#danny phantom fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hannahmanderr · 5 months

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WHOO HOO ECTO-IMPLOSION!! I was honored to get to step in to write for the incredible artwork done by @praetoring! They're such a talented artist, and their art was truly inspiring!! I'll be reblogging it myself, but definitely go check it out here and share the love with them!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This would be so much easier if you opened up, Daniel.”

Danny huffs and scrapes the heel of his scruffy shoe on the thin carpet. “It’s Danny. And I told you before. There’s nothing to open up about.”

Dr. Bell leans forward and laces his fingers underneath his chin. Danny’s seen the critical glint in his eye before, in the other psychiatrists who have come before him. He wonders if it’s something they teach in medical school. Maybe they make it a graduation requirement.

“I’m here to help you. We all are,” Dr. Bell says, his honey brown eyes trained on Danny. “You’re here because you have people who care about you. They want to see you get better.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint, but there’s nothing to get better from.”

Dr. Bell’s eyes crease into a sad sort of smile. “There’s a term for that, you know. When a patient believes their problems aren’t a problem. ‘Ego-syntonic’ is what we call it.”

“Why would I care what it’s called?”

“Thought you might like to know.” The doctor shrugs. “You seem like the inquisitive type.”

A silence befalls the two, broken only by the gentle ticking of the antique cuckoo clock on the wall. Danny scrapes his heel on the ground again.

He doesn’t like the quiet. It leaves room for too much to sneak through. Too many chances for something to slip through the cracks.

But he doesn’t speak.

It’s a lose-lose situation, really. He can stay quiet and run that risk, or he can talk and have to deal with all this. Again.

He shuffles and crosses his arms.

Dr. Bell sighs. “You do know why you’re here right now, yes?”

Danny doesn’t answer at first. His gaze is focused out the window now, at a point on the horizon. The sun is glaring down, melting the slushy snow and causing the air to shimmer. It’s a mesmerizing sight, he decides.

“Daniel. Danny. Look at me.”

Danny grits his teeth, but obeys. Still, his eyes continue to drift back outside.

There’s another look in Dr. Bell’s eyes. One that Danny also knows well. The same reproachful, pitying look given to him by the students in the halls at school, the cashiers at the grocery store, the dozens of professionals he’s been forced to talk to. The same look accompanied by low whispers and unrelenting rumors.

Danny knows he should be used to them by now, but he still can’t help but lash out at them. Every time. Even if it’s in his own head.

Dr. Bell tilts his head thoughtfully. “Why did you throw those meds away, Danny?”

Danny bristles. He can still hear the flushing toilet and his sister’s shouts of disbelief. The angry lecture from his parents. It’s not pretty.

Somehow, he’d never thought about the consequences of getting caught.

“Maybe if you listened to me,” he snaps, “you’d understand that they’re useless.”

“If we need to adjust the dosage, or if we need to try anoth-”

“No, just - I don’t need them!” His heart is beginning to race. He’s getting himself worked up again, and he knows it can only lead to disaster, but he can’t really help it. “I don’t need them, because nothing’s wrong!”

Dr. Bell’s brow furrows. “How long have you been tossing them?”

“Does it matter? I don’t need them, end of story.”

“Danny.” His name is spoken with a sort of sternness really only matched by his English teacher. It’s enough to make him shut his mouth and slowly sit back in his seat. Had he even realized he’d started to lean forward?

His heart doesn’t quiet, though. It pounds away in his chest, faster and faster. Something tingles in the back of his head.

He scrapes his heel again.

The doctor finally looks away and pinches the bridge of his nose. It pushes his glasses askew. “This is serious. You can’t simply decide to stop taking these meds because you think you don’t need them. That’s dangerous… to you.”

Danny doesn’t need to be a genius to hear the unspoken message in Dr. Bell’s words. Dangerous to you and the people around you.

Jazz would scold him for jumping to that conclusion. He can imagine just what she’d say. People with psychotic disorders are more likely to be the victims of violence than the perpetrators of it, she’d say in that presumptuous, know-it-all voice she dons any time she gets to talking about psychology.

Danny knows better though. Statistics might say one thing. They don’t change what people think, though.

Another shimmer outside the window catches his eye. He hones in on it immediately.

This one is different. He knows it. He can feel it.

Shit.

Dr. Bell is still speaking. “Please, Danny. You don’t want to end up back in the hospital again. You’ve been managing your symptoms for a while now. You don’t want to throw that all away.”

But Danny isn’t hearing him. Not even the thinly veiled threat of the hospital breaks his concentration.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he wonders if psychiatrists are supposed to be this blunt. All of the others before this one always danced around the issue so delicately.)

(He sort of appreciates the bluntness, for once. It’s a refreshing change.)

No, his focus is devoted to that point on the horizon, where the shimmer is waving precariously in the air, taking on a new shape and growing stronger.

Really, he wishes it had waited until this appointment was over.

Then again, he’s really the one to blame for it, isn’t he?

“We can only do so much. Myself, your parents, your teachers… I know it’s difficult, and I know you’ve been through a lot, but we can’t do all the work for you. You have to be willing to step up and take care of yourself.”

Danny’s heart is throbbing painfully now. He can feel the potent hum of something buzzing just under his skin, making his leg bounce and his fingers dig into his torn jeans. His eyes remain stubbornly trained out the window.

But this time he’s heard Dr. Bell’s words. Specifically that last bit. And he has some words of his own.

It’s perfect timing, thankfully.

He stands up abruptly, so forcefully it knocks over his chair. “Thanks, but no thanks, doc. You may think I’m just throwing away my life or whatever, but I know myself better than you do. And for the record, I am taking care of myself. I’m taking care of more than myself, actually. So - and I’ll only say this once - kindly go to hell.”

Before Dr. Bell has the chance to respond, Danny sweeps out of the office.

No one sees him exit the building.

____________________________________________________________

One year, seven months, twenty-one days, and forty-six minutes.

That’s how long it’s been since the first crack.

It shouldn’t have been possible. His parents said so themselves. With the portal destroyed, the veil between worlds was never torn. Reality remained intact, thus preventing any leakage.

That’s what they thought anyway.

But Danny knows the truth. He’s the only one that does.

He was there when it happened, after all.

