#phantomphangphucker

The greenhouse -the one that Sam had put in a very aggressively worded petition for- behind Casper High has never looked so… sentient. Vines creep where vines have no business creeping, ferns lean in like gossiping neighbours, a sunflower rotates its head with unsettling attentiveness; the air itself smells like damp soil and something faintly electric. At the center of it all ‘stands’ UnderGrowth, towering, vine-skinned, eyes glowing a violent red. A chalkboard has been dragged in, though the chalk had been replaced by a twisting tendril that writes by scratching into the board.

Sam’s sitting in the front row, looking absolutely thrilled; no real surprise there. Everyone else looks like they are attending their own funerals; which honestly? reasonable, it was weird that this little lecture was even allowed to happen at all.

UnderGrowth drags his vine across the board, carving deep grooves, ‘ECTO-BOTANY & BIOLOGICAL DOMINANCE 101: AND WHY YOU ARE THE PROBLEM’, he turns slowly, like a tree deciding to become a storm. Hissing faintly, “leeeet us begin”. A vine snaps out, yanking a desk into perfect alignment; the class flinching in synchronized terror. Someone yelps as their backpack gets yanked out of their hands and tossed into a corner pile like trash. The ghost continues, “ecto-ology”, his voice like roots cracking through stone, “is the study of ghostly energy. But more specifically, I am going to speak about it as it manifests within -and enhances- biological systems. Plants, in particular, are… receptive”, he gestures, and a nearby potted plant pulses. Its leaves shimmering with a faint green glow, “unlike you humans”, tone curdling, “plants do not choke their own world”.

Dale slowly lowers his hand, UnderGrowth’s eyes snap to him, “…you will speak, and then you, who barely qualify as background noise, will not interrupt me”.

“Uh- yeah- um…quick question”, Dale was already regretting being alive, “are… are ghost plants, like… dead plants? Or… like- uh, super plants?”.

UnderGrowth considers this, the room holding its breath, “…yes”.

Dale nods like that cleared everything up, it obviously did not, but he wasn’t going to call the known murderous ghost out on that. Fucking hell.

UnderGrowth turns back to the board, carving again ‘ECTOPLASM = ENERGY + MEMORY + WILL’ speaking again, “ectoplasm is not merely energy. It is intent. Residual existence. When it binds with plant life, it amplifies their natural capabilities”. A vine from the ghosts body lashes out toward a nearby oak sapling, it grows instantly, bark thickening, branches stretching, leaves unfurling like a time-lapse on fast-forward; gasps rippled through the room and UnderGrowth smirks to themselves. Continuing slightly softer, almost reverently and clearly talking to the tree rather than the class, “growth. Defense. Adaptation. Energy. Memory. Will. All things humanity consistently wastes. Plants become what they need to be. Something needed by this planet rather than something-”, glancing at the class, sneering, “-infesting this planet”, turning fully to face the class, “imagine a world where forests reclaim what has been stolen. Where concrete cracks like eggshells beneath roots. Where your cities are compost”.

Dash raises his hand halfway, “dude, that sounds kinda shitty, why wreck our stuff for some dumb plants-”. A vine wraps around his chair and gently but firmly tips him upside down.

UnderGrowth glowering at the jock, “silence, weed”, hissing, “jussssst a plant?”, voice sharpening into something jagged. Roots reach up through the ground, pinning the jock to the ground.

Dash choking, “O-okay- okay!”.

UnderGrowth leans in, eyes blazing and inches from his, “you weeds pave forests and call it development. You poison rivers and call it industry. You choke the air and call it progress”, each accusation makes the vines constrict tighter, “you are not the apex of anything”.

With a flick, Dash is released and he scrambles back, pale and shaking.

Sam raises her hand and every vine in the room stills. UnderGrowth’s posture shifts, it’s subtle, but unmistakable. Less brewing storm, more… attentive thundercloud, “yes, little garden caretaker?”.

Sam leans forward, eyes bright, “would ectoplasmic enhancement change a plant’s nutrient cycle? Is in, would it still rely on photosynthesis, or could it sustain itself entirely on ambient ecto-energy?”.

The ghost blinks, then, slowly, UnderGrowth smiles. It is not a comforting sight, but it was an… approving one, “an excellent question”, he gestures, and a glowing diagram forms in the air; roots, veins, energy flowing like green fire. “Photosynthesis becomes… optional. Ecto-infused plants can metabolize ambient ghost energy. Ecto-enhanced flora require no sunlight. They need no soil touched by your contamination. They feed on ambient energy. On the very residue of existence. They do not need your world to survive; regardless of how much your world needs them. However, many retain traditional processes. Efficiency is… adaptable”.

Sam nods, fully locked in.

UnderGrowth continues, voice lowering into something almost like a lecture hall calm… if the lecture hall wanted to overthrow humanity. “This dual-energy system allows for exponential growth rates, heightened resilience, and in some cases… cognition”. Right on cue, a nearby vine slowly turned its ‘head’ towards Dash and tightens slightly around his ankle; Dash whimpers. The ghost smirks, “case in point”.

“Humans see plants as passive Decorative. Disposable. You poison soil. You suffocate roots. You sever forests and call it progress”. The greenhouse darkened as leaves overhead shifted, blotting out the light. “You mistake stillness for weakness”.

Then Sam raises her hand again.

“Yes, little garden caretaker?”

“…Could they coexist? As in, humans and ecto-enhanced plant ecosystems? If people actually changed how they treated the environment?”.

The room goes very still, and UnderGrowth looks at her for a long moment. Vines loosen. Light filters back in, hesitant but present. He hums, “…perhaps. If humanity learned restraint. If it remembered it is not the owner of this world… but merely another organism within it”. His gaze slides to the rest of the class, “…though current evidence is… unconvincing”; a vine flicks the chalkboard, erasing everything in one sweeping motion.

This time Star puts up her hand, “could it be used to restore damaged places? Like, fix forests, clean soil, reverse pollution? That stuff?”.

UnderGrowth looks faintly pleasantly surprised, “if you’re asking if your damage can be undone, the answer is only that it will be undone. The question is whether or not your kind are still here when it happens”, huffing and grumbling to himself, “at least it seems as if one other of them has some use beyond fertilizer”.

“Nature does not bargain, it simply corrects. One way or another, whether that Phantom of yours will allow me to do it, or the plants and earth on its own”, grinning meanly, “perhaps another asteroid will smash into all of you, like the dinosaurs before you”, scowling, “they were far better creatures than you”.

A faint bell can be heard ringing, UnderGrowth glancing at the school building, looking back to the class, “your assignment is simple”. The wall behind him cracks open just enough to reveal a writhing mass of roots beneath them. “Go outside, and find a plant. Observe it”, hissing at them, “try not to kill it”.

No one moves

UnderGrowth’s eyes glow brighter, “leave. Before I decide this becomes a practical demonstration”.

That’s more than enough, students bolt, chairs overturn, someone trips and crawls the rest of the way out. But Sam lingers, eyeing the ghost, “same time next week?”.

UnderGrowth inclines his head slightly, “for you, little garden caretaker, the forest is always open”.

Then Danny’s voice can be heard shouting, “I TOLD YOU THIS WAS A STUPID IDEA!”, in the distance. UnderGrowth growling immediately and loudly, while Sam just snickers meanly as she takes her leave.

End.

Celebrating the day you died is a bit weird… but oh what the heck Danny’s just gonna go along with this shit.

Danny didn’t realize the date at first, didn’t even clock it at all. Honestly, for it being the day that it was, you would have thought there’s no way he wouldn’t remember. But at the same time… why would he want to go out of his way to remember this day of all days? The world very clearly thought he absolutely should remember it though, it started small.

His alarm clock goes off at three seventeen a.m. for no reason, a.m. as in well before the ass crack of the ass crack of dawn, buzzing like it had beef with him specifically; which clearly it did if it was waking him up this early. When he smacks it, the numbers flicker into a skull emoji for half a second before snapping back. Then his bedroom door creaks open all on its own, just a polite little hellooo, entropy has RSVP’d. Danny already knowing this is gonna be some goddamn bullshit. Danny muttering into his pillow, “cool. Love that for me”, he rolls over and freezes.

There’s… there’s a fucking banner strung across his ceiling. Not taped, not hung, just… existing there, slightly translucent; aka clearly ghostly and clearly a goddamn problem.

‘HAPPY DEATH DAY, PHANTOM!’

Fuck his entire existence. Fuck it so completely and utterly. Ugh. Dragging his blanket up over his head like that would legally erase the supernatural, and screaming lightly into in. Sighing and dropping in loudly from his face, “…nope”.

A beat passes and then… confetti. Cold. Glowy. Whispering confetti. As in actually whispering, whispering gibberish but still, it’s confetti and it’s whispering. It drifts down through the blanket, landing on his skin and feeling like pop rocks candy. Danny shooting upright, swatting at a piece that hissed softly as it dissolved against his hand. Him snarling, “okay! Okay, we’re not doing this today! ClockWork, I swear if this is you being a tit about me calling you time baby yesterday-”.

“Not me”.

Danny yelps and nearly backflips off his bed; he wasn’t expecting an actual response! He never does! Because he basically never gets one! Putting a hand over his chest in offence and turning his head towards the voice. ClockWork’s there, hovering in the corner, arms folded, expression doing that timeless thing where they look both mildly amused and deeply tired of everything, “you remembered to check the date, didn’t you?”.

Danny blinks, “uh…”, grabs his phone, it’s April thirtieth… which… that… right. That. Wheezing a little breathlessly, “…oh”. There’s a long pause where the weight of it settles in a little more. It’s… not heavy heavy, just… strange. Like realizing your birthday cake is made out of razorblades and questionable life choices and lemon curd that’s just a touch too sour. Inhaling slowly, “my death day”.

ClockWork gives a small nod, an understanding one. It’s gentle and factual, but not necessarily comforting. “Anniversaries have… momentum. Especially ones tied to significant transformations. Even more so when they are bound to powerful entities, influential ones”.

Danny rubs the back of his neck, he didn’t really like thinking of himself as ‘influential’ or ‘powerful’. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan to celebrate the day I got electrocuted into a glowstick and dunked into inter dimensional ectoplasm soup”.

And as if on cue, his mirror ripples, and they started pouring in; they being ghosts, because of fucking course. The Box Ghost popping into existence holding a stack of gift-wrapped packages, “THE BOX GHOST BRINGS… PRESENTS! FEAR MY WRAPPED SQUARE DOOM!”, immediately tripping over nothing and scattering them everywhere; one managing to stab Danny square in the eyeball. Danny should cover all of the corners in his room with balls to systematically make his entire bedroom more circular, purely to spite this specific douche canoe.

A couple of smaller ghosts phase

through the wall carrying what looks suspiciously like a cake made of condensed ectoplasm. It wobbles like it might achieve sentience at any moment; and considering Danny and his parents luck with food becoming sentient that just makes Danny more annoyed. Danny glaring, “is that… safe?”.

ClockWork humming, “depends on how fast of an eater you feel like being”.

“Cool”.

Sam and Tuck burst into the room seconds later, both breathless. Tuck putting his hands on his knees and wheezing, “Danny dude, we saw the ghost traffic spike and- whoa”, pausing and staring at the banner, “Dude. You’ve got a whole afterlife birthday party going on”, making a face, “almost offended I wasn’t invited”.

Sam crossing her arms, scanning the room, “It’s clearly not a birthday. It’s a death party. Which is objectively more goth”.

Danny points at her, “thank you. That’s exactly the vibe I’m not emotionally prepared for”.

Another ghost zips past and hangs streamers that drip like liquid light; Danny’s left eye twitches but he otherwise is choosing to ignore them in hopes they’ll get bored and stop this. Will they? No, obviously not. Will that change Danny’s current plan? Also no.

“Okay but”, Tuck lifts up a finger, already pulling out his PDA, “if we monetize this, we could invent a whole new holiday. ‘Death Day: Celebrate Your Worst Decisions’. It’ll be huge”.

Danny groans, “by the Ancients, do not brand my accidental self-electrocution”.

ClockWork floats closer to him and hands him a gift; It’s… a cracked piece of his old hazmat suit. Danny blinking, “oh”, the room feels overly quiet, too quiet.

“Momento”, ClockWork hums, “you straddle two worlds. As do your milestones”.

Danny turns the piece over in his hands. The tear in the fabric lines up exactly with where the portal blast had hit. Him wincing a little and his friends studiously ignoring the definite emotional turmoil he’s absolutely trying not to feel. “I almost died”.

“You did die”, ClockWork corrects gently.

Danny looks up to them, “…yeah. Guess I did”.

Then Tuck claps his hands, “okay! Emotional reflection achieved! Time for cake that might scream when you cut it!”; and the room snaps back into chaotic life, Danny glaring at Tuck a little for wrecking the peace.

Danny huffing out a laugh despite himself. Pushing himself out of bed and transforming, “alright, fine”, floating up slightly, “if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right”, white hair catching the weird glow of the decorations, “welcome to my Death Day”, gesturing grandly, “please don’t destroy my house, my parents are already suspicious of literally everything”.

The Box Ghost salutes and Ember jumps out from behind him and fires off a streamer canon… a streamer canon that explodes immediately after releasing its streamers.

The cake… fucking giggles.

Sam smirks, “you’re taking this surprisingly well”.

Danny shrugs, a crooked smile tugging at his face, “I mean”, glancing around at the bizarre, glowing, impossible party filling his room, “it beats ignoring it”, scratching his head, “…also if I don’t celebrate it, I’m pretty sure they’ll just celebrate me instead”.

Skulker turns his head and grins very maliciously right at Danny. Danny glaring back, “yeah see? Skulker absolutely would. And imagine if Pandora was here?”.

Both Sam and Tuck wince immediately, if that Amazonian was here the entire neighbourhood would be able to hear her.

