Danny Phantom Ectoberweek

Luckily, the festival was in swing inside just as much as it was outside.  Besides the guards, servants were bustling all around, carrying food, plates, chairs, and even some tables, and there were more noble-looking ghosts - many more than Danny remembered from when Aragon was in charge - dressed in sparkling gold, yellow, orange, and white, with tiny highlights of other colors, flashing rubies, shining green eyes, a ribbon of deepest purple–  They were all loud and smiling and moving.  

But as overwhelming as the crowd was in the hallways of the castle, it also meant that there were plenty of people to ask for directions.  So, in no time at all, he was sitting in Dora’s solar, a high room with large windows and lots of plants.  

Dora looked much the same as she had the last time he’d seen her.  Green skin, long yellow hair, red eyes, and an elegant gown.  She was a beautiful ghost with nothing obviously draconic about her.  

However, today she was wearing gold.  Whole panels of her dress seemed to be made of woven gold threads - which couldn’t be comfortable - and the rest was a kind of pale goldenrod color that caught in the buttery light coming through the other windows.  Like the other nobles, her skin and hair glittered with it, and the golden crown she was wearing seemed especially elaborate, her hair braided around and through it.  

She directed Danny to sit, tell her why he’d come, and then to tell her what he already knew about gold ages– Then, she laughed.  

It was a nice sort of laugh, he didn’t feel like she was making fun of him at all, but he was still rather put out about it.  

“Oh, dear, Sir Phantom,” she said, hiding her mouth behind a polite hand, “I’m not laughing at you.  Only, it’s very clear that your friends among the Far Frozen are rather isolated during gold ages.  That’s a terribly simplified way to think about it.”  She sobered slightly.  “On the other hand, they are correct that my brother destroyed many of the records from before his reign, so I cannot tell you about a great many gold ages.  Only the ones I experienced myself, and some small samples of lore.”

“That’s okay,” said Danny.  “I’ve never been great at history, so even if you did have all that, I probably wouldn’t be able to do much with it.”

Dora raised an eyebrow.  “Forgive me, Sir Phantom, but are you not a regular visitor to Lord Clockwork?  That would suggest that your relationship to history is rather closer than that of most.”

“That’s more of a ‘he bails me out sometimes’ relationship, rather than a ‘I do useful stuff for him’ relationship, to be honest.”  He had done a few errands for Clockwork, but considering that the guy could control time, create portals, and, vitally, use duplicates.  He didn’t really need Danny’s help.  

“I see,” said Dora.  “Even so, if you want to know more than the little I do, you would do well to visit him.”

“Frostbite said that, too,” said Danny.  

“Ah, then you see I am right.  Now, you have said your piece, and have given you little refreshment other than tea.  Let me rectify that.”  She made a gesture, and servants with platters of food literally crawled out of the woodwork to place their burdens on the table.  Dora nodded at Danny.  “Take what you would like, Sir Phantom.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  “I couldn’t.”  Although he had to admit, the confection that looked like caramel apples coated in gold foil was certainly tempting.  

“Are you worried it will change you?” asked Dora.  

“Not really,” said Danny, making a face.  “Frostbite told me enough for me to know that it’s probably inevitable, but I’d like it to be slow.  Or Frostbite would, anyway.  He’s said that he’ll keep being my doctor until we can’t stand to be around one another anymore, and I’ve got some health concerns.”  He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.  

Truthfully, if it weren’t for Sam, Tucker, and even Jazz being of the opinion that half dead and a dragon wasn’t all that much weirder than just being half dead, he would be genuinely and truly freaking out right now.  Even with that, the whole thing about the change affecting his human form was scaring him…  He just didn’t want to admit that to Dorathea, and had practiced saying so in the mirror this morning until the words came smoothly.  

(What?  Sam thought she was cool.  Sam didn’t think anyone was cool.)

She didn’t seem to believe him.  Well.  Crud.  