____________________________________________________________

The next morning has Jazz hovering over his shoulder, watching him like a hawk.

“Go on,” she says, nodding to the pills in his open hand. “Take them.”

Danny doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares at the pills with disdain. Mom had been sure to make certain that he’d have them for this morning. Pharmacies work much faster with an impassioned Fenton breathing down their necks.

Either that, or maybe they’ve heard the rumors about him too.

Jazz huffs and throws her hands in the air. “Honestly, Danny, I don’t understand what the big deal is. They’re not gonna kill you.”

Danny tilts his head. He could probably make a decent argument as to why yes, taking these pills could end up with him dead, but he holds his tongue.

He can feel his heart begin to pulse a little faster. His focus immediately redirects to his breathing.

Inhale Io Europa Ganymede.

Exhale Callisto Amalthea Himalia.

Inhale Elara Pasiphae Sinope.

Exhale Lysithea Carme Ananke.

Jupiter has 95 moons. Danny knows all their names by heart. It became especially easy to memorize them when he discovered they make for a wonderful mantra to time his breathing to.

And Jazz wanted to accuse him of not paying attention in therapy.

Except she’s still staring at him with murder in her eyes. “You’re not going anywhere until you take those. And no, I will not vouch for you with Lancer if you make us late.”

His eyes flick up to hers for the briefest of moments. He doesn’t maintain the eye contact - it’s too hard to look at the disappointment in her eyes - but it’s long enough for him to spot something else within them. He can’t quite believe it, though.

Is that… helplessness?

Conflicting feelings war within him. On one hand, he wants to snap at her, tell her to mind her own business and quit worrying about him. She’s been on his back for the better part of the past year and a half. How has she not learned that no amount of nagging is going to “fix” him?

But on the other hand, his heart pangs for his sister. After all, she’s been dealing with the effects of his… condition for that year and a half now, whether she’s wanted to or not. He knows his problems are not self-contained; they inevitably twist their way into the lives of everyone he comes into contact with. No one has been in closer contact with him than Jazz.

In a way, he sort of hates himself for it. Or maybe he hates the universe for putting him into this position. Either way, he hates it.

Yet he still can’t take the pills. He doesn’t know what sort of effect they’ll have on him, but he’s not eager to find out, either.

Danny sighs and his shoulders slump. “Fine,” he says, his voice clipped. “Whatever.”

He makes a show of tossing them in his mouth and taking a big gulp of water. Even after he swallows, Jazz still eyes him critically.

“Open up,” she demands, though her voice is gentler. Obediently, he opens and lifts his tongue to show her his empty mouth.

She nods curtly, but Danny can see the tension drain from her face and body. The sight is somewhat strangely satisfying. “Thank you. Now was that so bad?”

Danny shakes his head.

“That’s what I thought. Now come on, I really don’t want to be late.”

“You go ahead,” he says. “Sam and Tucker wanted to walk with me today.”

Jazz raises an eyebrow. The gears are turning in her head, Danny knows, as she tries to pick the reason apart. Looks for a flaw.

A year and a half of lying through his teeth has earned him such a lack of trust.

But he shrugs half-heartedly. He’s already taken the pills, hasn’t he?

Jazz seems to reach this conclusion. “Alright,” she says slowly. She bends down to pick up her bag, but her eyes stay glued to him. “But if you try anything funny…”

“What would I even try?”

“Just -” she cuts herself off and draws in a breath. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy, Danny. I just… I worry. You’re my little brother, you know?”

His heart pangs again. “I know.”

The hint of a smile graces the corners of her lips. She plants a kiss into his hair. There’s a weight to it though, one that holds the strain of all the heated arguments, all the angry and despaired tears, all the failed pleading and promising, everything that’s happened in the past year and a half.

Even if her melancholy hadn’t draped itself around his shoulders, he would’ve known.

Still, when she pulls away, he offers her his own small smile. She leaves the house without another word.

It’s only after he hears the door close behind her that he bolts to the bathroom.

____________________________________________________________

He had tried to explain what was happening to him, after the portal exploded on him. He tried to explain the strange feelings in his body, the impossible things he was seeing.

The doctors (and his sister) immediately wrote off his complaints as residual trauma from the accident. You’re lucky to even be alive, they would tell him. It’s expected that you’d be having problems adjusting.

(Lucky to be alive. That’s what they said. That’s what everyone said.)

(If only he believed that statement was true.)

(And not about the “lucky” part.)

His parents, of course, had been intrigued at first. Perhaps it was because of some delirious hope after the destruction of their magnum opus, but they at least listened to him. There had been some skepticism, especially as it became clearer and clearer that there was no proof to Danny’s claims, but they stayed patient.

Until Jazz found out about the questions they were asking him. She had given them a lecture of her own for “encouraging his delusions” before “accidentally” dropping it to the therapist during a family counseling session.

His parents, disappointed as they had been, agreed to back off.

Leaving him alone to fix a problem no one believed was real.

____________________________________________________________

Danny’s head feels like dead weight as he lifts it from the toilet. He flushes it before he can look down and make himself sick all over again.

God, what has he come to?

The bitter taste of the half-digested pills burns at his tongue. Still, he chooses to fall back against the wall, breathing heavily and letting his eyes flutter closed.

His heart pounds in his chest. It had started even as he had been running to the bathroom. He silently berates himself for allowing it to happen. And although part of him has already resigned himself to the inevitable consequence, part of him still desperately latches onto the list of moons he knows so well.

Leda Thebe Adrastea.

Something potent and volatile pulses in the air. He can feel it seep through his skin and into his muscles and bones. It only makes his heart race faster, especially as the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and goosebumps coat his arms.

He’s had a year and a half to get used to the sensation, but it catches him off guard every time. Like something is tearing itself apart inside him.

Or maybe like he’s being torn apart.

Metis, Themisto…

Danny curls in on himself. Pressure builds in his chest. Something he has no human words for storms inside him in a relentless whirlwind. He can feel the need for release, though whether that’s him begging for a reprieve or the force inside him demanding to be freed, he can never tell. Perhaps it’s both.

… Callirrhoe…

The sizzling snaps of something electric are audible in the air, concentrated somewhere behind the shower curtain. He holds his head in a death grip and his heart beats fast - impossibly fast.