ClockWork allows themselves the faintest smile as the room fills more and more with noise, laughter, and the faint, eerie hum of something that wasn’t quite life… but wasn’t the end of it either. And somewhere between the confetti that whispers and the cake that definitely blinks when no one is looking, Danny finds this rather didn’t feel like mourning. It felt like… marking the moment the world got weirder; and he got to be part of it.

Danny should have known the party wouldn’t stay contained to his bedroom.

It starts with a toast. Johnny raising a glass that looks like it had been sculpted out of frozen lightning, “to the whelp who died and didn’t stay that way!”, then muttering under his breath, “and won’t let any of us forget that goddamn fact”.

Danny sighing, “for fucks sake, please stop phrasing it like that-”. Then the room begins to fold. Folds, like reality was a piece of paper and someone got bored and made an origami mistake. Danny, feeling that familiar yank behind his ribs, like a hook catching on something half intangible. “Oh no”, already halfway transparent, “no no no- guys, if this is a field trip, I did not sign the permission slip- fuckmylifefuckmewhyiseverythinglikethisya’llsuckdonkeytits-”.

Sam grabs his arm, Tuck grabbing his hoodie.

The portal tears open anyway, green light and wind that smells like static and old storms, a chorus of distant howls that sounded suspiciously like cheering. The portal forming and within seconds they’re all deposited into the ghost zone. But not out into an eerie, empty stretch of open sky or on to a barren land mass, the kind Danny was more used to.

This was… lit, in both meanings of the word.

There’s nein ecto-lanterns floating like jellyfish. Platforms drifting in impossible layers, stitched together by bridges made of glowing bone and humming energy. Music pulses through the air, something between a heartbeat and a rave. A massive sign blinks overhead:

DEATH DAY AFTERPARTY

Danny stares, “…I hate that I have an afterparty”.

And Technus, of all ghosts, immediately slings an arm around his shoulders, “GUEST OF HONOUR!”.

“I don’t- who- no-“, Danny sagging, “ah fuck it”, waving weakly, “hi everybody”; he’s promptly swept up into the crowd.

Ghost drinks were a mistake. A spectacular, physics-insulting mistake. The first one looked harmless. Pale green, lightly bubbling, served in a cup that phased in and out of existence. Danny poking the glass, “what is it?”.

Kitty grins way too wide, “regret with a citrus finish”.

Danny grimacing at her, “…awesome”, and takes a sip. It tastes like cold lightning, mint, and a memory he couldn’t quite place. His entire body flickers. “Oh”, blinking rapidly, “oh that is- weird”.

Sam snorting at him, “lightweight”, sipping something that hisses like acid, entirely unfazed by the drink.

“I am half-dead, I feel like I get a pass-”

Tuck was already on his third, “dude, this one tastes like dial-up internet!”.

“That’s not a flavour!”.

“It is now”.

Three drinks later, Danny was floating upside down, and not intentionally; he just kinda forgot which way gravity was supposed to go. “Ooooikay”, he announces to no one in particular, spinning slowly, “I have discovered a, uh, problem with ghost alcohol”.

Sam doesn’t look up, “you mean besides all of it?”.

“I can feel my soul vibrating”, a small burst of green energy pops out of his mouth like a firework, “…see?”.

Across the platform, a group of ghosts cheer, someone cranks the music louder.

Danny drifts sideways, phases halfway through a wall, then back out again, “okay but also”, pointing very seriously at Tuck, “I think I can taste colours now”.

Tuck tilting his head, “what does blue taste like?”.

“Like… like if math had a smell”.

“…man you’re so totally gone and fucked”.

“I’m not gone”, Danny attempts to land and instead gently bounces off the floor, “I am extremely present in multiple dimensions at once”, trying to walk but his legs have clearly forgotten how to… so floating it was.

Somewhere along the line, he ends up getting dragging into a drinking contest. He doesn’t remember agreeing to it, he does remember the drinks getting progressively more unhinged.

One screamed.

One tried to escape.

One saluted him before dissolving, “FOR HONOUR,” it had whispered.

And all Danny could think to say back was, “why does it have values”, as he was actively already drinking it.

ClockWork appears briefly at the edge of the crowd, watching like a man observing a very predictable disaster unfold in slow motion.

Danny stares, “thiis- tha, feels lick cah miscake”, pointing at his spooky guardian, “ya! Timmie guy! Tim’s guy! Ya cou hop this!”.

ClockWork nods a little, “I could”.

Danny squints, “bruh you woon”.

“No”.

“Respeck peck”, Danny nods and immediately loses balance, drifting into a decorative pillar.

Eventually, absolutely inevitably, Danny hits the peak. The point where he is so utterly turbofucked that he no longer gives a shit and his self control is so trashed that it’s nonexistent. Even his ecto-field messed up, leaving his outline flickering like a broken neon sign. Danny crawling up on a table, “ohey, I ‘av an annecament”. The music dips slightly, like the Ghost Zone itself was curious. Danny points at the crowd, “I doied, seup seup deied”.

And like assholes everyone cheers, fucking cheering over his dumbass kicking the bucket. He wobbly points at everyone and scowls, “I gots bettar”; at least they have the decency to cheer at that too. Danny swaying, eyes glowing overly bright, “agg ow! I ‘a dow THIS-”, and grabs his head, yanking ‘it off’, obviously still connected to him but not really attached, black wispy particles of his body still connecting head to neck. Then he falls partly through the goddamn table, flopping back and landing flat on his back; head rolling around a bit away from the rest of his body. It takes all of two seconds for the entire place to erupt into laughter and applause.

Danny lays there, staring up at the swirling, impossible sky of the Ghost Zone. Muttering as his head, via the wispy attachment, literally snakes its way back to his body, “…I rink I’m tha enerrainment”.

Sam crouches down beside him, smirking, “ya are, ya are”, laughing a little, “always were, you dumb bass”.

Tuck leaning over, recording, “this is goiong in the ‘chives, by the hay”.

Danny groans, “deleke me”.

“Nev’”.

Later, much later, when the music blurs into a distant hum and the crowd thins into drifting shapes of light, Danny sits himself down on the edge of a random floating platform; the world around him still tilting slightly. Rubbing his hand across his face very roughly, “kay”, groaning a little, “so bee celerating my daath bay in the GZ wit’ haunted ‘rinks was… naw my smarrest id”.

Ember plops down beside him, drink in hand still, “no shite. Buuuuuut it was very on-brand”, elbowing him, “ya got yerself wasted with literal ghosts on the anniversary of becoming one. That’s commitment to the bit”, nodding her head, swaying only slightly, “respect”.

Danny huffs a laugh, rubbing his face again, “…I’mma gonna ‘ave the worse gangover evar, are I?”, glaring at her, “i are ya ‘ine?”.

Ember rolls her eyes, lifting her drink a little, “I’m a rocker, babypop, gettin’ shite faced is my jammy”, smirking at him, “‘nd ya, futura you is gonna hate you”.

Danny stares, “…coolie. Fack me”, tipping backwards, lying flat against the glowing platform, watching the strange sky churn, “…still warth it”, huffing, “…nevar droing it ‘gain”, snickering to himself, “… ‘less they venti a whorest sippy sippy”.

Ember snorts, “I can cheers ta that, you silly little princy”.

“Fack yoooouu”.

And somewhere in the distance, the Ghost Zone pulses like it was already planning next year.

ClockWork does not ‘interfere’, not necessarily; but they do enjoy employing a… little encouragement. Which was absolutely a difference, a very important, extremely defensible difference.

They stand at the edge of a moment, watching threads of possibility spool out across Amity Park like a cat’s cradle built by a nervous universe. In one version of the day, nothing happened. In another, Danny sleeps off a catastrophic ghost hangover and then quietly pretends the whole thing never occurred.

Boring. Very very boring. ClockWork doesn’t particularly care for boring, and really neither does their charge… regardless of his half hearted complaining. ClockWork tilts their head, “…a nudge, perhaps”.

Across town, Jack bursts in through the front door of the Fenton Works lab holding a clipboard, three pens, and the kind of expression that meant science was about to happen at someone. Shouting excitedly, “MAD’S!”.

Maddie doesn’t even look up from her workbench, “if this is about labeling the anti-ghost grenades again, we’ve discussed your… artistic interpretations of ‘organized’”.

“It’s BIGGER than that!”, Jack slamming the clipboard down.

That gets her attention, “what is it?”.

Jack spins the clipboard around, at the top, in bold, slightly crooked handwriting: PHANTOM’S DEATH DAY: TODAY???

Maddie blinks, “I …what”.

Jack jabs at a series of increasingly chaotic notes, “I was reviewing ecto-temporal fluctuations, and there was a spike! A huge one! Ectological event pattern level spike! And then! then! I found this!”. He holds up a printout of what looks like a spectral calendar… with today’s date circled in glowing green.

Maddie narrowing her eyes, “where did you get that?”.

Jack hesitates for exactly half a second, “uh …science?”.

(See, about five minutes earlier, a sheet of paper had simply… appeared in Jack’s notes, without any sound or flash or commotion or anything. It was just kinda… there, suddenly.

ClockWork, unseen, had adjusted a single variable with the delicacy of a watchmaker nudging a gear; laughing silently to themselves).

Maddie straightens slowly, “if this is accurate…”.

Jack gasps, “it means today is the anniversary of Phantom’s creation!”.

“Or death”, Maddie corrects.

Jack gasps louder, “EVEN BETTER”.

“That is not better”.

“It’s a ghost! They totally celebrate death and think it’s better!”.

Maddie’s already moving, pulling up data, cross-referencing readings and dates, “…the energy signatures line up with what was recorded exactly a year ago…”, her humming and tapping her chin, “this is a pattern. Though one year of data isn’t much to go on”, sighing, “sadly we can’t get any readings from before we made the portal”, looking to the portal, “imagine if we could”.

Jack leans in, eyes wide, “we could have back tracked to figured out when It passed”, laughing heartily once, tilting his head at her, “…so what do we do?”.

Maddie pauses and thinks, Phantom… was an ally of the town. It was undeniably a friendly ghost and without It most of the townsfolk would likely die. The last thing they wanted to do with piss off or insult the ghost, and this calendar clearly hints that ghosts do celebrate their own… demises. So, with the slow inevitability of a domino tipping the first in a very long, very unfortunate chain, she sighs, “…we acknowledge it”.

Thirty minutes later, Dash is halfway through loudly not paying attention in class when his phone buzzes, glancing down and seeing this shit flashing across his screen ‘AMITY ALERT: Possible Ghost Event Today- Phantom-Related’, Dash sits up straight in an instant, ‘Phantom’s death anniversary’. “Yo, Phantom’s got, like, a death birthday or something today”.

Everyone in the room freezes, Brittney blinking, “…his what?”.

Dash shrugs, phone buzzing some more, “death day. Anniversary of when he died. My dad just texted me, says the whole town’s buzzing about it”.

Within seconds, phones were getting pulled out; even the teacher abandons teaching to check.

Messages spreading, screens lighting up; and like a spark hitting a field of dry grass… Amity Park lost its collective goddamn mind.

Someone shouts outside of a coffee shop, “it’s Phantom’s DEATH DAY?!”.

“Is that, like, when he’s strongest?!”.

“Or weakest?!”.

“Do we hide?!”.

“Do we celebrate?!”.

“DO WE APOLOGIZE?!”.

“DOES HE LIKE CHOCOLATE CAKE!”.

“OH GOD WILL HE WANT US TO JOIN HIM IN DEATH!?!!?”.

“Why the FUCK would he want that?!? Don’t be stupid Susan!”.

“I’m getting him a FREE SMOOTHIE!”.

“Think he’ll accept birthday kisses?”.

“HOW LONG DEAD OR OLD OR WHATEVER EVEN IS HE!”.

“WHAT KIND OF PRESENTS DO GHOSTS EVEN WANT! THEY’RE DEAD!”.

At City Hall, Vlad calls a meeting, looking both incredibly annoyed and incredibly amused. Making a point to make his sighing not visually noticeable, “we need a plan”.

“A defensive plan?”.

“A respectful plan?”.

“…A festive plan?”.

Vlad stares at everyone, smirks a little, and readjusts his collar, “I propose all of the above”; if only to further confuse young Daniel… and perhaps panic the town a little for the fun of it.

Within the hour, the town has split into factions: Team This Is Dangerous And Stupid, who go with barricades and salt circles and someone even tries to bless a stop sign. Team This Is A Cultural Event, putting up banners and balloons and a poorly designed logo that reads ‘HAPPY DEATH DAY PHANTOM!!!!!’ with far too many exclamation points. Team We Owe Him So Much Holy Shit, with their growing piles of thank-you cards and baked goods and one extremely aggressive weirdly flavoured milkshake stand.

At Fenton Works, Maddie watches the chaos unfold on a tv. Her sighing, “well… this escalated”, shaking her head, “here I thought one or two people might get It presents or just awkwardly congratulate It when It shows next”.

Jack beams, “I’m so proud of the town”.

On tv, Someone unfurls a banner across Main Street, reading ‘THANK YOU, PHANTOM’, and right next to it, another banner gets put up, ‘PLEASE DON’T BE EXTRA DEAD TODAY’.

(Back in the Ghost Zone, Danny sneezes, a small burst of green sparks pop out. Frowning, “…why do I feel like something terrible is happening”).

ClockWork observes it all from their quiet vantage point outside of time.

Amity Park, scrambling between fear and gratitude. Daniel, blissfully unaware and still slightly intoxicated, teetering on the edge of a very confusing return home. ClockWork allows themselves the faintest, tiniest smile, “have fun, young Phantom king”.

All this meaning that, by the time Danny stumbles back through the portal, half-hungover and expecting maybe a quiet nap, the entire town will be waiting.

With cake.

With caution tape.

With deep confusion.

With an ungodly amount of really goddamn weird milkshakes, because everyone knows he likes weird milkshakes.

