where?” 

“His grave.”

“What?” 

“There are few places safer for a ghost,” said Clockwork, apparently unconcerned.  “Or for what Daniel is becoming.”

“Danny doesn’t have a tomb.  He doesn’t have a– a corpse.”  She was sure of this.  He would have told her, when he found out she knew.  

Clockwork smiled serenely.  “Yet.”

Chapter 123

It wasn't often that Jack and Maddie destroyed an entire room while hunting ghosts or testing weapons - it only happened a few times a year - but it did happen, and it was always inconvenient.  Replacing furniture was always difficult, not to mention everything else that was in the room.

Jazz stopped a few paces into the thrift store and sighed.  “You look for mirrors.  I'll get hooks and hairdryers and a soap dish and towels and… everything else.”

“Okay,” said Danny, unenthusiastically.

“Try to find something we can hang up easily.”  She sighed again.  “Mom and Dad had better be at the hardware store getting a new sink and shower head, or I'm going to scream.”

“I just hope they don't try to ghost-proof it.”

“Yeah, you're gross enough when you wash your hands regularly.”

Luckily, the destruction of the upstairs bathroom had avoided the toilet, so they didn't have to worry about that, and the downstairs and master bathrooms were still fine.  Fixing the bathroom wasn’t an emergency.  

Except that Danny used it to check over the injuries he picked up as Phantom.  He could do that stuff in his room, but it was easier to get blood and ectoplasm off the floor of the bathroom, and having water on hand was useful.  Plus, his Dad still sometimes just burst into his room.  Neither of his parents burst into the bathroom.  

Unless someone shouted ‘ghost!’   That was different.  

Jazz walked off, striding purposefully into the store.  Danny took longer to orient himself.  He could never remember exactly where anything in the store was.  The layout was confusing, and seemed to change every time he was there.  Not in a supernatural way, but in a ‘there’s a lot of junk in this store and what junk is there is always changing’ way.  

He walked slowly through the narrow corridors, looking for the alcove that had mirrors.  He got turned around a few times, getting sidetracked into the part of the store that was more dedicated to expensive antiques and jewelry than inexpensive and gently used home goods.  

Eventually, he found it.  Most of them were standalone, full length mirrors, but there were several hung on the peg board dividers around the alcove.  He walked over to them, to see them better, then paused, feeling all the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.  

He looked around, trying to figure out what was making him feel like that.  Usually, anything strange that happened around him or to him was ghost related.  But his ghost sense wasn’t going off.  Could there be something haunted or cursed in here?  Could one of the mirrors here be like Poindexter’s mirror?

His eyes fell on the mirror nearest him.  It reflected him… and also a long tunnel of mirrors, growing dim with distance.  He turned, looking behind him, finding the mirror that was facing the one he was standing in front of.  He met his own eyes, which abruptly flashed green.  

The surface of the mirror wavered, warped, and seemed to stretch forward, towards Danny.  Dizzy, Danny took a step back, and fell through a cool, smooth surface, like water.  

He hit the ground in ghost form, all the breath knocked out of his lungs.  It was smooth and cold under his gloves.  He pushed himself up.  There were corridors of glass, panes of them, leading in all directions, faint reflections shimmering over their surfaces, or around their edges.  The distance was dim and green.  Light was strange here.  

He… couldn’t see the way he’d come in.

Jazz was going to be so annoyed.  

Chapter 124

Clockwork’s garden was beautiful.  A work of art, even.  One maintained by a ghost who had thousands of years to improve his hobby.  Not only did the plants progress from one season to the next, from one stage of life to the next as one moved from section to section.  

Danny wasn’t supposed to go off the paths.  

There were dangers, he’d been told.  No specific ones had been listed, but still, when Clockwork said there was danger, there was danger.  

But Danny was in a hurry getting from point A, point B.  It was something that, in retrospect, hadn’t been that important, especially when Clockwork could just rewind if things were that important.   

Instead of following the winding, maze-like pathways, which seemed to change every time he tried to navigate the garden, he decided to fly up and over the plants.  Rather, he tried to fly up and over the plants.  They stretched up around him, seeming to grow to meet his path. 