So fast it might as well be stopped.

Something cold writhes its way into his throat, stirring his stomach into nausea all over again. He can’t swallow it down. He’s forced to open his mouth in a gasp and stare in dismay as pale, blue mist pours from his lips.

But he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. The demand from the force within has become intolerable. Like always, he’s left wondering if it’ll be too much for his tiny mortal body to handle.

Unfortunately for him, he knows he’ll be able to handle it.

With a guttural cry, the energy erupts in him.

He’s never sure what exactly happens next. He’s always been too overwhelmed by whatever it is to see or understand. All he knows is the thunderbolt of something electric, something powerful being unleashed into him. Or maybe it’s clawing its way out of him.

Memories of blinding green light and an explosion that leaves his ears ringing rip through him.

That’s probably always the worst part.

And then, right as he’s sure he’ll disintegrate into nothing more than dust, it stops. In a single deafening clap, it stops.

Slowly, Danny peels his eyes open. The death grip loosens and his legs and arms begin to unfold. The tension, however, does not leave his body. Every human instinct of his whispers at him furiously to stay alert. Be prepared. Flee from the danger.

But a different set of instincts has clamored its way forward too. Instincts that are far from human. Instincts that draw him up from the floor and towards the bathtub.

A toxic green glow pulses behind the shower curtain.

____________________________________________________________ It hadn’t taken long for the rumors to start spreading. Amity Park is, after all, a sleepy little suburb. Its residents will take their drama where they can get it.

Did you hear about the ghost hunters’ son? they’d whisper. Did you hear about the crazy Fenton kid?

Speculations ranged far and wide. Even after the portal’s explosion became common knowledge, people would throw out wild theory after wild theory.

I heard he ate a bunch of ectoplasm and it’s poisoned him.

Well, I heard the radiation from all those experiments finally got to him.

Are you kidding? Those loony Fentons obviously started experimenting on him.

Comments like that last one always stung the worst.

If he’d been a social pariah before, he was even more of one after the accident.

And it definitely didn’t help that the accident left him with a slew of… “side effects.” Ones that really got everyone talking.

____________________________________________________________

Danny nearly tears the curtain off the rod as he rips it to the side.

Sure enough, right in the middle of the bathtub, a rancid green crack shimmers in the air.

“Go away,” he growls. There’s something ethereal about his voice now, something that makes it reverberate against the walls and fill the air with static. Something fueled by the anger and frustration in his bones.

Something - or someone - is trying to press their way through the crack. Even if it hadn’t been visibly apparent, Danny can feel it in his chest. It’s causing a distinct pressure that throbs out of sync with his heart. It’s uncomfortable, to say the least.

A different kind of static drifts through the portal. That would be the response, Danny gathers. Somehow, despite the lack of any English words - or any words, period - he knows exactly what’s being said. Or a rough idea, at least.

“No,” he snaps. A crack of electricity snaps in time with his voice. “You’re not coming through. Go away.”

He wishes the intruder would just leave him alone. The sooner he’s able to calm down, the sooner the crack will fade. That’s how it works. That’s how it’s always worked.

This time, when static drifts through the portal, there are the low undertones of something that can maybe be interpreted as language. Danny listens closely.

“This is my world.” He’s attempting to make himself sound as threatening as possible, allowing the anger and the fierce instinct to possess to bubble over into his demeanor. His blood is running cold, and he knows if he were to look in the mirror right now, he’d be met with not his eyes, but an otherworldly glow that mimics the color of the crack down to a tee. “This is my haunt. You’re not welcome.”

He’s still not exactly sure what a haunt is, and he’s not sure why the thought of this being his haunt makes his stomach flutter with both anxiety and excitement, but he’s dealt with this problem long enough to know how to speak their language.

“Let me through,” a voice hisses from inside the crack, muddied by the accompanying static. “I only wish to help you.”

Danny scoffs. “Yeah, right. Like any of you have ever actually wanted to help me before.” His eyes narrow, and now he can feel a cold crackle gathering behind them. “So you’d better leave now, because you won’t like it if I have to make you.”

“And just how do you intend to ‘make’ me leave, halfling?”

There’s that word again. The one that sends a buzz straight down Danny’s spine and causes something in his chest to leap. The one they’ve all been calling him for the past year and a half.

Halfling.

What exactly that means, he still doesn’t know.

“I’ve gotten rid of plenty of you before,” he says, low and dangerous. “I can just as easily get rid of you.”

The pressure in his chest increases sharply as a shadowy figure presses right up against the crack. Foggy bits of the figure begin to slip through the crack. “Perhaps you are as powerful as they say.” The voice becomes clearer. “Perhaps your words have merit. Somehow, I doubt that.”

Danny growls again, and his hands ball into fists. He swings madly at the little tendrils of fog. They dissipate under his touch, and the intruder hisses.

“You are making a grave mistake, child. It is not wise to reject my aid.”

“Sure. I’m sure your ‘aid’ involves all sorts of terrorizing and wreaking havoc and stuff. Exactly the kind of help I need.” He grunts as the intruder attempts to shove their way through again, and it feels like someone has thrown a cinderblock into his chest. Still, he stands his ground. “This place is mine, and if you think I’m just gonna let you come in and run rampant, then you have another thing coming.”

Despite his best efforts, more and more foggy bits leak through the crack. The static in the air pulses, and he gets the vague notion that he’s being laughed at. “Such strong words from such an insolent boy. This is the great halfling child I was told so much about?”

“You know, you’re not exactly doing much to help your case.”

“Hmm. Then maybe I’ll simply make you my offer.”

“Not. Interested.” His hands are tingling. Is it from coming into contact with the intruder? Or from something else? He can’t tell. “You can take your offer and -”

“I can teach you how to seal the rifts.”

Now that makes Danny falter.

____________________________________________________________

It only took about a month for Danny to realize it was him that was responsible for the cracks.

They didn’t start out as anything big. Barely shimmers or disturbances in the air, when he’d get worked up or nervous or upset. Nothing big enough for anything to fit through, of course.

But enough to get him to notice.

In retrospect, it did make some sense. His parents’ portal had opened up on top of him. Or maybe even opened up in him. Of course, it was bound to leave some lasting metaphysical effects.