And, in its own chaotic, deeply Amity Park way… also with something that will look an awful lot like appreciation.

End.

At exactly three seventeen pm, Danny realizes two things. One, Wes had been mysteriously ‘transferred’ out of Casper High for the week. As in, an entire week. And two, the basketball team was desperate.

So it takes all of a minute for Danny to get a terrible, wonderful idea. He’d been practicing for months, sure he only did that to just randomly show Wes up randomly. Like… run out onto the field in a stupid costume, steal the ball and absolutely slam dunk that shit, flip Wes off, and then run off of the field never to return.

But this idea is absolutely way better. He’s gonna be so good at being Wes that everyone’s gonna think Wes is some kinda fake.

So he slips into the washroom, fucks with his hair just enough that it looks like Wes’s -their hair styles really are way too similar, honestly- and books it to go steal Wes’s jersey. Then, he’s gonna play ball.

Danny tries to keep his grin from being shit eating, “sup guys, Wes has arrived”.

The locker room goes quiet. Dale squints at him like he’s trying to solve a math problem with violence, “you look… kinda off, man. Get stuck in a tree again or something?”.

Danny, wearing Wes’s jersey and approximately sixty percent confidence, nods stiffly, “new haircut”.

Conor tilts his head, “naw, it ain’t that”.

“Growth spurt”.

Then the coach claps her hands, “shut up, squirts, we don’t have time for identity crises. Weston, ‘weird looking’ or not, you’re in. Tryouts start now”.

Danny internally screams in delight… Wes was gonna be so pissed.

The ball lands in his hands, and Danny almost doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s never actually played basketball seriously before. Sure, he’d practiced and made mild attempts at it once or twice during gym, but this? Plus it’s not too different from just throwing ecto-blasts. But this is gravity-heavy, expectation-loaded, very mortal basketball.

Dale crosses his arms, “well, Wes? Shoot your shot”.

Danny glances at the hoop, eh fuck it, let’s do this shit self. But… he’s always been told to use all his skills to his advantage. So, just for a second, he lets himself lighten; letting his bones remember how to ignore physics just a little bit, before jumping.

He’s not flying -that would be suspicious as fuck- but letting himself rise just enough that the world slows beneath him, and the hoop drifts closer like it wants to be reached should be fine. He dunks that shit hard, like the hoop pissed him off; the rim rattling like it had just been insulted. Fucking good.

Danny lands a little too smoothly; eh people haven’t noticed weirder shit.

The gym is dead -ha- silent. Dale blinking after a beat, “…okay, what”, shaking his head, “where the zone have you been practicing and can you get me in yesterday”.

Danny snickers very meanly.

Everyone is more than a little baffled, and only get more baffled as time goes on. Within ten minutes, ‘Wesley’ has:

Blocked a shot without looking at the shooter

Stolen the ball from behind someone without physically being behind them

Made three full-court shots that barely seemed to even obey geometry…

Kyle blinks very harshly, “Wes…., since when are you… this good? Yeah you don’t normally suck but you’re, like, good good now?”.

Danny shrugs, “since today?”.

That answer did not help and only made everyone even more baffled.

“Pass it, Wes!”, and so Danny does.

The ball ricochets off of someone’s elbow, bounces off of the floor, clips someone’s sneaker, and technically should have gone sailing out of bounds… instead, it… curves. Not sharply, not enough to trigger alarm bells; just enough so that it drifts back into Danny’s reach like it forgot its original plan. He catches it mid-step and scores.

Everyone just… stares. Kyle muttering, “did… did the fucking ball just… come back? Did a boomerang ghost curse it or something? The fuck?”.

Danny, already jogging away, calls over his shoulder, “teamwork!”; half the group just flips him off.

Jesse misses a shot, pretty damn badly actually. The ball flying high, hitting the backboard at a terrible angle, and shoots off.

Everyone tracking it and trying to predict where it’s gonna land… everyone except ‘Wes’, who just… kinda drifts to a spot and waits. The ball comes down directly into his hands like it had an appointment.

He doesn’t even look surprised, but the entire gym sure as fuck does; because what the actual fuck???

The ball goes out of bounds, Danny shrugs and sprints for it. He’s obviously not going to make it, everyone knows it, even Danny knows it. But Danny wants to fuck with all of them, meaning he is going to technically ‘make it’.

He takes one extra step, one extra step in midair. He doesn’t jump or push-off of anything. He just… takes a step where there shouldn’t be ground, where there isn’t any ground. And taps the ball back inbounds, lands his feet inbounds, and keeps running like nothing weird happened at all.

Testlauff blinks, “…legal”, and grins a bit wolfishly to herself, they were so going to crush the Vipers next week.

By the end of practice, the team has gathered in a tight, suspicious huddle. Dale pointing dramatically, “there ain’t no way you’re Wes”.

Danny freezes.

Kyle narrows his eyes, “you’re…”, rolling his wrist around a bunch, “you’re… that other guy”.

Danny blinks all innocently, “that narrows it down to, like, half the school”.

Dale practically jumps, pointing at him, “the Fenton kid!”.

Well… fuck. Danny considers his options. One, he could deny it. Two, he could run off like a little bitch. Three, be honest… not exactly his strong suit or his forte. Four, really fuck with these guys and go intangible, then phase through the floor like a startled ghost pancake.

Instead, he sighs, “yeah yeah yeah, you caught me. I’m the Fenton kid”, and then does a silly little bow. Straightening up and pointing at all of them, “and my name’s goddamn Danny, regardless of Dash being an ass”.

They all smirk meanly for a second, Conor snorting, “yeah I knew there was no way Wes got that good that fast”.

Dale laughs, “cool”, and smacks Danny on the shoulder one, “not sure why the heck you’ve let Dash and coach harass you if you actually had game, though”.

Danny blinks, “…cool?”, that was absolutely not the reaction he’d been expecting. A mild ass kicking maybe? Them accusing him of getting a ghost to help him prank them? Maybe just grumbling about Danny obviously fucking with Wes again. He didn’t expect any of them to just be cool with it.

Dale nods, “you. You’re staying”.

Danny blinks even harsher, “what?”; oh man… what did he get himself into here? Sure, Wes was gonna be so pissed and that was gonna be so funny. But ugh.

Dale points at him, “you’re the best player we’ve had in years. Like, actual literal, years. Heck, probably decades. You can’t not be on the team, man”.

“I’m literally impersonating someone”.

“Details”.

“I might accidentally float”.

“Don’t do it during games.”

“I can’t promise that”.

“Float subtly”.

“That’s not a thing!”.

“Make it a thing!”.

Oh zone why did Danny sign up for this? Damn him and his desire to fuck with Wes’s constantly trying to expose him ass. At least ‘floating a little’ was pass off able as ecto-contamination…. Some days he wonders if people actually believe that or if everyone’s just humouring him.

And now the entire team has fully encircled him like a council of extremely enthusiastic gremlins. Conor pointing at him now too, “rule one, no glowing”.

Jesse jumping in, “rule two, if you do glow, say it’s sweat”.

Danny blinking, “I… don’t think that’s how sweat works”.

“Dude, you’re weird, nothing works the way it’s supposed to work with any of you Fenton’s. Like, how the actual fuck can your dad basically throw an entire weaponized military truck?”.

“Fair”.

Kyle adding on, “rule three, if you can go invisible-”.

“I am not confirming that”; fuck him everyone definitely knows. But… he’s so not letting Wes know that and he’s so not calling them all out on that. If they don’t want to openly admit they know he’s overly ghostly then he’s not going to own up to it either.

Kyle rolls his eyes, “-you definitely use it for defense”.

“I’m not- I’m absolutely not- that’s cheating!”.

Dale leans in, “is it cheating if it’s awesome?”.

Danny opens his mouth, closes it, “…I hate that I don’t have a good answer”.

Testlauff comes over and claps Danny hard on the back, “you’re in! Obviously. Glad to see your scrawny self has shaped up!”, leaning forwards at the group, “now we will absolutely win on Saturday”.

Everyone cheering immediately while Danny dies inside just a litttle.

The bleachers are roaring, the lights buzz overhead like electric insects. Testlauff barking, “Weston! You’re starting!”.

Danny steps onto the court, honestly a little baffled that they’re still calling him Wes… maybe they were fucking with the school sleuth too? It wasn’t exactly uncommon to take the piss outta the guy for being crazy and very very loud about said crazy. Across from him, the opposing team looks confident and relaxed; entirely unaware they were about to play against a boy who had once phased through a ghost tank while sipping from a juice box.

The whistle blows and game begins.

Danny moves forwards, not flying and not phasing, just… bending the rules of momentum like they were suggestions scribbled in pencil. He pivots faster than should be possible. Jumps higher than anyone notices. The ball seems to like him, returning to his hands as if it had loyalty issues.

By halftime, the score is absurd.

By the fourth quarter, the opposing team looks spiritually -ha- exhausted.

Both sides call little meeting things.

Dale grabs Danny, “okay. New plan”.

“I thought we were winning”.

“We are. But you’re winning strangely. Tone it down”.

“I am toned down!”.

“Tone it down more!”.

“What do you want me to do, miss on purpose?!”. Danny could absolutely do that, zone, he could do that so spectacularly and so absurdly that it would go viral.

The entire team pauses, speaking in unison, “…no”.

Danny just hangs his head and sighs as the game restarts.

At least now the other team actually scores more than two shots; in fact they almost tie up the score. Then Dale shouts at him, “Weston! Do your weird thing!”.

“I don’t have a thing! I’m always weird!”.

“You absolutely have a thing! A weird thing that applies here anyways!”.

Danny sighs and jumps, this time he doesn’t hold back as much. Jumping against gravity just high enough that the crowd inhales sharply. Releasing the ball at the peak of something that is almost wrong; it arcs and the ball sinks clean through the net followed by the buzzer.

The gym explodes with cheers and the team tackles him in celebration. Someone from the pile shouting, “you’re unreal, man!”.

Danny, squished under a pile of sweaty, victorious teammates, groans, “ya’ll have no idea”.

Dale snorts, “oh, we have some idea”.

Danny freezes, fuck him so much, “…you do?”.

Dale shrugs as everyone lets Danny get up, “you’re weird. We’re rolling with it”.

Danny blinks, okay… okay so they’re still not gonna call him on it. Cool. Okay… not really, but he can vibe. Danny shaking his head harshly, “…cool”.

Kyle finger gunning at him, “you’re never leaving this team”.

Danny rubs his neck a little, “I have to, Wes is coming back, you know”.

Kyle seems to consider that for a second before shrugging, “…we’ll deal with Wes”.

“That sounds ominous”; Danny absolutely can’t resist the shit eating grin that spreads across his face. Wes… was gonna lose it.

Did Wes lose it? Why yes, yes he did.

The guy basically storming into the gym during practice after he got back. “PHANTOM WHAT THE FUCK YOU JACK ASS!”.

Danny smirks and waves a Wes, sinking a basket ball without even looking, “hiyya!”.

Wes pointing, “why the FUCK are you DOING ME?!?!”.

Danny snorts, laughs, chokes on air, coughs, and laughs some more. Tripping over his own feet and nearly face planting, “I! I’m not! I’d never do you! Oh my zone! Ahhahhahhahahh hahah hahaha”; and collapses, laughing, to the ground, holding his stomach.

Wes points more aggressively, “you are wearing my jersey!”.

“It was… available?”.

“You are playing my sport!”.

“Basketball is not your-”.

Wes rips off his shoe and hurls it right at Danny’s stupid face, Danny just keeps on laughing and writhing on the floor. The team looks between them, at Danny, then at Wes, then back at Danny.

Dale leans over to Kyle, “…why are there two Wes’s and only one of them is good?”.

Wes snapping, “I HEARD THAT YOU ASSHOLES!”, walking over to kick Danny’s still laughing form, “YOU’RE A GHOST DOING BASKETBALL AS ME!”.

Danny keeps wheeze laughing, “that- that’s a- a very aggressive way to phrase-”.

“YOU STOLE MY IDENTITY WITH SUPERNATURAL TALENT!”.

Danny snickering, “oh my zone this is- HA- when- when you say it like that, it- oh man- it sounds bad!”.

“IT IS BAD!”.

There’s a long pause until, Dale claps his hands once, “okay, counterpoint”.

Wes turns, “there is no goddamn counterpoint to this!”.

“We’re undefeated”.

“…That’s not-”.

“We are crushing people”.

“That is not the issue-”.

“And Spooky Wes-”.

“STOP CALLING HIM THAT!”.

“-is the best player we’ve ever had. Like, legit”.

Wes looks at the team, at their hopeful, absolutely shameless faces. At Danny, on the floor and looking like the smuggest entity in existence. Wes takes a deep breath, then another, and points at Danny, “you”.

Danny smirks even more, “me”.

Wes basically growls at him, “you are not better than me.”

Danny tilts his head, “…do you want me to lie or-”.

“DO NOT ANSWER THAT!”.

Testlauff blows her whistle, pointing at Wes, “he’s staying, Wesley”. Wes throwing his hands up at angrily.

Danny smirks so hard, “I regret nothing”.

“Fuck. You. Empathetically”, Wes sighing, “at least give me back my number, you ass”.

“Naw I like it”.

“Get YOUR OWN!”.

“Naw”.

“I’m going to fully kill you”.

“Good luck with that, shit ass”.

Wes immediately starts choking Danny and Danny plays along like he actually needs to breathe. The team all shake their heads, either way ‘both’ ‘Wes’s’ stay on the team, Wes does get his own number back… with a bunch of ectoplasm stains on it that no matter what he does he can’t seem to get out.

End.

Prompt:

The first time Danny Fenton met Sam Manson, she was standing on top of a picnic table looking like a tiny pissed off pink frilly fairy… a frilly pink fairy that had taken scissors and mud to her dress. And the first time he met Tucker Foley, Tuck was under the same picnic table trying to unscrew one of the bolts with a plastic spoon.