He flinched backwards, and something sharp cut into the back of his right leg.  Something rustled threateningly, and Danny’s viewpoint tilted dangerously.  He tried to course correct, but he crashed into the ground.  

At least it was soft.  He flopped over onto his back to stare up at the spiralling green sky.  It didn’t help with his vertigo.  He squeezed his eyes shut and curled his hands in the soft ground cover beneath his fingers.  What was it?  Not grass, he didn’t think.  It was too spongy and stringy.  Moss?  

Whatever it was, it wasn’t the path, which meant he’d probably get scolded.  Clockwork didn’t yell, not like his mom, and he didn’t cross his arms and loom like his dad, but his raised eyebrow and sardonic commentary was almost as bad.  

He should’ve just stayed on the path.  Ugh.  On the other hand, if Clockwork had told him that would happen, he never would’ve tried to fly over.  

Feeling a bit more settled, he opened his eyes and sat up.  Little bits and pieces of the pallid moss underneath him stuck to the parts of his suit that had been in contact with it.  The moss looked like a mass of white and almost transparent threads, each fraying into tiny leaves and flowers.  

Danny grimaced.  He hoped he hadn’t damaged it too much, and that it wasn’t too important.  He’d had too much experience with making friends mad by destroying their plants.  

He looked around.  The patch of moss he was lying on was surrounded and shadowed by trees, dappled with light.  The bit of sky Danny had been watching earlier was tiny, smaller than his palm at arm’s length.  

What had scratched him?  He looked around.  The roses, maybe?

He couldn’t see the path.  He hadn’t thought he’d flown that far, but distances could get weird in the Ghost Zone.  

He shook his head and stood up, then stumbled, slipping on the moss.  Somehow, some of it had stuck to his leg without breaking, and the snag had taken him off guard.  

The cut on his leg had already healed, but maybe the ectoplasm had gotten it stuck.  Not thinking much of it, he reached down to pull it off.  He touched the moss, then stilled.  He… what?  What was that?  

He ran his finger down one of the threads of moss.  He could feel that.  That was…  That felt weird.   He gave it an experimental tug.  

That wasn’t just something stuck on the surface of his suit.  That was something deeper, attached to his leg.  He tugged a bit harder.  That tug felt like a hook in his muscle, and… something else.  

Had the cut on his leg healed around the bit of moss?  He hadn’t thought it was all that deep.  

What was he supposed to do about this?  It couldn’t be healthy to have random bits of foliage in his body.  Didn’t people get infections and stuff from stuff like that?  Like, this was Danny’s ghost form, not his human form, so he probably wouldn’t die or anything…  Unless sicknesses on this side carried over to his human side.  He knew it could sometimes go the other way, but he didn’t really get sick as a ghost.  

Or maybe it’d be more like a splinter, and work itself out.  That was also a thing that happened.  

He briefly tried phasing it out.  It didn’t work, but he didn’t expect it to.  

For some reason, he was weirdly reluctant to break the thread of moss, but he couldn’t just stay here, staring at it.  He’d break it, go to Clockwork, do what he’d come for, and then go to the Far Frozen to get it checked out.  

Or not.  He didn’t know how long Clockwork’s thing would take, and it wasn’t like it hurt or anything.  Much.  When he wasn’t messing with the thing.  

Heck, maybe his body would reabsorb it, even.  

Danny twisted to get a better look at what was going on where the moss met the black fabric of his suit and failed to become any more enlightened that he had been a minute ago.  He sighed, took the thread between his index finger and thumb as close to his leg as he could, then pulled.

Pain radiated up his calf to the back of his knee and down it to his ankle, nerve endings alight.  It was like the thing had put down roots in his flesh.  He hissed, bouncing on his other leg as the rest of his skin tingled weirdly.  

The pain pulsed, and he might have sworn a few times.  

Crap.  What if it had put down roots?  He didn’t know how fast these plants grew.  There were still places in Amity Park that looked like they belonged in a jungle, leftovers from Undergrowth’s invasion, and those had popped up literally overnight.  

If that one had put down roots… He brushed at the little bits and pieces still clinging to his suit.  They didn’t come off.  He seized on between his fingertips and tried to pull.  The radius of pain was different, it didn’t feel as deep, but it was there, and the thread of moss didn’t even break.  