He just hadn’t expected to learn that he was the portal’s replacement.

It was sometime right then, a month or so after the accident, that Sam had campaigned and succeeded to revise the school lunch menu. The resulting argument between her and Tucker had gotten him so anxious that it resulted in his largest crack yet. One that was big enough to allow something through.

One that was big enough to allow one of the ghosts on the other side to slip through.

____________________________________________________________

The thought is tantalizing. It’s been so long, relying on his ability to rein in his anger and anxiety to force the cracks to fade. It’s a task much easier said than done.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have an easier, more reliable way of closing them? Of keeping the ghosts out of his territory? Of stopping things before they could cause too many problems?

The intruder must sense his hesitation, because they give another forceful push. Danny, wrapped up in his own thoughts, is caught off guard by the move, and he gasps in shock as he squeezes his eyes shut and reels backwards.

It’s enough of an opening for the ghost to slide the rest of the way through.

Danny can feel its presence. There’s something… musty about it. Like the way it feels when he goes into the attic and sees all of his and Jazz’s old baby stuff packed away. Or when he’s forced to use one of the particularly “well-loved” copies of textbooks at school. He’s not sure whether to be put off by it or intrigued.

But it does feel foreign. More foreign than the presence of most other ghosts he’s encountered.

He opens his eyes.

Endless red eyes bore into his.

He reels again.

“Who the hell are you?” he hisses. Static crackles under his voice again.

The figure simply floats there, mostly hidden underneath a cloak. Those awful red eyes shine like beacons from the shadows created by the hood. Oddly enough, they make it harder to see the figure’s face. If they actually have one. Danny’s seen more than one faceless ghost before.

“Believe it or not, I do truly wish to help you,” the ghost says. Its voice is smooth and masculine, and when it speaks, Danny is flooded with a wave of that same musty energy. Something about it feels old. Timeless.

It’s not reassuring in the slightest.

The words themselves are not reassuring either. Faces supplant the shadow under the hood - his parents’, Dr. Bell’s, Jazz’s. The phrase is one that Danny is intimately familiar with, and he immediately bristles.

“I don’t need your help,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “And I still don’t believe you actually want to help.”

Danny can’t see the figure’s face, of course, but somehow, he can tell that the ghost is smiling at him. The kind of smile adults give children who don’t know any better. “And why don’t you believe that?” the ghost asks, unperturbed by his petulance.

Danny throws his arms in the air before crossing them even tighter across his chest. “Because that’s all you ghosts do! You invade my home and start trying to stir up trouble, and then I have to chase you down and shove you back through before you hurt something. Or someone.”

“Such hasty conclusions to draw.” The ghost clucks its tongue disapprovingly. “That won’t do at all.”

Danny’s blood boils cold and the glow from his eyes is bright enough to reflect on the ghost in front of him. He raises his fists. “Go. Now.”

The ghost sighs, as if it’s bored of the conversation already. A hand thrusts out from underneath the cloak, aimed toward the crack. Danny’s eyes widen as a blue glow surrounds the ghost’s hand, then the crack. The crack shudders.

And it begins to mend itself.

Something inside Danny shifts as the crack seals itself. He feels like he can breathe a little easier, like his heart isn’t being pushed against as much.

But the ghost is still there, in his bathroom. And now that the crack is gone, the full force of the ghost’s presence is surrounding Danny.

Danny sees the glint of sharp teeth as the ghost grins. “I don’t think I will go,” it says.

Danny’s not sure whether to be amazed, terrified, or infuriated. Or maybe some combination of the three. On one hand, this ghost just proved its ability to seal the cracks. Maybe even the ability to teach him how to do it himself. If Danny possesses that ability.

On the other hand, though, Danny doesn’t take too kindly to ghosts intruding in his world and asserting themselves.

He’s the boss here.

That instinct, the instinct to own and possess and keep his territory, wins out easily. It’s too overwhelming, and Danny doesn’t really have the energy to try and fight it.

Besides, he figures, if he can get himself worked up enough, he can create another crack to shove this ghost back through.

So with a roar of anger, Danny lunges at the ghosts and swings his fists with all his might.

The moment he comes into contact with the ghost, something changes.

And green fire explodes to life around his hands.

____________________________________________________________

The cracks weren’t the only side effect of the portal’s explosion.

Danny never understood what was happening to him. In all honesty, he’s still not sure if he completely understands. What he knew and what he knows, though, is that something within him began to shift.

He began to shift.

Why did the cold winter air seem to embrace him? Why did the night sky whisper to him with offers of belonging? Why did he find himself seeing new colors and new lights out of the corners of his eyes?

He tried to explain it to his friends, his family, his doctors. The former took some interest, but lost it quickly with nothing to back it up. The latter only used it as evidence for his diagnosis.

It didn’t help when things got more serious, after Sam changed the lunch menu and he’d had to beat back the ghost he’d accidentally summoned. He found himself drawn to some of the most random places in town - behind the dumpsters at the Nasty Burger, the top of Lookout Hill, the architecture section in the public library. Why those places, he didn’t know. All he knew was that the air in those places felt… different. Thinner, maybe. Like he could poke through it if he found the right place.

He learned to start staying away from those places.

It was worse when he started to be drawn to places that had a much more sinister aura. Like the time when he found himself standing on the side of the road at the site of a bad car wreck, watching as EMTs soberly placed a sheet over a broken body. Or when he ended up standing in the doorway of the hospice center in town as a family with red eyes and tears aplenty quietly shuffled their way out.

It gave even more reason for people to stay away from him. He smells like death, they’d say. He figured they were probably close enough to being right.

And that wasn’t counting the other side effects.

____________________________________________________________

Danny screams.

In an instant, he’s pushed the ghost back from him and scampered away, staring in horror at his burning hands. Many things have happened to him in the past year and a half, but his hands spontaneously catching on fire has not been one of them.

“Interesting,” he can hear the ghost saying, but he doesn’t truly register it. His focus is entirely on the green fire.

It’s only after a few seconds that he starts to wonder why it doesn’t hurt.

He’s heard stories, of course. About how with serious burns, they can destroy nerves before you can register the pain. He himself still has a few destroyed nerves from the explosion. He wonders if that’s what’s happening to him now. It would explain why he’s in such shock, unable to do anything to actually put out the fire.