It was spring in Amity Park, which meant the grass was damp, the sky was gray, and every parent in town had decided that children needed ‘fresh air’. The local playground now being full of toddlers wobbling like drunken penguins, little kids running amok, and older kids claiming the swings like territory.

Seven-year-old Danny wanders in holding a juice box and wearing one shoe untied. He had already tripped twice and somehow gotten bark mulch in his hair. The older kids avoid him automatically, their parents having warned them about the weird crazy Fenton’s kid; so he ignores them entirely. Instead he spots a mud-covered girl, she’s also rocking two sharp little pigtails and the expression of someone deeply pissed at humanity; in one hand she got a little wilted dandelion. “This playground”, she announces to no one in particular, “is a place of shallow joy”.

Danny blinks, trotting over, giving a chipper, “hi”.

She looks down at him as if he were a weirdly talkative cloud, “hello?”.

Danny tilts his little head, “I’m Danny!”.

She blinks back but shrugs, “I’m Sam”, tossing the dandelion dramatically into the wind, it lands two feet away.

Before Danny can say anything else, a voice rises up from beneath the table, “does anybody have a Phillips head screwdriver?”. Danny crouches down. A boy with really giant glasses is laying on his back beneath the picnic bench, feet sticking out, poking at the metal supports with determined fury. Beside him is an open lunchbox full of random objects: crayons, batteries, string cheese, a toy dinosaur, and three different remote controls.

Danny tilting his head further, “what are you doing?”.

“Screw stealing. This table squeaks so it doesn’t get to keep them”, it squeaks as he kicks it for emphasis, “I’m Tucker”.

Danny beaming, “I’m Danny!”.

“I know. You said it loud enough for under table recep- reci- hearing”.

Danny snorts and Sam leans over the edge of the tabletop, “you’ll never get them with a spoon”.

Tucker squints upward, “then why didn’t you offer help sooner, mud princess?”.

“I was enjoying watching your sad failure”.

Danny laughs so hard juice comes out of his nose.

That was how it started.

Within ten minutes, they had become as thick as thieves; somewhat literally. Danny climbed everything he wasn’t supposed to. Sam narrated his ‘for sure doom’ in a calm, satisfied voice. Tucker tried to ‘upgrade’ the merry-go-round by attaching a jump rope to it and calling it a ‘move faster system’. They spun so fast that Danny flies off into a sandbox, emerging seconds later buried to the shoulders, shouting, “again!”

Sam smirks, “you are chaos in sneakers”.

Tucker adjusts his glasses, “and I respect that”.

Later, they sit beneath the slide sharing snacks. Sam with her organic raisins she calls ‘nature’s warning labels’. Tucker with a handful of neon cheese crackers that are actively staining his fingers orange. Danny, meanwhile, had somehow traded away his sandwich for two cookies and an oddly wet whistle.

“Do you guys ever think”, Danny muttering between bites, “that there’s weird stuff in this town?”.

Sam and Tucker stare at him. Tucker blinking, “what kinda weird stuff?”.

Danny points vaguely towards the woods beyond the park, “like monsters. Or secret labs. Or aliens. Or invisible things watching us”.

Sam nods once, “yes, spooky is everywhere”.

Tucker nodding twice, “absolutely”.

Danny’s eyes widening, “really? My parents always go on and on about ghosts”, pouting, “no one seems to agree but I do. So you really really do?”.

“No”, Tucker shrugs, “but now I do. If a grown up says it’s a thing then it’s a thing. Some grown ups are just big ol’ dummies, and ignore other grown ups”.

Sam leans closer, voice grave and theatrical, “this town has a vibe”.

Danny tilting his head, “a spooky vibe?”.

She smirks very meanly, “a tacky vibe”; and they all laugh immediately.

Then something moves in the bushes, making the three kids freeze.

Leaves rustle.

Branches shake.

A pale shape lunges out with a terrible groan.

Danny screams, Tucker screams louder, Sam just narrows her eyes.

But it is only Mr. Campbell, the librarian, crawling after a runaway white kite tangled around his shoulders. Him running up to the three, wheezing, “children, has anyone seen my glasses?”.

Tucker slowly points to the top of Mr. Campbell’s head. The man grabbing at them, thanking no one, and wanders off trailing kite string like a defeated ghost.

The silence lasts three seconds, then Danny bursts out laughing, Tucker promptly joining in; even Sam, who clearly thought of smiling as a weakness, snorts.

As the sun dips lower, parents begin calling names.

“Daniel!”.

“Samantha!”.

“Tucker Foley!”.

The three of them all groan in chorus. Danny standing first, “same time same tomorrow?”.

Sam shrugging, “If society allows”.

Tucker snapping his lunchbox shut, “I’ll bring more tools”.

Danny grins, “I’ll bring cookies”, humming thoughtful, “I’ll bring cookies that do not come alive and bite back”.

Sam hops off of the table, “no, no, do it, bring the pain cookies. I can think of at least two girls who need a good biting”.

They all walk towards the gate together, three tiny weirdos with grass stains and impossible futures.

None of them truly knew about ghosts.

None of them yet knew about portals, powers, or disasters.

No, they only knew they’d found something rare on an ordinary afternoon, other kids strange in all the right ways.

End.

Dash had planned this birthday for weeks. Not because he cares about sentiment or memories or any of that mushy refrigerator-magnet nonsense. No, he cares because birthdays mean attention, gifts, cake, and the legally mandated social requirement that everyone be nice to him for one entire day. Especially, since it was his eighteenth.

He had a schedule.

8:00 AM: Wake up victorious. 8:15 AM: Open presents. 9:00 AM: Birthday breakfast. 12:00 PM: Glory lunch. 3:00 PM: Party prep. 7:00 PM: Main event.

Then, at seven fifty-eight am, a ghost comes through his bedroom wall screaming, “WHO STOLE MY MOUSTACHE?!”.

Dash bolting upright so hard he head butt's the headboard.

A translucent old-timey man in a top hat floated over his dresser, weeping dramatically, “my magnificent whiskers! My spectral handlebars! Gone!”

Dash blinking before yelling, “what the fuck?! It’s my birthday! Screw off!”.

The ghost sticks his nose up in the air and crosses its arms, “and it is the anniversary of my grooming tragedy”, leaning at Dash, “now have you seen my moustache?!”, his shouting is loud enough to crack a lamp.

Dash’s mom all but throws open the door, takes one look at the floating Victorian catastrophe, and sighs, “honey, breakfast is delayed”, looking down and muttering under her breath, “this town is ridiculous and I blame the Fenton’s for all of this”.

Dash gapes at her, “BUT IT’S EIGHT IN THE MORNING!”.

She shrugs, “and I’m very sorry about that, but this thing wrecked the food and the presents”.

“WHAT! NOOOOOO!”. A tragedy, truly.

He manages to get his pancakes by nine thirty. Dash sitting down, raising his fork, birthday grin loading, ready to dig in. Then every pancake rises off of the plate, rotates in the air like saucers, the Lunch Lady Ghost shoving her head through the wall, “UNACCEPTABLE! INSUFFICIENT FLIPPING TECHNIQUE!”, and she slaps syrup across the room like paint.

Dash lunges for his breakfast, but the pancakes form a stack tower and escaped through the ceiling fan; growing teeth and beginning to snarl loudly. Leaving Dash standing on the table growling and grinding his teeth together. He’s blaming Fenton for this, he’ll have to schedule a beating; at least that never fails to brighten his days.

At noon, Dash heads to the Nasty Burger with his friends. Announcing to the group, “okay. No ghosts here. Public place. We’re safe, or at least Phantom will show up and deal with the ghost”; at least if this gets messed up too, he’ll get to see Phantom.

Kwan points at him, “the ghosts are worth it to see Phantom in action, man”.

Dash sitting down with his food, “zone yeah, dudes so cool”, grinning to himself, “heck, maybe I could convince him to spend the day with me since it is my birthday”.

Dale humming, “oh man, that would be amazing”.

Then that blonde biker ghost drives right through the wall, parking the bike literally inside of one of the booth seats, stomping up to the tills, “mighty meaty mega burger with phantomized fries, and the spectral mix”, the guy paying with zoneloons.

Kwan shaking his head, looking to Dash, “it’s kinda hilarious that every thing in town accepts goddamn ghost money now”.

Dash chuckles, “if you ask me, good, we should be able to make money off of them tormenting us”, grinning, “no one would dare force Phantom to pay though”.

Dale rolling his eyes, “well duh, he pays by lowering all the damage repair costs and hospital bills”.

Then the ghost walks over to their table, taking a bite out of his burger grossly, “so, punk, Phantom actually, like, knows your dumbass name or whatever, so happy fucking birthday”, and dumps his drink right on Dash’s head.

Dash staring for a beat before jerking to stand up, “what the FUCK MAN! I don’t even know you!”.

Biker guy revs his engine and does a few donuts through three booths, leaving fire and tire marks, “HA! Eat shit! Shit head! Names Johnny! And I’m the guy who got to kiss that pretty little redhead girlie you like so much!”.

Dash hurls an onion ring at the ghost, who obviously ducks; it embeds into a milkshake machine. Does… did that ghost mean he kissed Jazz?! Oh that ass! Though that means she is into bad boys but damnit Dash doesn’t know how to drive a motorcycle!

Meanwhile, Kwan and Dale side-eye each other and quietly slide out of the back door.

By afternoon, Dash is sweaty, furious, and giftless. Him returning home to find his yard already decorated. There’s balloons, streamers, and a huge banner reading: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DASH! PREPARE TO BE CURSED!

“What the actual fuck?”. Dash is… Dash is so utterly confused. And he’s stating to realize that that biker ghost sorta wishing him a happy birthday was a goddamn warning. Fuuuuuuuck.

A cluster of cheerful little blob ghosts pop out from the bushes wearing party hats, they unleash confetti with the force of artillery.

Dash staggering backward as ghostly confetti adheres itself to his hair. One blob ghost hands him a wrapped box. Dash blinking, then grinning, “well at least they brought me presents”, and tears it open. Inside is another smaller box… inside that is another smaller box…… annnnnd inside that was a note ‘BOO’. Dash screams in pure rage so loud a neighbour scowls at him. Dash flips them off immediately, and throws the boxes on the ground; blob ghosts scattering into the grass and air looking evil and content with themselves.

At least by six forty-five guests start arriving for the real party. Not some dumb bullshit prank some stupid ghost fauna decided to pull on him. Fuck those little fuckers, he’s using one as a football then next time he sees one. Music’s playing, the pizza arrives without issue, and Dash finally relaxes. Flopping down onto his couch, half full solo cup of cheap vodka getting placed on the floor, “this is it”, grinning to himself, “I goddamn win”. Honestly, he really should have known better by now not to say shit like that.

And as he should have expected, immediately after that comment, the ceiling explodes downward in glittering drywall dust. A giant axolotl ghost wearing a tiny paper birthday hat descends into the living room, “WHO TURNS EIGHTEEN WITHOUT OFFERING TRIBUTE TO PARTYLOTL? WHO LIKES TO PARTY! PARTYLOTL! I CAME TO PARTY, SO PASS THE BOTTLE! YEAH!”.

Everyone scatters immediately, this was a large unknown ghost after all, pretty reasonable reaction… even if Dash thinks this is goddamn bullshit. Why’s this fucking crap have to happen on his goddamn birthday? Even if this fucker sounds like It’s here because of his birthday. Who the heck even told all the ghosts when his birthday was?!? Whoever they are can go fuck themselves with an iron ladle.

Someone yells, “cool!”, and Dash thinks that they, too, can get fucked by that same iron ladle.

Partylotl inhales deeply and breathes out a stream of balloons. Hundreds of balloons and streamers blasting out from Its mouth, filling the room instantly. Dash getting promptly buried beneath the latex chaos, from somewhere inside the balloon storm anyone could easily hear his muffled rage.

Then a white and black blur crashes in through the window, Phantom grabbing Partylotl by the external gill, “sorry! He got out of the Zone banquet hall”.

Dash’s scream is a little muffled under all the balloons, “why does this keep happening?!”.

Phantom blinks, trying to look confused but it’s really obvious that he’s trying not to smirk or laugh; like extremely obvious, “…you’re asking me that?”. Then the two ghosts crash through the wall and off into the night.

The party was ruined.

The house was dented.

The pizza had ectoplasm literally on it.

Dash shoving ectoplasmicly infused balloons and streamers out of his way, kicking them everywhere, as he storms outside, sitting down harshly on the curb in frosting-covered silence. He wants to be goddamn seventeen again, and he never thought he’d ever think that. Fuck.

Then goddamn Fenton has the balls to approach him holding a fucking tiny ass cupcake with one tiny ass fuck ass candle. The freak clearing his throat, “damn, man. Rough day?”, snickering a little, “possibly the funniest rough day I’ve ever seen”.

Dash glares, “if you don’t beat it, Fentit, I’m gonna find a way to shove your shoes down you throat”.

Fenton rolls his eyes and offers the cupcake, “yeah, sure, whatever. Happy fucking birthday? You asshat?”.

Dash stares at it… the things goddamn candle rises slowly into the air all by its fucking self because of course it goddamn does; the two boys just watch it. Fenton’s dumb ass looking amused, while Dash is… Dash is just fucking done. The candle lights itself, forming a ghost shaped flame that’s got a party blower in its mouth; it toots once and the cupcake explodes. Because OF COURSE IT GODDAMN DOES! FUCK THIS FUCKING SHIT ASS BIRTHDAY!

Dash stands slowly, covered in even more frosting and cake bits, walks into the street, and screams at the sky, “WHY DO GHOSTS EVEN KNOW MY BIRTHDAY?!”.

Fenton laughs, throws his hands up in the air, and cackles, “this was the best idea ever!”.

Dash slowly turning to face the smirking jerk, who only smirks even more so hard that it looks fucking painful before booking it. Dash snarling, “I’m going TO KILL YOU, FENTAINT!”.