“Hm,” said Dorathea.  “Regardless, you have come to me for information, and you shall have it.  What Chief Frostbite told you is not completely wrong, but there are several kinds of gold age, and it is fairly unusual to find one in which all ghosts become draconic, although they exist.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” said Dora.  “There have even been ages where blob ghosts become dragons.  Or so I’ve heard.  I’ve never witnessed it myself.  More commonly, only intelligent ghosts become fully draconic, with more intelligent, more powerful dragons becoming larger and stronger dragons than weaker ones.”  She waggled her fingers, then selected a bonbon with a perfectly smooth square of gold foil adorning the whipped cream on top of it to pop into her mouth.  “Such ages are somewhat inconvenient, I must admit.  There is a strong draconic instinct to claim territory and other valuables, so most dragons become quite isolated, living alone in their lairs with their hoards and eating as much gold ectoplasm and unintelligent ghosts as they can while patrolling their territories.”

“That sounds pretty boring,” said Danny.  “But, dragon hoards are golden ectoplasm?  Not real gold?”

“It’s real enough, while it lasts,” said Dora, shrugging.  “Some of it even stays, when the age turns again.”

“And dragons eat it?”

“It helps maintain ectoplasm levels.  When one is so large, there is a limit to how much you can absorb from the air, and much of the ectoplasm in the air condenses in gold ages.”  She pinched a flake of gold from the air.  “As you can see.  During a gold age, most ghosts must eat something to maintain themselves.”

“Oh, okay,” said Danny.  That made Frostbite’s comment about tasty sheep make more sense.  

“Now, as to your earlier comment, it isn’t all boring.  My people still find such ages rather enjoyable.  Even with territorial instincts, we are able to cooperate more than most others, and there are a great many things to do as a dragon that might otherwise be rather difficult, such as exploring dangerous ruins.”

“So… dragons go into dungeons…?”

“Rarely dungeons,” said Dorathea, “but areas that are not as dangerous to a large, armored creature as a small, squishy one.”  She shrugged, elegantly.  “But, all things considered, perhaps it is a good thing that such ages do not last long.  The one I experienced lasted for only a few decades.”

“But that’s not the only kind of gold age, is it?”

“Not at all.  In some ages, other ghosts become creatures like manticores, sphinxes, hydras and the like.  Not us here, of course - we are too closely associated with dragons.”

“Of course,” echoed Danny.

“The mixture does let us have a greater amount of society, which is appreciated,” she made a little face.  “Or so I’ve heard.  I confess I’ve only heard of such ages second-hand.”

“It does make sense, though,” said Danny.  

“Quite,” said Dora.  “Then, there are ages where although most become somewhat draconic, or reptilian, few become dragons outright, with the lesser ones organizing around the greater ones, so as to provide for themselves more effectively.  Such lesser draconics do not agitate territorial instincts as much, and they find that they have need of the greater dragons to protect them and their harvests.”

“Harvests?”

“Because ghosts need more sustenance than the air alone can give them,” said Dora, “so we need to act somewhat as we did while alive, and extract good from the earth.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Danny.  “You did mention that, sorry.  That sounds a bit feudal?”

Tucker froze.

Every last muscle in his body locked up as the light flooded his bedroom—revealing him.

Danny. Danny Fenton. His best friend. The one they buried.

The one Tucker watched die.

Danny stood casually against the wall, arms loosely crossed like this was some normal after-school hangout. His pitch black hair a little messy, his posture slouched in that infuriatingly familiar way—alive. And yet… not.

Tucker’s chest tightened. He inhaled, but no air reached his lungs. His vision tunneled as he stared and stared and stared—waiting for this cruel hallucination to flicker out.

But the dead don’t flicker.

“Tuck?” Danny tilted his head, brow creasing. “It’s okay if you don’t want me here. I get it.”

Tuck.

Nobody else… called him that.

A sharp tremor ran through Tucker’s hands. His glasses slid down his nose as his jaw began to wobble—he couldn’t wrench his gaze away, couldn’t breath, couldn’t think.