And then he finally processes three very important things.

One: the fire is green. Not normal fire by any means.

Two: he can’t see any damage to his hands, even as the fire burns. And it doesn’t move any farther than his wrists.

Three: he can feel something. It’s not heat. His hands tingle, but not painfully. Rather, it feels like he’s dunked his hands into a bowl of ice water. Or like snow has wrapped around them.

His eyes snap up to the ghost. “What the hell did you do to me?” he shouts. His voice shakes with panic.

The ghost is as placid as ever. It holds a gloved hand up towards its chin. Danny hates feeling like the subject of some twisted experiment.

“That power has always been within you, young halfling,” it says. It could be Danny’s imagination, but he thinks he hears something akin to wonder in the ghost’s voice. “It would seem that my presence has simply accelerated your discovery of this power.”

Danny opens his mouth, but words escape him. His eyes drift back down to his hands, still lit up.

He shouldn’t be quite so stunned. This isn’t the first time something distinctly supernatural has happened to his body. Memories of arms and legs glitching out of sight and feet slipping through the ground swarm him in a rush.

He still doesn’t know why those things happen, or what they mean.

They scare him.

But he’ll never admit it. Not that he can. These occurrences would be written off as delusions.

The ghost leans down and approaches Danny. Although he’s already pressed flush against the wall, he tries to sink further into it. “Stay away from me!” As he shouts, the fire around his hands flares brighter.

The ghost’s eyes briefly flick to the fire before settling back on Danny. “Relax,” it says. “You are overreacting.” It tilts its head, and Danny sees the glint of teeth again. “Are all humans this… emotionally fragile?”

“I’m about to show you fragile,” Danny growls.

“Hmm. There’s that attitude again.” The ghost sighs. “In all truthfulness, though, you do need to relax. You will never gain control if you are continually losing it, child.”

“That makes zero sense. And how am I supposed to relax when you’re invading my home?”

“Because you are foolish,” the ghost says plainly. Danny wants to throw another punch, but the idea of another freaky thing happening if he touches the ghost keeps his behavior under control. “You are too focused on the external. You must focus on the internal.”

“Well, maybe I could ‘focus on the internal’ if you’d just leave me alone!”

A rush of that musty energy presses Danny into the wall. “You would be wise to listen to me, halfling. I am one of the very few beings that truly does wish to help you. Without my aid, you will leave yourself vulnerable to every single one of the threats behind the veil.” The ghost pauses. “Yourself… and your haunt.”

Danny’s anger falters.

The ghost continues. “What you have seen thus far is but a taste of the threats that wait for you. Everything you have faced up until this point will seem like child’s play compared to what you will face. Your only hope to defend yourself is to listen to me.”

Danny wants to stay angry. He wants to stay feisty and impudent. This is just another intruder after all. One of the many he’s had to beat back to wherever they came from.

But as he stares helplessly into the ghost’s gaze, he can’t help but feel as though he is being pierced down to his very soul. Embedded within those deep red eyes is the afterimage of every star that’s burned itself to death, from the beginning of time to the end. The infinite void of eternity. The promise of planets yet to be created, cosmic dust yet to settle, things that will happen long after the Earth’s Sun has gone supernova and extinguished any trace of life.

Danny cries out. His head snaps backward, breaking the connection to the ghost’s eyes. He pants for breath he didn’t know he’d been lacking.

He gets the impression that perhaps this isn’t just another intruder.

“Who… are you?” he asks again, this time with caution.

The ghost blinks once. “I can be your greatest ally, or I can be your greatest enemy. I am prepared to be both. Whichever one I am rests in your hands.” He nods down to the green flames still licking Danny’s hands.

Danny’s breath hitches. The way this ghost talks, the way it carries itself, he can tell the ghost knows far more than he does. Far more. He’s not sure if the threats of dangers yet to come are valid or not.

But while he asserts his ability to take care of anything thrown at him, he knows the fear in his gut says otherwise.

His fists clench. He grits his teeth. Tears pool in the corners of his eyes. Why do there have to be more threats? Why can’t these ghosts just leave him alone? Why him? Why did all this happen to him? Why must he face this alone?

The questions swarm him like angry hornets. They make it hard for him to think clearly.

His heart begins to race.

“N-no, please,” he gasps. “Not again.”

“You must relax,” the ghost reiterates. “Your abilities are tied to your emotions, as are the abilities of all ghosts. In this case, if you wish to calm the ability, you must first calm yourself, halfling.”

Danny’s stomach turns at the ghost’s words. There’s a hidden implication within them, one that Danny can’t quite put his finger on. He’s sure he does not like it, though.

“I can’t just… calm down,” he says. It’s the truth. Even a year and a half of intense therapy and psychiatric treatment hasn’t taught him how to simply shut off his emotions.

The ghost hums and puts a hand to its chin again. “How is it you humans deal with such strange matters?” He shakes his head before Danny can respond. “No matter. I can assist you by using my power to influence yours, but you must trust me to touch you again.”

Danny’s head whips back and forth wildly. “Because it went so well the last time I touched you?” he says. He hates the note of panic he can hear in his voice.

“That was, as you call it, a fluke. As I said, the power was always within you. My influence has simply brought forth that power early.”

“And how do you know it won’t happen again?”

Teeth flash underneath the hood of the cloak. “I have far more control over my abilities than you, boy. Rest assured I will be able to control something as simple as this.”

Danny’s heart thumps loudly. The ghost extends a hand towards him, and Danny instinctively flinches away from it. He can already feel the ghost’s presence beginning to press up against him again, and it only makes him more anxious.

But…

But.

There’s something different about it now.

Something that reminds him of his mother gently kissing his brow while putting a bandage on his scraped knee. Something that reminds him of his father’s bear hugs that wrap him up in a safe cocoon. Something that reminds him of the weighted blanket Jazz got him last year for Christmas, in an attempt to provide him with something to help with his leftover trauma from the accident.

“Stop it,” he says, but there’s no weight behind his words. “I didn’t… say you could… influence me.” Because as much as he hates to admit it, the ghost’s presence is affecting him. He can feel it in his heartbeat, in his breathing, as they both begin to slow.