Dash chases Fenton for a full hour and a half, eventually whacking the fuck out of the jerk with a random tree branch, throwing the jerk into a dumpster, wheeling and shoving the dumpster into a hole in the ground, and throwing dirt on top of it trying to bury the FUCKING JERK alive. Twerp crawls out and survives, unfortunately; and runs off away from a panting Dash while cackling.

As soon as the stores open Dash is going to buy a goddamn iron ladle, and he’s going to carve Fenton’s name into it, and then he’s going to find Fenton and beat him black and blue until he fucking pukes.

End.

Project: Empirical Evaluation of Historical Anti-Ghost Countermeasures Lead Team: two doctorate certified ecto-ologists, Dr. Madeline Fenton and Dr. Jackson Fenton. One phd certified psychologist, Jasmine Fenton. One ecto-ologist intern, Daniel Fenton.

Abstract

Historical Anti-Ectoplasmic Entities Countermeasure Efficacy: A Controlled Review

This study evaluated a range of traditional anti-Ectoplasmic Entities practices under laboratory conditions using controlled instrumentation, repeatable protocols, and marginally cooperative spectral subjects. Methods tested included salt barriers, iron wards, holy water aerosolization, mirrored containment arrays, Latin exorcism playback, sage fumigation, bell resonance exposure, and candle-circle deterrence.

Results demonstrated that most classical protections failed to produce consistent suppression of Ectoplasmic Entities. Salt lines were physically disrupted, iron caused only incidental spatial entanglement, and holy water prompted relocation rather than banishment. Mirrors generated severe perceptual anomalies, while prerecorded Latin rituals proved ineffective when poorly pronounced. Sage smoke enhanced visible manifestations, bells produced erratic resonance-dependent responses, and candle circles primarily improved environmental aesthetics.

Across trials, Ectoplasmic Entity reactions appeared less governed by material properties than by subjective preference, symbolic recognition, and personality persistence after death.

The study proposes a new behavioural model, Reciprocal Superstition Dynamics, wherein spectral entities respond selectively to beliefs they themselves endorse. Researchers conclude that successful non-harming non-capture focused haunting mitigation may require psychological intervention, negotiation strategies, or postmortem conflict resolution rather than historical deterrent objects.

Keywords: ghosts, folklore, applied ecto-ology, spectral behaviour, ritual efficacy, experimental paranormal science, Danny Phantom

Field Notes

1. The Ring of Salt Barrier Test

Historical Claim: Ectoplasmic Entities cannot cross a line of salt.

The Fenton team constructed a perfect 3-meter diameter sodium chloride ring using laser-guided dispensers. Moisture content calibrated, grain size standardized, purity: 99.8%.

They then invited Subject DM-5, a Draconian maid apparition, into the lab. She approached the line, paused, looked offended, then slowly bent down and blew on it. Half the ring dispersed. She crossed while muttering, “Pathetic”. Daniel F. was amused, which seemed to please the ghost.

Result: Salt barrier ineffective against entities possessing lungs, wind, legs, gravity nullification, sarcasm, or contempt. See: nearly all Ectoplasmic Entities

Follow-up Discovery: The ghost did avoid iodized salt, but only because she claimed it “smelled modern”.

2. Iron Poker Repulsion Trial

Historical Claim: Iron wards Ectoplasmic Entities.

The Fenton team suspended twelve wrought iron objects in a Faraday cage around Subject LL, a food-Obsessed lunch lady Ectoplasmic Entity. Subject LL passed through all of them unhindered, then became trapped for forty minutes inside a decorative Victorian coal-burning stove. Ectoplasmic Entity was extracted through the means of a food fight started by Daniel F. and Jackson F.; Madeline F. was unamused.

Result: Iron does not repel Ectoplasmic Entities. It merely creates embarrassing geometry problems. Cooking related objects remain the best way to lure, trap, or converse with Subject LL.

Secondary Observation: Haunting intensity increased whenever cast iron pans were insulted.

3. Holy Water Aerosol Dispersion System

Historical Claim: Holy water banishes Ectoplasmic Entities.

The Fenton team atomized consecrated water into a fine mist and dispersed it through HVAC ducts into a sealed containment chamber containing three simple wisp Ectoplasmic Entities. All three Ectoplasmic Entities vanished instantly. Celebration was premature, as they had merely floated to the dry side of the area and were shrieking through the containment walls; Daniel F. stated they were shrieking obscenities.

The Ectoplasmic Entity known as Phantom later came, took a cup of the consecrated water, and drank it. Jasmine F. was incredibly annoyed, and attempted, once again, to get the Ectoplasmic Entity to attend therapy. Madeline F. admonished the Ectoplasmic Entity for contaminating the test materials; It was non-apologetic, stated water “tastes like zone apples”.

Result: Holy water functions less as weapon, more as an annoying weather pattern or ectoplasmic-like fruit juice.

4. Mirror Reflection Containment Study

Historical Claim: Mirrors trap Ectoplasmic Entities or reveals them.

The Fenton team placed 64 mirrors in a hexagonal chamber to create recursive visual fields. Ghost Subject E-10, a multi-eyed Greek Ectoplasmic Entity, manifested six times simultaneously, became self-aware of multiple angles, and screamed. Then every mirror in the room reflected the researchers instead, but older.

Daniel F. resigned to rest briefly, disturbed by the sight; muttering about “inevitability”.

Result: Mirrors interact with Ectoplasmic Entities unpredictably and may also bully the living.

5. Latin Exorcism Playback Experiment

Historical Claim: Sacred Latin drives away Ectoplasmic Entities.

Instead of a priest, they used a studio-grade speaker system with pristine audio playback. Upon hearing it, the resident poltergeist corrected the pronunciation, then it demanded the verb tense be changed. Turns out the Ectoplasmic Entity had been a grammar instructor in 1720.

Phantom then offered to let Its “time dad” correct the wording before a retest. Offer was taken, unfortunately time-related Ectoplasmic Entity turned out to be, similarly to Phantom, a trickster. Sacred Latin instructed subject C-1, a size changing dog Ectoplasmic Entity, to slobber all over every chair in the area. Daniel F. found this hilarious.

Result: Latin potentially effective only when grammatically competent, and not translated by Ectoplasmic Entities of the trickster variety.

6. Burning Sage Purification Sweep

Historical Claim: Smoke clears Ectoplasmic Entities.

Air quality sensors showed particulate rise, latent ectoplasmic energy sensors showed that Ectoplasmic activity also rose. Several invisible Ectoplasmic Entities gathered near vents and used the smoke to write rude messages in cursive.

One with seemingly small hands drew a pirate ship. No one knew why, however Daniel F. flipped the invisible writer off.

Result: Sage smoke increases visibility of haunting graffiti, which only stands to encourage Ectoplasmic Entities to play with it.

7. Bell Ring Resonance Purge

Historical Claim: Bells disperses Ectoplasmic Entities.

The Fenton team tested bronze, silver, church, hand, and cow bells.

At 432 Hz subject T-8, a loud technology Obsessed Ectoplasmic Entity, vanished. At 440 Hz It returned furious and louder than ever.

At cowbell frequencies, five new Ectoplasmic Entities appeared from unknown locations in farm attire.

Result: Bell use not recommended without sheet music and evacuation plan.

8. Candle Circle Protection Method

Historical Claim: Candle flames repel Ectoplasmic Entities.

Infrared cameras showed the Ectoplasmic Entities merely using the candles for mood lighting. One Victorian-themed Ectoplasmic Entity asked if everyone wanted to “do séances properly for once”. Another requested softer shadows. Subject E-3, a musician rocker ghost, stated it “gives me new ideas for stage lighting”.

Result: Candle circles improve ambiance, not security.

Final Scientific Conclusion

After three years, twenty-seven trials, and substantial property damage, the Fenton’s published a landmark paper:

Historical anti-Ectoplasmic Entity methods are largely ineffective unless the Ectoplasmic Entity personally believes in them.

This theory, dubbed Reciprocal Superstition Dynamics, suggests Ectoplasmic Entities are governed not by physical law, but by aesthetics, stubbornness, and unresolved personality traits. Jasmine F. specially adding that therapy was a more effective deterrent.

End.

By the time the third locker vanished, everyone at Casper HighSchool had accepted that Danny Fenton was either cursed, chosen, or extremely committed to drama.

Danny, on the other hand, just kept saying he was, ‘theatrically burdened’ or that his parents had probably pissed off some ghost… which was sadly very possible given their profession.

Danny just thought that his body was being an ass. Maybe the world was getting back at him for the whole: high schooler with piss poor grades, suspiciously toned reflexes, and a talent for arriving late with leaves in his hair, by day, and the town’s least silent spooky protector a black-and-white ‘nuisance’ that fought crime while delivering one-liners no one had requested.

“Looks like your getaway car has been… repossessed”. That one had gotten some actually human robber to surrender mostly out of secondhand embarrassment. Danny was very proud of that one, very proud.

He was also a king of shitty nicknames, like ‘candypants’ and ‘boxy’ and ‘tinman’ and ‘grass stain’ and of course good ol’ ‘clocky’ (modified to ‘cocky’ when ClockWork was being a real know it all bastard).

Danny’s spooky boy powers used to be simple… well okay they were ‘numerous but simple’. He might have too many individual powers to count or remember or to even learn how to use properly, but a lot of them could just be combined into ecto-something. Ecto-manipulation: creating constructs, invisibility, intangibility, ectoblasts, ecto balls, ecto-kenisis ecto shields, his ecto field, ghostly wail, yada yada yada. Ecto-temperature kenisis: the fire and ice stuff, dropping room tempatures, being really fucking cold. Ecto-enhancements: strength, speed, agility, durability, heightened senses, yada yada yada. Gravity nullification was kinda just its own thing. See, simple. Not really, but really. He gave up a long ass time ago, trying to fully keep track of everything and thoroughly train everything. Total lost cause there.

Then, his folks went and shot him with another one of their experimental weapons, and something changed. For a second he’d been able to see the ghost zone without actually being there, very trippy, then right back to normal…. Well besides the smell of burnt pennies, which made him sneeze, and a glowing portal tore open in the air beside him. A startled pigeon flew through it and emerged three blocks away inside of a bakery.

That was the beginning of The Problem.

At first, the portals only happen when he was stressed. He’d be worrying over some test he absolutely didn’t not have nearly enough time to study for to have any hope of actually passing. Annnnnnnddddd Pop! A tiny green swirly opens under his math teacher’s coffee mug, and it drops neatly into the boys’ bathroom sink. The teacher cried a little when he got it back and saw that it wasn’t even chipped.

Another appeared in gym class when he missed a dodgeball, already tensing up for some mocking from Dash and co. The ball went through the portal and struck Principal Ishiyama in the back during the junior’s assembly.

One opened up in his bedroom while he was trying to sleep only to get rudely awoken by Technus screaming about his newest plan, the portal revealing a view of the ocean at midnight. Salt wind poured in and a crab entered without permission, walking right across Danny’s bed.

He named the crab Leonardo Da Pinchi.

He wound up taking an honestly ridiculous amount of impromptu portal related vacations to various parts of the world, including the moon one time. He even teleported not just himself, but his whole family to Cancun once. Jazz had been pissed and basically hissed at him about how this ‘wasn’t what she meant by vacation or getting out more’.

Then came ‘hero work’.

He’d been chasing down some new lock-themed ghost who was literally locking everyone’s cars and houses shut, trapping people in them. Danny shouting, “you’re about to be locked down!”, having every intent to tackle the ghost. Instead, a portal opens beneath his own feet right when the ghost throws a ton of lock picks as knives at him, so Danny shrugs and just drops through the portal to avoid the ‘weapons’; emerging from another portal in the middle of a yoga studio six blocks away.

Twenty women in matching leggings all staring at him. He’d even managed to land in downward dog, so all he had to say for himself was, “…Namast-ay out of crime?”.

Everyone started smacking him with their yoga mats and towels.

He accidentally kicked Skulker through portals three separate times. Once to a beach with a very pissed off lifeguard, because Skulker had shot off a taser weapon and basically electrified the entire beach. Another time to wedding, Skulker wound up getting tackled by three bridesmaids and someone’s uncle named Darren. And the third time, was just directly in front of a semi truck; Skulker left that time muttering about demanding a raise from Vlad.

He wound up redirecting one of Ember’s guitar rift lazer beams into a marble slab, made the perfect cut out of a crab. At least the city later installed it in a park. Danny took Leonardo Da Pinchi to see it, the crab raised its pinchers and did a little jig: Danny liked to think the crab was very pleased.

He even successfully unintentionally trapped a speeding Johnny in between two portals, driving through one and coming out the other over and over and over again. Danny eventually took pity on the guy and ecto-blasted the bike -and Johnny- the next time the ghost exited the one portal.

While rescuing a cat from a tree for publicity reasons, Danny got emotional because the cat resembled Leonardo Da Pinchi the crab somehow. So he accidentally portaled both the tree and the cat into the mayor’s office. Vlad was both pissed, because tree, and happy, because of the Danny-induced cat distribution system.

He even managed to link an active raging house fire to a bakery oven, shit smelled great but did nothing to actually help his situation. The fire fighters were very angry because the smell only reminded them that the call had interrupted their lunches, which were all slowly going cold at the fire house.

There was that one time the portal thing was actually working pretty well for him during a blackout, letting people pass flashlights and supplies and other necessary shit through them to get to other each other faster. Then one fucker had to start putting goddamn rubber chickens through them. Yes that was the kinda shit Danny would do, but it was very noisy and just made everyone mad at him. Since, again, it was something Phantom would do and everyone knew it; he couldn’t convince anyone that it wasn’t him.

The worst part is that the portals seemed to respond to emotions, but Danny was well known to have all the emotional stability of a soda can in a paint shaker. He was always too tired, a bit battered, stressed, over caffeinated, oh and the whole having the biology and physiology of two different species smashed together into one body. None of that shit was good for being stable in any sense of the word.