“Yyy—you—“ His voice cracked. “It’s not… not possible you’re here. You’re supposed to be… dead.” He whispered the last word.

Danny blinked slowly, puzzled—almost like he was hurt. “Why not? I mean, it’s not like I’m really dead dead. They just… keep me there. To stay safe, they say. But I don’t want that anymore. I’m done with that cold bed.”

Cold bed. Cold earth. A coffin.

Tucker’s stomach heaved.

“I—I saw you,” he whispered—a raw, shredded confession. “I saw you dying in front of me. Do you even understand the meaning of death, Danny?”

Danny’s mouth parted—confused, searching—like a kid trying to solve a puzzle too dark to look at.

“But I didn’t die,” he insisted softly, lifting a hand to his chest as if checking for a heartbeat he wasn’t sure existed. “I was just… numb. Limp. Whatever. If I really died, I wouldn’t be here talking to you. Right?”

His hand dropped—lifelessly. His ocean eyes held something hollow and frostbitten. Something wrong.

Tucker’s heartbeat slammed against his ribs, frantic and painful. Cold sweat dampened his spine. His knees buckled once, twice—and gave out entirely. He collapsed forward, glasses skidding across the floor as his head hit the carpet. The last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him was a flash of light and Danny rushing toward him with a flare of panic—and… hands that looked just a shade too pale to belong to the living.

Tucker’s world went silent and cold.

“Tucker!”

Danny lunged forward just as Tucker’s knees buckled, but he wasn’t fast enough. His friend crumpled to the floor in a heap—glasses sliding away, breath knocked clean out of him.

A sick jolt tore through Danny’s chest—panic? Or that strange burn that flickered under his ribs whenever the world tilted wrong. Whatever it was, it surged like a half-formed transformation he didn’t quite understand.

He dropped to his knees beside Tucker, hands hovering uselessly for a second too long.

Why did Tucker look so… breakable? Why did everyone? As if their bones were made of paper and the world was constantly one shove from shattering them.. Of course it wasn’t normal. Of course they thought he was dead. But he wasn’t fucking dead.

“You’re such a weak idiot,” Danny muttered under his breath, voice taut and brittle. The words came out harsher than intended—defense mechanism, old instinct. “Dammit. I should’ve gone to Sam instead.”

But even as he spoke, Danny’s fingers trembled.

He slipped one hand under Tucker’s shoulder, the other grasping his limp arm to pull him onto his side—like he remembered from… somewhere. A memory that felt stitched together by someone else’s hands.

Tucker didn’t react.

His skin was warm, burning compared to Danny’s cold touch. Too cold. Tucker’s warmth seeped into him like something he shouldn’t have lost.

Danny flinched. He swallowed hard, throat aching with a pressure that wasn’t breathing, not really—a mimicry his body hadn’t relearned yet. His heart—or whatever that pulsed inside him—thrashed weakly against his ribs.

“I—I’m sorry,” he whispered underneath his breath. The apology shook as it escaped his lips. “This wasn’t supposed to go like… like this.”

He slid an arm beneath Tucker’s back and lifted—too fucking easy. It was like lifting a pillow.

Had Tucker always been this… light? Or was Danny stronger now?

Or too dead?

Cautiously, he settled Tucker on the bed, adjusting his limbs so he didn’t look so lifeless. Danny rushed a thumb against Tucker’s forehead—an old habit, checking for fever like Jazz used to do to him—

Except… Tucker shivered at the cold.

Danny snatched his hand back, guilt biting sharp.

“It won’t happen again,” he murmured, even though he wasn’t sure he believed it. His voice cracked, and he hated that. “I’m sorry so sorry, Tuck.”

Tucker didn’t stir.

Dannt’s fingers curled into fists—nails digging into his palms. The room pressed onto him, the heat, the posters, the dust—even that stupid fake caramel apple they’d won at the carnival once. All screaming alive in a way he couldn’t replicate. Not anymore.