He’s lucky he looks up in time to see the ghost’s eyes widen for the briefest of seconds. “You can already feel me?” it asks. Fascination dances behind its words, and Danny feels like he’s a being watched like a zoo animal again.

“Yes, now can you please… stop it?” Danny chances looking into the ghost’s eyes again. “I-I’ll calm down or whatever, just… please…”

To his surprise, the pressure against his chest lessens, and the vague notions of safety dissipate. The ghost floats backward a foot or two.

He feels like he can breathe again.

It’s strange, he thinks to himself. How he seems to calm much easier without the ghost’s… influence. Maybe it’s the feeling of regaining some control over the situation. Maybe it’s because he feels less like he has to defend his territory.

He looks up at the ghost. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

He’s surprised to realize he means it.

The flames die out.

____________________________________________________________

Once Danny figured out exactly what was happening within him to trigger the cracks, he tried desperately to keep it from happening at all costs.

Some tactics worked better than others. Timing his breath to the list of Jupiter’s moons was one. His therapist had been thrilled to hear that he’d taken her advice.

He tried journaling, at the encouragement of another of his therapists and his sister. It worked a bit at first. It gave him a place to vent about the ghosts and everything happening with them without running the risk of being scolded for “giving into his delusions.” It quickly lost whatever effectiveness it had, though.

Eventually, he simply tried to shut his emotions off. He tried to become uncaring, unmoved. Tried not to let everyone’s harsh words get to him as much.

That failed miserably.

Then again, so did every other tactic he tried.

At some point, they all failed. The cracks were inevitable.

They always would be.

____________________________________________________________

The ghost, for what it’s worth, keeps true to its promise to teach him how to close the cracks.

Ironically, though, it involves traveling through yet another crack.

It’s not Danny who opens it. The ghost waves its hand, and another hole in reality sparks to life inside his bathtub. The ghost’s crack is far neater than Danny’s - smoother, larger, not jagged like the forked branches of lightning.

Danny watches, and he can’t help but be in awe. The simplicity with which the ghost opened it blows him away.

“Can it really be that easy?” he asks. The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop himself. Immediately, he regrets it. His goal isn’t to learn how to create the things. He just needs to know how to stop them.

At the same time, the idea of being able to open the cracks without devolving into near panic, without feeling like his body is being ripped in two…

It’s enticing.

“With patience and precision, yes.” The ghost tilts its head at Danny. “Two things you severely lack, halfling.”

Anger flares in Danny. Somehow, he manages to wrangle it down to a simmer.

“Let’s go,” the ghost says. If it felt Danny’s silent outburst, it does not indicate so.

“Go where?” Danny asks. Realization hits him a moment later. “Through it?”

“Going above it or around it would hardly do us any good.”

Danny balks. “I - can’t you just show me here? Why do we have to go through?”

The ghost is silent for a long moment. It stares unblinking at Danny. “If you wish to stay here,” it says, low and dark, “the consequences of doing so will rest on your head.”

Danny doesn’t need his sister’s intelligence to understand what the ghost is getting at now.

“Alright, fine, I get it, it might get messy,” he concedes. “But… do we really have to go through it still?”

“You’re fearful.” It’s not a question.

Danny reflexively puffs his chest up. “I’m not afraid,” he fires back.

It’s a lie.

He wonders if the ghost knows it.

The ghost hums. “If it helps, this portal simply leads to another location here in your human world. You do not need to enter my world. Not yet.”

Danny’s head snaps towards the crack at hearing the last of the ghost’s words. “Not yet?”

He doesn’t like those implications.

“I grow weary of your refusal to cooperate, child,” the ghost says with a sigh. “You will enter this portal if you wish to learn how to close the cracks and defend yourself. If you do not, I can assure you of the hardships you will try and fail to face.”

“Okay! Okay. Just… stop being so… doomer. I get the idea already.”

“Then by all means…” The ghost sweeps an arm out towards the crack with a cheeky bow.

Reluctantly, Danny steps into the bathtub to stand before the crack. It’s the same vibrant green as the one earlier, as all the ones that had come before it. He can’t see what lies on the other side through the swirling green void.

Slowly, he reaches out and puts his hand through.

The sensation is… surprisingly pleasant. His hand meets empty air on the other side, but at the thin point where his forearm is split between two locations, where the crack touches his skin, he’s met with energy.

It’s pure and it’s raw. It’s electric. It’s invigorating and nothing like Danny has ever felt before. Standing here, in the glow of the crack through reality, he feels like he’s finally on solid ground. Like he’s found the thing that sings to him and his heart, rather than brutalizes it. Fear flushes from his body.

It’s all in such stark contrast to everything the cracks have brought him thus far. For a year and a half, it’s been oppressive. Looming over his head. Threatening to seize his heart and his breath.

But now?

He feels like he can do anything.

And that’s just with his arm partway through.

Without another thought, Danny leaps through the crack.

It’s every bit as exhilarating as he’d hoped.

____________________________________________________________

In the months after the explosion, Danny often found himself spiraling into existential trains of thought. One does not simply go through a near-death experience without having a bit of existentialism on the side.

His therapists took this to mean he had lost his sense of identity as part of his trauma. It’s okay to feel like you’ve lost yourself, they’d tell him. Like you don’t know who you are anymore.

They would sit him down and force him through exercise after exercise, trying to identify his sense of self, the traits he felt like he embodied, everything that made Danny, Danny.

Who am I?

It was the question the therapists challenged him to ponder, time after time. Only you can answer that question for yourself, Danny.

He wanted to scream every time he was made to fill out another chart. Or outline who he thought he was. Or draw up things to symbolize himself. The question of who he was wasn’t the cause of his existential spirals. He already knew who he was.

Mostly, anyway.

No, it was a different question that plagued him time after time. After every crack, every encounter with a ghost, every unexplainable sight or sound he came across.

What am I?

A year and a half later, he still doesn’t know.

____________________________________________________________

Danny trips over his feet as he exits the crack.

He’s still breathless from the sheer euphoria from the experience. His body shakes from the overwhelming feeling of power coursing through his veins. He wants to laugh, or maybe cry. Maybe both.

Where has this been for the past year and half? How could he have gone so long without experiencing something like this?

He turns around to face the crack. In an instant, he’s up against it once more, trying to savor any last dredges of the energy that he can.