Nervous? Portal.

Excited? Portal!

Embarrassed? Three portals.

Crush smiles at him in chemistry class? Catastrophic portal event.

That happened with Valerie, because of course it did. They may not currently be a thing but goddamn does he still helplessly like her. That whole getting tied up and tased by her did things to his brain that he wouldn’t mind revisiting more consensually.

She’d leaned over his desk, “hey, do you have a pencil?”. And Danny’s only-slept-for-eight-minutes-and-twelve-seconds brain became a fireworks factory. A portal bursting open right between them, connected directly to the city aquarium. Aka one of the places they once went on a date to… talk about awkward, oh my Ancients. Really unfortunately, it connected to the inside of one of the aquarium tanks, not just the open viewing area where people could walk around, meaning that water surged out of the portal and all across the classroom floor instantly. A stingray flapped out onto Mr. Lancer’s desk, literal fish outta water moment right there. The teacher immediately rushing to get the thing in some water, while panicking a little bit about it dying on him. Though Danny thought the guy should be more concerned about the fact that the class was currently flooding, and that there had been a sudden portal, but Lancer was well known for being pretty unflappable in times of extreme stress and weirdness.

Valerie blinking, “…you okay?”.

Danny, soaked to the bone, holds up a pencil, wheezing and spitting out some water and seaweed, “number two?”.

She’d snags the pencil and mutters under her breath, “I hate this fucking town”.

Danny’d obviously tried training, that was the obvious course of action always. Heck, even meditation, which helped until he got annoyed at said meditation; Danny was not a sit down all calm and zen type.

He written a little journal titled Portal Thoughts & Oopses. Entries included such wonderful events, such as:

Angry: opened hole into sewer. Smelly, -2/10

Said “I could eat a horse.” Portal to petting zoo. Horse offended, 1/10

Sad: opened portal to rainy alley. Rude, 1/10. Sad playlist plus rainstorm opened portal to even rainier alley. Universe piling on, 0/10

Mild annoyance at homework opened portal that ate only page three. Teacher unconvinced, worth a retry, 2/10

Laughed too hard at own joke. Portal launched juice box into ceiling fan. Very messy, but also very funny. 4/10

Stubbed toe. Opened portal directly under self. Stubbed same toe again elsewhere. I actually broke my toe. -3/10

Hungry: opened portal into bakery again. Bought croissant, 8/10, croissant was very buttery. Hungry at 2 a.m. Portal to bakery again. Clerk now calls me “Doorboy”, 7/10

Sneezed twice. Opened two portals. One into other portal. Nearly created self-devouring geometry. Terrified math teacher, was hilarious 8/10

Startled: accidental moon glimpse?? Need follow-up, was awesome. 1000000000/10. Recreated when said phrase “need space”, zero regrets and new favourite phrase 100000000000000/10

Embarrassed blush event in chemistry. Portal projected donkey sounds for seven seconds. Extremely embarrassing, -6/10

Told Skulker to “take a hike”. Sent him onto mountain trail with map. Efficient and pissed off Skulker’s tinman ass, 9/10

Said phrase “this is going nowhere”: created hallway loop. Kwan kept running through it laughing, 6/10

Panicked during pop quiz created six tiny portals around pencil tip. Wrote in cursive at impossible speed. Finished 10 minutes early but still failed, 4/10

Angry shower singing opened portal to neighbor’s bathroom. We both screamed, -5/10

Tried keeping calm while lying. Portal emitted loud buzzer noise. Interesting moral stance, 2/10

Sleepy. Rolled over into portal. Woke up in hammock store, had good enough nap that Nocturne showed up to comment on it, 111/10

Startled by cat. Cat startled by portal. Both reached ceiling, 2/10

Accidentally said “what’s cooking?” near cafeteria. Portal to the set of Hell’s Kitchen. Gordon Ramsay furious, risotto excellent, 15/10

Whispered “drop dead” at video game boss. Controller fell through portal into antique shop. Tuck was pissed, -4/10

Frustrated with tangled earbuds. Portal untangled them by removing one earbud entirely. Missing still, 1/10

Overconfident mood. Attempted stylish hero landing via portal chain. Landed in recycling bin, -1/10

Had mild panic attack realizing I may never fully control this. Tiny portal popped out a neon yellow ecto-cake pop. Comforting yet sassy, 2/10

Jazz had opinions on the whole issue, of course she did, she always had opinions. Her pointing at him, “your power doesn’t lack control. You lack brakes”.

“That feels personal”.

“It was meant to”.

She told him to try meditating more, or journaling, or to stop focusing on a good pun over avoid a punch; massive fuck no to that last one. Never.

Then Leonardo Da Pinchi scared the bejeesus out of her by scuttling quickly across the living room floor, holding a knife in one of his pinchers. Her smacking Danny after he smirked and snickered at her, “now who’s the one that needs calming breaths”.

Then Vortex decided to be an ass and assault the town with unpleasant weather patterns again, basically holding the city hostage beneath a permanent thunderstorm.

“You will all kneel before my reign!”

Danny, crouching like a gargoyle, whispers to himself, “okay, okay, no panic. No jokes. Calm center. Steady mind”, pausing and adding, “though kneeling is rough on the knees”. A hint of a portal flickers, Danny glaring, “nope. Not today, Satan”; and zips off into spectral battle.

Lightning cracks across the skyline, Vortex cackling while little tornados rip around throwing cars and people, at least most folks are running away, and what cars aren’t already up into the air are trying to get away as fast as they can. Danny’s dodging lightning bolts and palm sized storm clouds, the occasional miniature sun. The streets goddamn chaos, some people are trapped on buses, a lot of children are crying, the ghost sirens are going off only to be swallowed by all the thunder.

Valerie, as the Red Huntress, is trying to redirect people, block lightning bolts and over aggressive hail, attempting to fire back at the ghost only for her blasts to get eaten up by tornadoes and spat back out at buildings or her; she’s clearly more than a little bit frustrated. “Phantom! Would you hurry up and deal with this asshole!”.

Fuck. “I’m trying!”.

Last time he basically only beat up this guy ‘cause he stole the dudes powers, weather powers he no longer has. So yeah, this is one of those moments where he gets a little bit scared. meaning… a bunch of fucking portals pop up, twenty to be exact. They erupt across the street like mirrors punched into reality. One swallows the next lightning blast and redirects it harmlessly into the harbour. Another opens up beneath some civilians, dropping them gently into a lobby at a nearby hotel. Another sends some mini storm clouds off to a pet adoption fair.

It’s pandemonium with a crap ton of paperwork for dear mayor Vladdie to do… meaning the guy is going to get back at Danny for all of this bullshit one way or another. Betcha that guy is really regretting ever bringing Vortex to this town so badly right now.

Danny floats in the center of the madness, breathless, and for once, he doesn’t fight the portals; he aims them. Not perfectly, not elegantly, but rather instinctively. Sometimes his powers just be like that; his intangibility, invisibility, and gravity nullification were the one’s most notably like that. He just… knew how to do it as long as he went along with his body, instead of trying to logic it out.

He flies in through one, out through another, rebounding off of a billboard, zips through a third, and lands feet-first on weather assholes back. Smirking at the small, “oof”, from the ghost. Danny grabbing onto the guys lightning bolt horn things, “forecast says…”, sending the shock of his ghost stinger, “…scattered unemployment”; throughly shocking the ghost to high hell.

The rain stops as the steaming ghost slumps over some, people start cheering before he even finishes getting the ghost into his thermos. He’s so totally going to have to have a word with the Observants about letting their little piece of shit storm god ghost out again.

Later on, in the school field under clearing skies, Valerie finds Danny in civilian clothes. He’s covered in debris and feeling way too sore to bother getting up. Her looking down at him and crossing her arms, “you disappeared during the attack”.

“Yup. I was… around”.

She smiles, “funny, that’s exactly what Phantom would say”.

Danny freezes, “uh”, and a tiny portal opens beside his head, revealing a llama in some distant field… the llama stares judgmentally.

Valerie snorts, chucking some food into the portal, the llama looks pleased. “Relax, Danny, you absolute shit kicked dumbass. You suck at fighting weather phenomenons”.

Danny groans, lifts his head up to bang it back down into the grass, ending up sticking his head down into a new portal instead that’s underwater. Jerking his now very wet hair back up, “fuck, goddamnit”, shaking his hair and eyeing her, still not moving from his spot on the grass, “how long have you known?”.

“You once returned a library book while hanging upside down, Star also watched you do it by the way. She also saw you screaming into a toilet, why you did that in the girls washroom I don’t know. And she saw you eat a ghost, which, why?”.

“Right”. WOW Danny really fucked up that secret keeping, goddamn.

She rolls her eyes, “subtle as a dead skunk”, shrugging a little, “your dumbass non-existent self-awareness got me my friendship back though, ain’t no point hiding my suit if she knows about your suit, so I guess thanks”.

He groans, and another portal opens up, raining flower petals from somewhere tropical.

Valerie shaking her head before stepping closer, kneeling down, and flopping over to lay on the grass next to him, “can you control those yet?”.

Danny looks at the pulsating green tear in reality, the impossible stars inside it, the chaos humming under his skin. “Control? No, fat goddamn chance”, he grins, “buuuuuut, I am getting the hang of making an entrance”.

Then he takes her hand, uses his feet to push his back upwards against the grass, dragging her along with him limply, and they fall through one of the portals in the grass.

They emerge on top of a table in a bakery three blocks away, Leonardo Da Pinchi the crab was waiting, clicking one claw and waving around an Oreo cookie. And, of course, Star’s there in a work uniform, trying to catch Leonardo Da Pinchi.

Danny scrabbling up off of the table and grabbing up the crab, holding him up above his head away from Star, “hey! You leave Leonardo Da Pinchi alone!”.

Valerie sitting up on the table slowly, “why does the crab have a name and how do you know it’s the same crab?”.

Star puts her hands on her hips and glares at Danny, “he or she keeps stealing all the Oreo cookies, either it goes in a boiling pot or take your weird crab home, get it out of here”, sighing, “it’s weirder that you named a normal crab, than the fact that you did that”.

Danny blinks and lowers his hands, holding Leonardo Da Pinchi to his chest. Then the fucking dick pinches his nipple, which of course startles him into making another portal… one that he immediately yeets Leonardo Da Pinchi through. Looking to the portal comically horrified, “what no! That was a claw-some throw but I was only trying to sidestep the drama, not relocate it!”, scrambling through the portal, shouting, “I’m gonna claw it a day! And- oh hey he’s good! Thanks for catching Leonardo Da Pinchi, Skulker!”.

The ghost can just barely be heard through the portal shouting, “just get this thing out of my suit! My poor wires and- ow! That’s my eye!”.

Star grumbling, “I didn’t mean to portal the poor thing literally inside of a ghost”.

Valerie and Star eye each other before the former gets off of the table and joins the other in walking towards the portal, grabbing Danny’s legs, and yanking him back into the bakery. At least the portal closes. Valerie points at him, “you can”, sighing heavily, “‘claw’ it a day here”.

Danny pouts, “but what about Leonardo Da Pinchi?”.

Star huffing, “you said he’s fine, he’s happier wherever he is and not at my job, that pays me quite nicely but probably won’t if I just let a crab run around free range”.

Danny sighs and slumps into a chair, “fine, I guess the aquarium is an okay place”.

Valerie patting him on the shoulder, “and you can even visit him whenever you want”. Star shakes her head, walks off into the back, and comes back out with some pastries on plates and sets them down in front of them.

Danny eyeing the food then Valerie, “is this a goddamn date now?”.

She smirks and rolls her eyes, “what do you think, ghost boy?”. A chair immediately falls down through a portal.

Star glares, “I will take back the food if you do that again, control yourself, oh my zone”, and walks off muttering about witting ‘chair disappeared due to ghost shenanigans’ report.

Danny very awkwardly takes a bite out of the iced bread thing, Valerie laughs very meanly at him.

End.

Apparently they call him Phantom, supposedly he has a first name too but it was 'really awkward, so no one likes to talk about or think about it'. At least Phantom is a hella cool name, so that's a win for him; especially since his power set seems pretty gosh darn spooky. Him standing on a random rooftop, making green energy stuff pulse in his palms, the feeling of the energy running through his arm is awesome. The rain pattering down on the jumpsuit he's wearing, the thing is almost embarrassing body tight yet felt so aggressively like his. He might not know much be he knows for damn sure the suit is stupidly important and valuable to him, part of him. At least people waving at him, cheering, and the occasional ask for an autograph makes it pretty clear he's some kinda hero/celebrity.

Jumping up into the air a bit when a piece of paper smacks him in the face, he just stays floating there as he looks at the paper.

MISSING PERSON Danny Fenton, 17 Black hair, white shirt with a red dot, bizarre hair style, usually carrying backpack covered in band pins. Last seen three days ago.

Below the photo, this 'Danny" stares up with a lopsided grin that makes something in Phantom's chest ache. Phantom tilting his head at it, “do I know you?”, the ache sharpens.

He folds up the paper carefully, tucking it into the seemingly bottomless pockets his suit apparently has.

Three days.

Three days ago was also the first thing he could remember... weirdly coincidental... maybe whatever messed up his own memories also caused this boy to go missing? It was more of a lead than anything else he's gotten so far after waking up in an alley in a glowing jumpsuit, white hair dangling in front of his eyes, and head ringing like cathedral bells. His powers were intact; at least the ones he knows about anyways. Reflexes sharp and obviously well honed. None hero name -because surely he has one, a... civilian name- unknown. Face unseen, as in literally; he's tried multiple mirrors and his face is just this jumbled blurry mess, even pictures it's the same, blurred all to shit. He couldn't even say what shape his nose is, or if he has full or thin lips, what about freckles or scars? No clue, none. Past erased clean as a wiped hard drive.