The one attached to his leg hadn’t broken, either.  That was sort of insulting, honestly.  He’d been trying a lot harder with that one, since he didn’t know it’d hurt.  

This was… less good than he’d initially thought.  Why did Clockwork even have this stuff?  Why was it doing this?  Was it a venus fly trap situation where it’d try to eat him?  

Was it just him, or was the thread thicker?  Were there more filaments growing towards him?  Was his suit around the thread puckering outward?  What was it doing?

He took a deep breath and held it.  There was no need to panic.  Yet.  Panicking wouldn’t help.  There were still things he could try.  

But this didn't look good.  These things were growing fast.  

He was reluctant to try transforming.  He would bet that his human form wouldn’t deal with random roots growing through him nearly as well as his ghost half did. That would have to be a last resort.  

Ice, on the other hand, didn’t have that downside.  He brought it to the surface of his skin with a thought, then directed it downward, the better to kill the plants.  Clockwork would be mad, but Danny was done with the whole situation.  

The threads didn’t break, and, actually, Danny felt…  He felt something under the ground.  He felt it spreading out, and…

And he really shouldn’t.  Not like that.  He could feel the ice as if he were underground and freezing.  

Could it be…?  No.  That was ridiculous.  But then, so much of what happened in Amity Park and the Ghost Zone was ridiculous.  

Experimentally, he prodded the exposed part of the moss, the part that wasn’t drawing parts of his suit down along it, gently running his finger up and down its length.  

He did feel it, like it was somehow hooked into his nerves.

That couldn’t be good.  

He shifted, trying to get a better look at the moss, and realized that several strands of moss had grown up through the soles of his boots.  Crap.  Crap.  That was bad.  He was going to say this was bad.  

Maybe– Maybe he could just cut it.  Make a shard of ice sharp enough and sheer through.  Do it fast.  

He shifted again, noting how stiff his knee felt.  How stiff all of the joints near where the moss was growing felt.  Stiff, but oddly twitchy.  Like it wanted to move in a certain direction and then stay there.  

Also not good.  

He formed a razor-edged sliver of ice in his hand and swallowed.  This was going to suck.  

He bent forward, and had to strain.  His one leg didn’t want to bend at all, and his other ankle was very uncooperative.  He placed the edge of the ice against the biggest of the roots, swallowed again, then cut.  

His vision briefly went white with pain, but he forced himself to stay upright.  He had to cut his feet free, next.  

With how much it hurt, Danny was almost convinced he was cutting off his own toes.  Almost.  The ‘nerves’ in the moss, or whatever mechanism it was that let him feel it, didn’t properly map to his body.  His brain wasn’t sure where they were.  That made it a bit easier.  

Feet free, Danny took off and crashed again.  This time, luckily, outside the clearing of moss.  

Yes.  He’d sort of forgotten that effect, all of the plants rising up and blocking him.  At least he hadn’t collided with the moss again.  He pulled off the ground.  Maybe it would’ve been better to say that he pulled out of the ground.  He had to uproot a few enterprising strands of moss.  Or– was it moss, at this point?  It still had little fluffy leaves and flowers, but it was looking more like vines, like this, or gnarled roots, where they dangled off his boots.  

His boots were starting to look more than a little root-like, too, with the way the material twisted to follow the strands of moss.  The ones that were higher up tended to stick closer to his body.  

He walked forward, stiffly.  His legs felt like boards.  He had to keep moving, otherwise he might freeze up.  

He tripped over one of the roots and struggled to his feet.  He tripped again.  His right foot was firmly rooted, stuck in the ground.  

Then, with that pause in forward movement, so was his left one.  He couldn’t bend far enough to cut them free.  

Maybe he should panic now.  

The fabric of his pants was taking on a new, bark-like texture.  Short branches and flowers sprouted from his shoulders, and his arms twitched up, up, higher and higher until they were stretched over his head like branches themselves.  His head tilted back, against his will.  

He stayed like that for a while, leaves and branches growing from his skin.  

“Oh, Daniel,” said Clockwork, gloved hands reaching from behind Danny to touch the sides of his face.  “I did tell you not to go off the path.”