His breathing felt fake and forced and stuttered. Panic spiraled.

He couldn’t stay. He wasn’t supposed to be seen. Wasn’t supposed to be here.

Before he could think it through—before more apologies could rot on his tongue—Danny stepped backward and let the gravity slip away from him. His body blurred into ectoplasm and light, phasing effortlessly through the ceiling and insulation and rooftop.

Cold air hit him like a slap.

And Danny shot upward, into the night sky—leaving warmth behind.

Leaving Tucker.

Leaving the truth he wasn’t ready to face.

⟢ I could’ve made this longer, but I didn’t. My brain is still kind of fried, being hit with a writer’s block. But at least, I try. Right? And that’s what matters, I guess.

⟢ I had actually no inspiration what to do with this prompt and who the “he” should be. Maybe I didn’t understood the assignment yet again LMAO. I could’ve made this more interesting I think… pfft.

⟢ Two POV’s, we love doing that. Don’t we? Yup!

October 25

👻 Forgetting

👻 After the dissection, there were parts of him everywhere, organs divided into jars of formaldehyde and stored haphazardly, scattered across the lab. It was gonna take ages to put him back together.

October 26

👻 Radiation

👻 Don’t just stand there. Run.

October 27

👻 Caramel Apple

👻 Danny's body always waits for him when he gets home. He wonders who keeps digging it up.

October 28

👻 Anti-Creep Stick

👻 Flashes of red. Hands on her throat.

October 29

👻 Polaroid

👻 Every ghost has a death day and party with fellow ghosts to "celebrate it." Now Danny must attend his own fun Deathday party!

October 30

👻 Dead Air

👻 Danny didn’t think those were real. Sure, he fought ghosts everyday, but this was different.

October 31

👻 Harvest

👻 "I’m not a ghost.” “No, you are something far more interesting, aren’t you?”

“Generally, I would recommend you to the Kingdom of Mattingly.  They enjoy gold ages greatly in that Realm.  However, considering Prince Aragorn's proclivities, it would not surprise me if their records were as incomplete as our own, and they are unlikely to be objective when recounting the virtues and flaws of such ages.  I understand you are acquainted with the Master of Time?”

“Clockwork?  Yeah.”

“He will likely be the most objective raconteur, and one whose protection may be valuable, should this prove to be one of the more complex iterations of the age.”

Danny made a face at the idea of needing protection, but said, “You mean, if it's not just dragons?”

“Precisely.  I have no doubt you would hold your own as a dragon, or even as a knight, but it is possible you may be forced into a different archetype.  On the other hand,” Frostbite continued, “should that be the case, I, or others of the Far Frozen, would be more than pleased to welcome you.”

“Um,” said Danny, not entirely sure what that meant.  The Far Frozen was pretty welcoming to him already, weren’t they?  “Thanks?”

“Of course, Great One.”  He turned his gaze back to the ice sculptures.  “I believe that we have been distracted enough that little good will come of continuing.  Shall we return to the village for some cold chocolate?  I believe it may do you some good.”

.

“That’s really weird,” said Tucker.  “The Ghost Zone is really weird.  Or should we call it the Dragon Zone now?”

Sam made a face.  “Isn’t that the name of a TV show…?”

“No idea,” said Danny, “to either of those things.  Hold up, I’ve spotted something.”  

He zoomed off and had a brief fight with a rather blobby lizard.  By the time he returned, the thermos just that much fuller, Sam and Tucker had gotten into a rather intense discussion about what kind of dragon Danny would be.  

“You know,” said Danny, “there’s not even a guarantee that I will be a dragon.  Or that the next age is even going to be gold.  Frostbite told me that sometimes the colors change partway through the shift, or sometimes it just stops and goes back.”

“Sure,” said Tucker.  “But, hypothetically, if you do get zapped by weird ectoplasm radiation that turns you into a dragon, what color of dragon do you think you’d be?”

“Uh,” said Danny, looking down at his suit.  “Black?”