Everyone he's run into has had their own theories.

Dr guy went with 'trauma-induced dissociative fugue'. Cop or detective girl thought it was a 'mind wipe from one of your enemies'. And random street guy said 'alien nonsense', but that guy was eating toast, just plain toast, and for some reason that makes Phantom really not trust his judgment on anything.

Phantom had his own theory, of course, but someone was missing, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, finding Danny Fenton felt more important than finding himself.

He starts with Danny's school, with Casper High.

Casper High’s secretary looks over the counter at a six-foot spooky teenager carrying a stack of missing-person flyers, “you need to sign in, Phantom or not. Unless there's about to be an invasion, but I doubt that since the sirens aren't going off”.

“I’m here to investigate”.

“You need to sign in".

Well, he guesses he'd rather a school take visitors seriously than not, all things considered.

He stares down at the clipboard.

Name: _______

He writes down Phantom(?)

Purpose of Visit: _______

He writes down Teen stuff

The secretary sighs the sigh of a woman who had seen everything except this exact kind of nonsense. Either Phantom was typically more informative when he came to the school or he typically never really came here. Well his memories are fucked right now so she'll have to deal with his vague bullshit.

Danny's locker was number two hundred and fourteen, Phantom knew that before anyone even told him for some bizzarre reason. Blinking and shaking his head, muttering to himself, “how did I know that?”.

A girl with purple braids leans against the neighboring locker, “because it says two hundred and fourteen right there, Sherlock”.

He looks up, “right”, but he's pretty sure he did not look at that.

“No, but seriously”, she narrows her eyes, “you doing good there? You’ve been acting weird. Weirder than normal ghost levels of weird, anyways”.

Thinking and knowing he's a goddamn ghost is very... strange. That rather meant that he's dead, that at some point he died. “You know me?”.

“Not personally. You rescue things dramatically. Hard to miss”, she jerks a thumb at Danny's locker, “you looking for Fenton too?”.

“Yup”.

“Poor guy. Vanished right before chemistry midterm. Honestly iconic”, she spins the combination lock absentmindedly. Left twelve, right thirty-two, left seven; and the locker clicks open.

Phantom's stomach drops a little, unsettled deeply for some reason, “how did you know that?”.

She blinks, “he tells everyone because he’s terrible at secrets”.

Inside there's textbooks, a half-eaten granola bar, three pens, and a notebook covered in doodles of ghosts; Phantom picking it up. The first page reads: Hero Names That Don’t Sound Dumb

Night Glow

Spectral Pulse

Phantom (actually decent?)

Laser Chad (funny)

His glove tightens around the spiral binding, whispering, “no way”. Maybe this kid knew him intimately? Perhaps a sidekick? Even more likely then that whatever messed up his head, also disappeared the kid.

The girl tilts her head, “what?”, startling him a little.

Shaking his head at her, “nothing", and flips through the pages. Sketches of suit pieces and random tech that looks similar to the thermos on his belt. A list titled How to Talk to Girls Without Sounding Like a Documentary Narrator or Losing My Pants with no entries beneath it. And one page, near the back: If I ever lose my memory, note to self: check under bed. The actual fuck? Well if this kids got something to help himself with memory loss, maybe it'll work for Phantom too. Can't hurt try. Phantom looks up sharply, “where does Danny live?”.

She looks at him like he's insane, "okay... something is definitely wrong with you if you're asking where goddamn FentonWorks is, probably the easiest house in the entire town to spot and one you've definitely been to a bajillion times".

Phantom blinks, well shit, "uh, brain fog?".

She snorts, "more like brain loss", waving him off, "just go outside and go looking for the Fenton parents. They're bound to be out looking for their kid, and might be desperate enough to actually asking for your help by now".

Why does Phantom get the feeling that the reason they haven't asked him already isn't because of their own egos/wanting to find him themselves, and more to do with them not liking him very much?

It's... impressively easy to find the Fenton parents, since they were shouting at the Box Ghost guy demanding 'it' finds them Phantom, slightly concerning. But they were also Threatening the guy with something the large father called a 'Fenton sphere-i-fier', Box guy is definitely afraid of this device. Considering Phantom still hasn't figured out if the annoying Box Ghost is just a pest or a villain, he'd rather not le these people do who knows what to the guy. So he floats over cautiously, "why are you harassing folks to find me?".

The pair round on him immedicably, looking both on guard and relieved. The man beaming, clearly less concerned by Phantom than the woman, "Phantom!". What a loud guy, zone damn. "Finally found you!".

The women then putting a hand on the man, "Jack, sweetie, let me do the talking". Cool, guy's name's Jack. "Phantom, you know this town, teenagers, and all the frequent ghosts; where’s our son likely to be”, wringing her hands out a bit, “the police say there’s no evidence of abduction, and we can’t find any trace ectoplasmic signatures-”.

Jack jumping in, shaking a fist, “if there was one we’d be chasing down that dare spook for daring to touch a hair on our Danno!”. That nickname feels bizarrely comforting, yet embarrassing; strange.

The woman nodding and patting Jack’s arm, “of course”, looking back to Phantom, “he’d never just leave. He’s a good boy. Messy, but good. Have you found anything? Is he trapped somewhere? Brainwashed? In a sewer?”

Phantom blinks, “probably not a sewer”. If he is then Phantom’s really up shits creek without a paddle, seeing as he has no clue where the sewers even are. Also if he was in a sewer he could just… get out in his own, unless he’s being held hostage or is actively tied up… or he’s dead and this shit ain’t gonna have a happy ending. Phantom clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck, “how about, uh, you show me around his room and see if I pick up on anything?”.

Jack beams, “Mad’s can totally show you! While I keep looking for our boy!”, and runs off with a scanner thing without getting approval. ‘Mad’s’ shift and shaking her head after him before looking back to Phantom and narrowing her eyes, clenching and unclenching her fists, “you will stay in my sights at all times, you hear me ghost”.

Oh yeah the Fenton’s do not like him… for some reason. Regardless Phantom nods readily, “yeah no problem”. She glares a bit more before rushing off, in the direction of the Fenton house hopefully… otherwise Phantom’s just walking into a trap.

His eyes drift around the living room, family photos line the shelves, there’s crazy odd contraptions, a bunch of ghost themed needle point… oh and the place reeks of the green stuff, ectoplasm, that he and all other ghosts apparently, seemed to be made out of. But the photos get his attention much more than the smell or the tech. There’s Danny at age eight missing front teeth. Danny at thirteen holding a science fair ribbon. Danny at sixteen awkwardly short in a poorly fitting suit, there’s some skinny old guy in the background glaring specifically at the suit. Every image punches the same strange bruise inside him. Then he spots one from last year, Danny in a white shirt with a red circle, smiling beside a display case, inside the case sat a thermos. The exact same kind as what Phantom has on his belt.

Mad’s smiles a little though clearly still tense, “yeah he was the only one would could ever get those thermoses, that you keep stealing, working right”.

He was using stolen beat? Or… just gear he was given without parental approval… Either way she leads him up to Danny’s room.

Teenage bedrooms always are archaeological sites; he doesn’t need memory to know this. Dirty cups, socks with growing colonies, cables breeding in corners, a… very strong scent of blood and ectoplasm. He’s pretty sure he even sees a blob of glowing green moving and chewing on something in a corner. But more than anything this room feels like his, like it was something he was… what possessive of? Territorial perhaps? Weird.

And something is pulling him towards the bed, or under it really. Phantom crouching beside the bed, muttering to himself, “check under the bed”; and lifting the dust ruffle. There’s a shoebox, and inside a journal and a cracked thermos.

His hands tremble as he opens the journal, jumping a little when the thermos basically explodes and a bunch of wispy looking ghosts flood out of it.

Mad’s jumping, “what the! Oh some darn ghosts are behind this- wait how’d you know to look…”. Phantom’s honestly not paying any attention to her.

If you’re reading this and don’t know who you are, congratulations, disaster happened. Phantom stops breathing. My name is Danny Fenton. Yours too. We are the same person. The room narrows to a pinpoint, but he keeps reading anyways. If memory loss happened, it’s likely because of head trauma or some dumbass ghost. You’ll probably think I’m missing. I technically am, but also you’re standing there reading this, so relax. And just slow down that internal vibration to change back, or give yourself a good startle He sinks to the floor, as rain splatters against the window. Also: tell Mom I’m sorry about the toaster and thank Clocky for the heads up, they told me to write this. A laugh escapes him, cracked and startled, then another, then he’s crying and laughing all at once, darling sideways onto the floor clutching his stomach.

He had been searching rooftops, interrogating suspicious individuals and ghosts, pinning maps with red string, while the missing boy wore his own face that just has a really shitty reflection.

He wasn’t two mysteries.

He was one idiot.

Mad’s actually smacks him one, his bodies vibrating tingling sort of skipping, “what are you- Danny- you- what?”, she sounds to be closer to the ground now. Fuck the thermos of ghosts was probably supposed to distract her or make her run off after them, since she obviously didn’t know about Danny being Phantom. She was so worried about him being missing, and not wanting to leave ‘Phantom’ alone in her house, that she didn’t take the bait and well…. If he can put two and two together quickly, so could someone else. Also… he’s pretty sure he did that form changing thing due to laughter, stress, and being whacked. At least it feels like somethings are coming back…

Across from her sits the city’s mysterious ectoplasmic teenage vigilante; one part menace and one part a begrudgingly acknowledge hero. Now he was just… her son.

This somehow makes less sense.

She looks from the thermos he’s fiddling with to Danny’s face to the thermos again, as if one of them might apologize.

Danny giving a tiny, nervous wave, “hi”.

She inhales slowly through her nose, “don’t you ‘hi’ me”.

“That’s fair”.

“You have been missing for three days”.

“I know”.

“I filed reports”.

“I know”.

“I cried into a lasagna”.

“I did not know that”.

“You would have if you answered your phone”.

He looks down, “that’s also fair”; he didn’t know he even had a phone though so…

Then she sits down hard herself, sighing heavily, “I knew you were hiding something. No teenager eats that much ecto and remains ordinary”.

He grumbles, “and whose fault is that? Not that that’s the why”.

She makes him some coffee. He can’t remember if he likes coffee, but Danny apparently does because he drinks three cups pretty much automatically.

Maddie -because that’s what her actual name is- or rather mom, sits at the kitchen table with both hands wrapped around a mug she’s so far forgotten to actually drink from. Her pointing at his face, at his previously green eyes, “what was that”.

“It’s… complicated?”.

“No. Wrong answer. Try again with nouns”.

He swallows, “it’s infused ectoplasmic genetics that’s bonded to all my systems?”.

“That was worse than complicated”.

“Right”.

He rubs the back of his neck, “okay. Um. I’m, like, well, the ghosts all keep saying-”, doing air quotes, “-‘halfa’-”, dropping his hands and continuing, “so half one, half the other? Heh”.

“You’re what”.

“Uh, half and half?”.

Her eye twitches a little, “like the dairy product”.

He’s barely able to resist smirking meanly, clearly he likes messing with people, “but worst tasting, probably”.

She fully glares this time, “with how much ectoplasm is in you, definitely worse”, rubbing her forehead, “and I guess this explains why we’ve never been able to decontaminate you”.

“Sure”.

She narrows her eyes, “Danny… why were you searching for yourself? Why’d you disappear?”.

He absolutely flushes at that, “kinda seemed to have lost my memory for some reason, bits are coming back though so, like, I’m vibing now?”; especially since there’s no missing kid for him to go floating around looking for.

She stares at him for a beat before shaking her head, muttering, "unbelievable", looking at him, "you could do with being just a little bit more responsible, you know". Danny just rubs at his neck so she continues, "how did... you become like this, Danny?", her frowning, "was it us? Did we cause this? and- oh I... should call your father", promptly getting up on slightly shaky legs to grab the landline and give Danny's... dad a call.

He winces, he... doesn't really know? right now? but he feels like it's not their fault. In fact, something in his gut is telling him that it's his own fault. Blinking, "I don't really know right now, but I think it was my own fault; however it happened".

"-yeah, yes, he's fine- yes we foun- hun- he's home- don't worry, okay?", turning back to look at Danny, "do you have any idea how or where? Was it the lab, you think?".

That makes his entire left arm twitch and tense a bit, yeah... yes, the lab... sounded right. Blinking at her, "I... yeah the lab sounds right". Watching her as she walks over to what he knows is the lab door, having hung up the phone, her waving him over.

All it takes is spotting the portal to know that that's the where, his where, where he died. Sorta died at least, from the seams of it. Him going over and touching the metal, feeling his mom's eyes on him all the while. He can see her squeezing her arms in his peripheral vision as she talks, "the portal did this? I...", she frowns, "I'm sorry, Danny".

Him jumping in immediately, "don't be, I might not be all there memory-wise, but I definitely know I like being the way I am. And I can tell this thing, the portal, is important and personal to me", smiling at the thing a little, "I like it".

He can practically hear her blinking, she blinks so hard, "you... like it?".

Danny nodding immediately, "yeah. The other-side touched me, and I sort of… woke up, I guess. Woke up spooky-wise anyways”.

“Woke up”.

“Yes”.

“Like a dog?”.

He snorts and laughs a little, “scrappier than a dog”.

That at least gets her to laugh a little too, looking at the portal again, "scrappy is an understatement".

"DANNO! MAD'S! DANNY!".

Both of them jump, his mom turning to the stairs quickly, "WE'RE DOWN HERE, JACK! DANNY'S OKAY!", tilting her head down, "just... less okay than we've always thought he was".

Danny wincing, "I'm fine, I swear", blinking, "well, besides the memory issues".

She eyes him, "being half ghost, half dead, isn't 'being okay', Danny".

"It is for me, I think".

His... dad coming barraling down the steps, rushing over, and scooping Danny up into a bone crushing hug, "DANNY-BOY!".