He realizes that this is the closest he’s ever been to one of the cracks. He’s stayed away from them like a plague, only getting close enough to shove ghosts back through. Their presence has always weighed heavily on him, but now Danny wonders if that’s really the case.

No, something heavy has always accompanied the cracks. But… are the cracks themselves responsible for the pressure in his chest?

For the first time, he’s starting to think he’s had it wrong.

There’s a tingle in his chest, then a push, then pressure. This is the feeling he’s far more familiar with. Knowing what it heralds, he steps to the side. A moment later, the cloaked ghost makes its way through the crack.

“There,” it says once fully on this side of it. “Was that so bad?”

Danny opens his mouth. His instinct is to gush about it, to tell the ghost that it was the farthest thing from “bad.”

Those haunting red eyes turn on him, and the words die on Danny’s tongue.

He huffs and kicks at the ground. “It wasn’t terrible,” he mutters quietly.

They’re on a dirt road, somewhere rural. Fields dormant for the winter sprawl out on either side of the road. A lone set of electrical lines runs along the side of the road. He can’t see any buildings around.

“Wait, where are we?” he asks, trepidation in his voice. Belatedly, he wonders if blindly trusting a very powerful ghost was smart.

“Not far,” the ghost responds. It does not elaborate. Instead, it seals the crack they’ve just come through with a lazy wave of its hand.

The second time witnessing it is just as mesmerizing as the first.

“Why do we have to come all the way to the middle of nowhere to do this? Seriously, why couldn’t you just show me back home?”

The ghost hums. It stares at the horizon, unfocused. “There are things you have yet to understand, halfling. You will learn in time.”

Danny grits his teeth. “Listen, you said you wanted to help me. So quit being all creepy-cryptic and help me.”

“I do not take well to people making demands of me,” the ghost says sharply. A cold breeze rustles the dead leaves on the road and in the fields. “We will operate on my schedule. A halfling child will not dictate it to me.”

Though he doesn’t know why or how, Danny’s instincts scream at him to rise to meet the challenge. To tell the ghost that it may want to operate on its own schedule, but this is Danny’s territory. That it can’t simply wander in and out of his world as it pleases and act as though it is in charge.

It takes every ounce of self-control he can muster to tamper those instincts.

He’s none too eager for the ghost to get mad at him again.

“What do I do then?” he grumbles.

The ghost floats to Danny’s side. “To learn how to control the cracks, you must first learn to take notice of the world around you.” It sweeps its arm out. “Tell me what you see here.”

“What? I don’t… there’s nothing to notice. What does this have to do with anything?”

“If you do not notice anything by looking, then notice by seeing.”

“That literally makes zero sense!”

The ghost ignores Danny’s outburst this time. “You can already see more than other humans,” it says tiredly. As though it’s explained this to him hundreds of times already. “But you ignore it. You ignore the world around you to maintain little more than an illusion.”

Danny’s stomach does a little ballet. The ghost… isn’t wrong. The glimpses of colors he has no human words for, the way his eyes are drawn to seemingly invisible movements, the dancing lights always in the corners of his eyes, they are all things he knows he can see that others can’t.

He hates it.

“Maybe ignoring it is better,” he retorts. There’s some fire in his words, but not much.

“Better for who? For those around you? For you? The answer is neither. How can you wish to protect your haunt when you turn a blind eye to that which supposedly threatens it?”

“As long as it stays on their side of the crack, it’s fine.” Even as he speaks, Danny realizes he’s losing confidence in his words. It’s terrifying.

“Naive child,” the ghost mutters. Disgust taints its words. Or is that…

… disappointment?

Danny doesn’t have time to figure it out. The ghost continues speaking.

“Nothing is ever black and white. There is never such a thing as two absolute sides.” It picks up a single dry leaf and twirls it in its hand. “Everything begins, and everything ends. What happens in between is in shades of gray.”

Danny’s head is beginning to spin. “In English please?”

The ghost sighs. “You expect life and death to remain two very distinct sides, never touching one another. This is shortsightedness.” It lets the leaf go. It drifts away on a breeze. “Life and death intermingle closer than you can ever imagine.”

Danny’s breath catches in his throat. “Life and… death?”

“Of course.” The ghost’s eyes turn on him. “What did you expect this to be about?”

“I… I don’t…” Danny’s tongue feels thick in his mouth suddenly. Words choke up in his throat, and he can’t get them out.

Before the portal accident, ghosts were a thing of fantasy. Simply his parents’ crackpot ravings. The accident proved those crackpot ravings to be real. As real as anything else. Despite the dozens of people telling him he’s hallucinating, or that he’s psychotic, he knows this is all real.

He can feel it, deep within him.

But for as real as he knows ghosts and their world are, he’s never had to consider why they exist. Where they truly come from.

Something flutters in his chest, and he can’t decide if it’s his heart or something else.

Human. Ghost.

Life. Death.

And him, somehow wrapped up in it all.

He thinks he might throw up for the second time that day.

The ghost is apparently unbothered by Danny’s newest existential crisis. “What you consider to be my world is in constant contact with what you consider to be yours. And yours is in constant contact with mine. They influence each other. They exist within one another. They are inseparable, woven into each other.”

It floats over to one of the electrical poles. There’s nothing remarkable about it. “You must be able to see this coalescence if you ever wish to understand the intricacies of things as complex as portals. So, halfling…” It pauses to run a hand down the pole.

“Tell me what you see.”

Danny is at a loss. Maybe his brain is finally starting to catch up with everything that has happened in the last couple of hours. Maybe he’s finally becoming overwhelmed by all this. Ghosts wanting to help him, a strange awakening of powers slumbering inside him, everything traveling through the crack had fed him…

… talks of life and death…

He wants this to be a nightmare. He wants to wake up. He wants to go back to a few hours ago - no, yesterday - no, last month - no, a year and a half ago, and pretend this doesn’t exist.

His heart beats faster.

Io Europa Ganymede

“I don’t see anything,” Danny insists, even as inhuman colors and glowing lights creep into his vision.

“What do you see, halfling?”

“I think I’m done,” he tries. “I - I can’t…”

Can’t what? Can’t try? Can’t see?

Callisto, Almathea, Himalia

Can’t… breathe?