“No, no,” said Tucker, “black dragons are chaotic evil.  You know this.”

“They’re usually chaotic evil,” countered Danny.  “Besides, this isn’t Dungeons and Dragons,” he continued, rather wistfully.  “It’d be cool to do some of the stuff they can do in there.  Like the shapeshifting.”

“You can shapeshift, though,” said Sam.  “You shapeshift all the time.”

“Well, yeah,” said Danny.  “But I mean, back into this me.  If I wind up being a dragon.”  And, although he hadn’t mentioned it to Sam and Tucker, Frostbite was a bit worried about how a big change to his ghost form might affect his human form.  Maybe that wouldn’t be as much of a big deal if he could shapeshift.

“Huh, point,” said Sam.  “Do you think that the dragons will be able to get through the portal?  If the dragons are bigger than ghosts, I mean.”

“Hope not,” said Danny, fervently.  “It’d be cool to have a calm year or two, after all this.”

.

By the time Danny was able to take enough time to visit Mattingly, flakes of gold drifted through the Ghost Zone sky like snowflakes, coming to rest in drifts on the islands– all sides of islands, because gravity was still inconsistent in the Ghost Zone.  

(Danny really should ask if there was a proper name for the Ghost Zone when the ghosts were dragons, or if it should still be called the Ghost Zone.  Since they were all still ghosts.  Weren’t they?)

In some places, the islands looked gilded.  In others, it looked like they’d had a bunch of glitter dumped on them.  

The gold gathered on Danny, too.  It didn’t stick, but like any glitter, it was impossible to completely brush off.  

The glow of the Zone behind Mattingly was yellower than usual, like a setting sun, and the light glinted off the tall towers and proudly snapping banners, all of them lined with gold.  The island seemed livelier than usual, and– Larger, perhaps?  Yes.  It was larger than when Danny last saw it, and there were colorful tents set up all around the castle, as if in preparation for a festival.  

As he got closer, Danny realized that there was no as if.  People here were celebrating, shouting toasts to the turning of the age, selling dragon-shaped tokens, embroidered handkerchiefs, fair food, smearing handfuls of gold on their faces, brushing it into their hair, forging it into larger objects in small crucibles and forges, or even by hand, with ghost powers.  Almost everyone he saw was smiling, beaming, even, and the main topic of conversation was what, exactly, the new age would be like.  

It was nice to see people so excited about it.  Well, the Far Frozen was excited, too, but in a notably different way.  They were making preparations for scattering, for not seeing each other regularly for what might be hundreds of years.  Here, they were coming together.  

Danny wove through the crowds, watching the festivities with curiosity, but politely rejecting things like mead full of floating golden flakes, pastries dusted with the same, and an offer to paint his face with gold and silver powders.  He was looking for people he knew.  He hadn’t seen any so far, which wasn’t too surprising, since he’d only been able to visit Mattingly a handful of times after Sam’s kidnapping.  

He’d probably have to go up to the castle.  Hopefully, they’d recognize him and let him in, even if they were busy with the festival down here.

On the way up, he let himself be distracted by a few carnival games, and found that they were much easier than similar games back on Earth.  He wondered if that meant carnival games back home really were rigged, or if his abilities were just that much better in ghost form.  Either way, he won a medium-sized stuffed dragon and a handful of candies, which he passed off to some watching ghost children (he didn’t trust the glittery bits in them), playing things like the ring toss.  

But, eventually, he did manage to present himself at the castle gates, stuffed dragon tucked under his elbow.  Could he have flown over the wall?  Yes, but that seemed rude, especially when he was asking for a favor.  

He stepped up to the heavily armored ghost standing at the gate.  “Um, hi!” he said.  He hadn’t decided what he would say.  Definitely an oversight, now that he thought about it.  

“Sir Phantom,” said the guard in a gravely voice, floating to one side.  “We had word you had arrived.  The Queen is expecting you in the solar.”

“Oh!” said Danny.  “Thanks.”