Danny patting on his arm, "dad, can't, breathe"; the response is automatic but he’s fairly sure breathing isn’t really necessary. So his dad’s bone-crushing hugs must be really common place.

His dad laughs once more before putting him on the ground, clapping both his shoulders and bending over to be more at eye level, “now where on earth have you been, son? You have been on earth right? If any ghosts yanked into the ghost zone I swear!-”.

His mom puts a hand on dads shoulder, “relax, he’s been closer than either of us could have ever guessed”, looking to Danny, “because someone doesn’t tell his parents things he very much should have”.

Danny blinks and then gestures to one of the… many specimen jars, “uh…”; sure he doesn’t really remember why he didn’t tell them right now, but he can make a damn good guess. And she winces, so clearly it’s a bit obvious to her too, dad just looks at them both confused.

Dad scratching his head, before hugging Danny again quickly, “well no matter that, our boys okay!”, letting go and nodding firm to himself, “he can be as secretive as he wants so long as he’s being safe!”; mom glaring at him for that.

“He defiantly wasn’t being safe”.

“I definitely wasn’t being safe”.

The two share a little look before both look back to his dad. Danny wincing, “uh”, crap fuck, how does he transform? Back to Phantom? Spooky self? Opposite of calming the tinglies? Sure why not. Closing his eyes and forcing the feeling, there’s a flash of light…

“OH!”. A loud smacking noise makes Danny open his eyes, seeing dad’s hand on his forehead. Dad laughing, “this so should have been obvious! Phantom’s a Fenton! HA! That even rhymes!”.

“Jack! Is that really what you’re concerned about?”, mom sighing, “wonderful. Danny, could you continue explaining your nightmare”.

“Considering the memory loss, there’s really not much to say. Other than-”, gesturing at himself, “-I haven’t actually been missing? Just didn’t remember being myself…”.

Dad knocks on his head, “you must’ve taken one heckuva hit for that to happen. You good otherwise?”.

Danny quirking an eyebrow, “I think? And things are coming back so…”.

Mom sighing and looking at dad, gesturing at the portal, “apparently the how is the portal, he doesn’t know exactly how right now”, looking at Danny softly, “just that he believes it’s his fault and not ours”.

Danny rubbing his neck, “I pretty positive it was my own fault”.

Dad… also rubs his neck, must be where Danny got the habit from, “so our portal turned you into…”, he gestures vaguely, “Spooky Superman”, frowning, “that… can’t have been fun, Danno”.

Danny just shrugs, he’s distinctly sure it wasn’t, just the thought makes him arm twitch and a hint of… phantom (ha) pain flash by. “I don’t know right now”, pointing at his dad, “and I think it’s more like Green Lantern”.

“Spooky Superman”.

“Sure”.

Dad smirking a little before frowning, “and you decided not to tell us? It’s not like we wouldn’t love you, kiddo. Being a little spookier or not”.

Mom frowning and eyeing dad a little, “it… is a little, unsettling”, then smiling in a way that does seem slightly forced, “still our kid though”, and turns that smile on Danny, “definitely should have told us”.

Danny suddenly feels a little self conscious about his glow, but he doesn’t want to make her feel bad by changing back right now. Rubbing his neck, “I tried”.

“When?”.

“Uh multiple times I think?”, tilting his head, “once during… breakfast, way back before I was doing this whole running around superhero thing. Another time I think sis I tripped me”; right he has a sister, orange hair and overbearing? He thinks? Yeah overbearing sounds right.

Dad blinks and laughs a little, “I think I remember that too! The blender exploded!”.

Mom looking to dad, “right that old one that we made to be powered on ectoplasm, since we had such a good source all the sudden from the portal”, frowning and then eyeing Danny, “it was supposed to pull from the air and got overloaded”, blinking at Danny, “it must have been absorbing from you”.

Danny shrugs, “I was probably stressed and, I don’t know, still forming? that sounds right, so yeah it probably overcharged from my stuff”; an actual ghost, half ghost or not, definitely gives off more ectoplasm energy or whatever than the portal does.

Dad laughing more heartily and clapping Danny one on the shoulder, making him sort of hover forwards a bit before getting his feet back on the ground. “Got the Fenton knack for explosions from me!”.

Danny smiling a little at him, “technically, I got it from the portal. And in fairness, the blender was old”.

Mom quirks a judgmental eyebrow at him, “that blender was younger than you”.

He winces, and forces down that tingling to change back, feeling gravity fully again feels… odd honestly. He’d prefer not to. “I think I also wrote you a note one time?”. Both of them twitch a little from his sudden change.

Mom sighing, she does seem more comfortable now though, “you mean the note that said ‘Gone out. Do not open shed if growling continues’?”.

“Yes?”.

“That was not communication. We thought you trapped a ghost and wanted to deal with yourself”.

Danny nods sadly, “valid”.

Dad shakes his head, still smiling, “what’d you change back for? That’s very bright”, and chuckles, “guess you were dealing with ghosts yourself though. Like a Fenton!”.

Mom narrowing her eyes, “but with more injuries and getting shot at, letting us shoot at you”.

Danny rubbing his neck, “rarely? Injuries matter less for me?”.

They both glare at him for that, which is fair, he doubts any parent wants their kid going around getting hurt, and he feels like he probably gets shit kicked a lot. Mom crossing her arms at him, “when I told you to apply yourself more, this is not what I meant”.

Dad looking to her, “well in a way he is following in the family business”, grinning, “meaning we really do have someone to properly pass everything down to”, snapping his head towards Danny, “we could help! Join in! Wouldn’t that be fun!”.

“Jack! He needs to be safer about it first and explain things more and deal with this memory issue”.

Danny chuckling awkwardly, “if it’s anything, I definitely didn’t plan all of whatever I’ve been doing. Kinda seems more like an unavoidable part of being all ghostly”.

Mom sighs and shakes her head a little, “no child ever plans to become municipal folklore”.

Dad sticking up a finger, “well ghosts are combative so fightin’ makes sense, especially with getting our ghost hunting genes!”, his expression softening, “you really lost your memory?”.

Danny nods, “woke up in an alley. Didn’t know my name, didn’t know where home was. Everyone kept calling me Phantom so figured that was my name. Found out someone named Danny was missing”, his voice cracking slightly on that last word.

Mom ruffles up his hair, smile more soft now, “you poor idiot”.

Danny flushing, “I know, I’m a dumbass”.

“You searched for yourself?”.

“I made maps”.

Dad laughing loudly, “you interrogated yourself by proxy!”.

“Yup, that’s what I did”.

That gets mom laughing too, shaking her head it him, “I’m sorry. That’s terrible”.

“It’s also kind of funny”.

“It is deeply funny, sweetheart”.

He starts laughing too, tired and relieved and a little shaky, “what’s worse? I’m pretty sure this isn’t even the first time I’ve gotten the memory wipe treatment”.

Mom smacks him one of the head, “Danny!”, but she’s still laughing. At least they all head back upstairs to get something to eat and sit down. Her pointing at him as they get up the stairs, “just so we’re clear, you do not vanish for three days again”.

“Ideally”.

Dad butting in, “definitely no fighting ghosts on an empty stomach”.

Danny whining a little, “dad”.

Mom rolling her eyes, “and no more getting your memory erased”.

“I didn’t do that on purpose”.

“Intent is irrelevant”.

“Yes, mom”.

She nods firmly at him, opens the fridge, and begins pulling out leftovers, “you’re eating. We’re eating”.

“I already had coffee”.

“That is bean water”.

She slaps lasagna onto a plate, giving dad significantly more. Looking at Danny, “And after this, shower”.

“I showered yesterday”.

“You were missing yesterday. That does not count”.

He accepts his plate, “so are you… really going to be okay with all of this?”.

She eyes him, eyes him in a way that’s searching, like she’s looking for the green eyes and the white hair, “no”.

Danny wincing, “honest”.

Dad jumping in again, “hey but it’s really neat! And know we know for sure that Phantom really was always a good fellow”.

She looks at dad, “Jack, I am horrified; you should be too; he, at least to some degree, died”. Dad does wince at that, which is fair. Her looking back to Danny’s “and I’m confused. A little mad at you being so reckless. Proud, yes. Insanely scientifically curious. And possibly developing a stress rash”.

Danny has to force down a little laugh at that last bit, “also honest”.

Her sighing, looking down, then back up, “but you’re my son”, ruffling his hair roughly, “if life hands me a teenage semi-ghost vigilante, I’ll make do”.

He smiles down into the lasagna, taking bites slowly. Bits and pieces were coming back, so that’s good; objects seemed to be a pretty solid way to jumpstart the memories, and one memory could lead into another like a snowball.

The dent in the desk was from some failed tinkering. The scar on his knee from vaulting a fence because he forgot he could fly. Purple-braids girl’s name is Emilie. She’s from biology class and his friend… Sam likes her because most of the student body is afraid of the girl. He definitely remembers dying now, almost would rather not. But… it’s an important part of him, who and what he is. Very weird to feel protective of his own dying. The first time he realized helping people felt like oxygen, the word Obsession basically mentally smacking him with that one; that’s a need and he knows it instinctively, a… non-human one.

Mom puts her folk down and folds her arms at him, “so”; dad just awkwardly takes more food and continues eating away.

Danny quirking an eyebrow, “so?”.

“Are you going to keep ghost fighting?”.

Danny doesn’t even really have to think about it, he’s pretty sure he can not stop even if he wanted to. It was… tied to Obsession and instinct. “Yes”, he doesn’t really succeed at keep the hint of a growl out of his voice. Rubbing his neck, “just maybe with more support? And occasional non-school time naps?”.

His dad muttering between bites, “so this is why the teachers keep saying he sleeps in class? Huh. Wonder if it’s his biology or just too much nighttime hunting? Hmmm”.

Mom points at Danny, “good. Also, you are grounded for disappearing”, turning to point at dad, “and you, no testing biology till our son at least has his memories back and sorted. No getting over existed”.

Both men flush, Danny coughing, “I was protecting the city?”.

She turn back on him, “you were missing”.

“Technically, I was present in a different form”.

“Grounded”.

He considers arguing his point more only to get interrupted by his ghost sense. Him glaring at his pale visible breath, “oh goddamnit”.

Both parents immediately snapping, “language”.

Danny huffs a little but gets up, “uh gotta go to- wait never mind”, shaking his head, muttering to himself, “old habit? Yeah, old habit”, looking at them as he goes to put away his dish, “there’s a ghost”.

Dad jumping up excitedly, “you have a built in ghost sense! Man that’s awesome! Would love to have that!”.

Mom sighing and getting up herself, “fine. Do you know who? And do we need to bring specific weapons?”.

Danny blinks, “I wait- no, I don’t need parental supervision!”; oh Ancients the idea of his parents ‘supervising’ him like goddamn chaperones in front of some other ghost would be so embarrassing. Transforming almost absent mindedly.

She puts her hands on her hips and bends down towards him, slowly standing up straighter as he floats up into the air some, “you don’t have all your memories, we just found out you’re doing this, you’ve been missing for days, and you very much aren’t safe when you get into fights. Danny”.

Him sagging and whining, “but mom, noooo. Knowing my luck gossips gotten around and it’s gonna be the- that-”, waving a hand around, “-whatever motorcycle guy dude wanting to mock me”.

“Actually, it’s both of us”.

Danny and his parents all jump, turning to look at the doorway. Punk sleeze bag biker and punk biker girlfriend both smirk at him from the doorway. Biker guy snickers, “so you really did lose your memory, punk. Ha, get wrecked. What’d you do, get throttled by your ex one too many times this week?”.

Punk girl giggling with a hand over her mouth, “yeah totally heard about that thing you have for getting tied up and tasered”.

Danny screwing up his face a bunch, “that- oh zone that was one time! And it was not consensual!”.

Biker girl smirks, “your lack of memory might say otherwise”.

Danny snarling playfully, “I’m gonna steal that bike and make you eat the exhaust pipe”, and zips out after the two ghosts, who obviously ran off immediately. The two already on guys bike and waving at him as they rev the engine and blow down the road, Danny zipping after them.

His dad shouting, “I’m getting the gav! Darn he’s fast!”. And Danny just barely hears his mom shouting, “you better be home by ten!”.

“It’s midnight!”.

“Then you’re already late! And buy a new toaster!”.

Thankfully, even with his dad’s driving, his parents do not manage to catch up with him before he’s managed to successfully soup -and remember the names of- Johnny and Kitty. Kitty telling him quickly that she hopes he gets better, with Johnny agreeing ‘only because it’s more fun to race someone who actually remembers getting their ass kicked’, right before he souped them. Him turning around to see the gav driving up slowly, him shaking the thermos a bit to signal that things were already dealt with.

Dad sticking his head out, “you good kiddo?”.

Danny glances around a little before zipping over and phasing into the vehicle, he’s pretty damn solid on not wanting the town to see Phantom him getting on with his parents just yet. Floating in the back, nodding, “yeah. Those two are obnoxious friends, depending on the day”.

Dad making a quick, “huh, didn’t know ghost could make friends”, before turning the vehicle around to go straight home.

Mom quirking an eyebrow at Danny, “you’re… friends? With a ghost? Or pair of ghosts I suppose”.

“I… think I’m friends, or kinda friends at least, with most of the ghosts that show up often”.

She blinks harshly, “they’re damaging the town and fighting you?”.

Danny shrugging, “humans dance, ghosts fight”.

Dad laughing, “yeah that sounds about right! Now you need to go to bed, though you know we’re gonna be picking that brain of yours as soon as it’s all modern you again”.

Mom nodding, “you’ll be extra grounded if we catch you sneaking out, and we absolutely can differentiate your ecto-field from others, so we will know if it’s suddenly detected else where”.

Danny just pouts as they get home and they usher him inside, why did he get the feeling that this is one of the reasons why he never told his parents about his situation? Fuck.

End.