His heart races.

“You must see.”

“I don’t want to,” he gasps. Static is filling the air, and he doesn’t know if he can catch his breath. Why can’t he catch his breath? He should be able to catch his breath.

What am I?

The dirt road groans, and dust stirs.

Elara… Pasiphae…

“Please…” His knees shake and the air around him sizzles and the glowing lights are looking at him.

“You must see, halfling.”

He can feel the crack building inside him. It wants out. It pounds against his chest and strangles his heart.

Where is his pulse?

What am I?

The dirt road groans louder.

Sinope…

Even without a mirror, Danny can feel the cold burn in his eyes. Knows they are blazing toxic green. The same green as the lights staring at him.

The… ghosts staring at him.

One of them prods at the pole the ghost floats beside. Like it’s pointing.

Carvings begin to appear on the pole, in the same inhuman colors he can’t name. They’re shoddy, messily carved, and clearly not English. Symbols of lines and swoops and dots.

Danny can read them.

“We see you,” they say.

“No…” he groans. Hands fly up to grip his head, and the glow from his eyes give the illusion of the fire that had consumed those hands not twenty minutes earlier.

He can’t feel his heart anymore.

What am I?

“You see now,” the ghost says. It is unblinking and stoic in the face of Danny’s crisis.

In a last fit of desperation, as he claws for anything to pull him out of this, Danny latches on to the fleeting thrill of crossing through the crack. He tries to remember how it felt. How wonderful it was to feel empowered for once. How the energy seemed to embrace him, not work against him.

How he felt like he could do anything.

He latches on, expecting it to offer relief to his crying body. He wants it to bring him back down to Earth, ground him where cracks and seemingly invisible ghosts and strange words and life and death cannot get to him.

Much to his dismay, it seems to have the opposite effect. His body remembers how it felt to hold that energy.

And now…

What am I?

… it wants more.

The ghost is in front of him once more. When did it get there?

Danny can’t scream as the ghost lifts a hand towards his chest. He’s long since lost the ability to breathe.

“And now, the final touch,” the ghost murmurs. It presses a single finger in the center of Danny’s chest.

And everything explodes in a blinding white light.

____________________________________________________________

At one of his follow-up appointments, shortly after the explosion, Danny finally worked up the courage to ask something that had been plaguing him since he’d woken up in the hospital.

How bad was it? he had asked the doctor. How close was I to…

The doctor had refused to look him in the eye. You’re a very lucky boy, Danny, was all she would say.

He never did find out how close he came to death’s door that day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the light clears, Danny opens his eyes.

Something has changed. Something is wrong.

Something is very, very wrong.

He clutches his chest, trying to feel his heart, but it feels as though a snowball has taken residence where it should be. It pulses, but not at a frequency he is familiar with. It’s almost as though he can hear it pulse rather than feel it.

It’s unnaturally bright. He looks down and chokes back a sob of surprise to see his body wrapped in a gentle glow.

What am I?

Trembling, he raises his left arm. How he remembers that it’s that one, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know.

He pulls back the sleeve of the black hoodie (why is it black, he’s never owned a black hoodie) and stares in silent horror at the grotesque display of lightning that runs up his arm and disappears back into the hoodie.

It’s when bangs of snow white fall in front of his eyes that he collapses to the ground.

“No,” he whimpers. His voice echoes with static stronger than it ever has. “Please, God, no.”

What am I?

“Astounding.”

Danny’s head snaps up to look at the ghost. He falters when he realizes he can see the ghost’s features now, clear as day even though its face remains partially shrouded in shadow. Those damning red eyes - one marred by a scar - twinkle at him with fascination.

“What did you do to me?” he croaks. “I can’t… I’m not…”

“As I told you, halfling,” the ghost says. Its gentle, knowing smile sends chills down Danny’s spine and sets alarm bells ringing in his head. “Life and death must meet somewhere.”

It bends down to Danny’s level. “As it would seem, you are that somewhere.”

A strangled sob escapes Danny’s throat.

“Congratulations, Danny.” It sweeps its arm out, a staff in hand. Another crack spirals into existence, accompanied by the haunting echoes of ticking clocks. “You have learned all you need to from me.”

Without another word, it disappears into the crack. The crack closes with the toll of a bell.

Tears prickle at Danny’s eyes. He can only turn and look down the dirt road, at the product of his creation.

A green crack splits the road in two, as far as Danny can see.

Danny falls against the ground and cries.

#danny phantom #ectoimplosion2023 #danny fenton #hannah writes #danny phantom fanfic #fanfic

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torscrawls · 1 year

Text

The Suspicious Wayne Family

Summary:

“Well, several of them have come back from the dead so I just had to check it out for myself!”

Tim felt himself go cold. “…How do you know that?”

“Ghosts take note if someone manages to come back from the dead, you know?” Phantom leaned in and lowered his voice as if sharing an embarrassing secret, “It’s a terrible faux pas.”

Phantom comes to Tim with some concerns about the Wayne family. Tim really isn’t ready to deal with this.

Words: 2 023

Can be read on AO3!

“Augh!” Phantom groaned as he slumped across Tim’s desk in the Watchtower, utterly ignoring the fact that Tim was very much in the middle of work.

Tim, used to several dramatic siblings without any concept of personal space, simply sighed and tried to shove him off the desk. “Can you go be dramatic somewhere else? Some people are actually trying to get some work done.”

Phantom ignored him as he fused himself halfway into the desk, preventing Tim from depositing him onto the floor, much to Tim’s annoyance. Instead, Phantom groaned and splayed his arms wider, completely blocking Tim’s view of the screen. “You wouldn’t believe what just happened!”

Tim heaved a deep sigh as he gave up on work for now, leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and asked, “Alright, I’ll bite. What happened?”

Phantom immediately perked up. “Thanks for asking! You see, I was minding my own business—”

“Getting up to your usual shit,” Tim muttered under his breath as he sipped his coffee.

Phantom ignored him as he continued, “—when I ran across this huge house and there was this guy inside, which I know isn’t that strange by itself. But! He was reaaal big, and he had this white strip in his hair, which, I know, is a bit hypocritical for me to comment on, but this guy looked like such a try-hard—but anyway, he just attacked me on sight! With guns! Sure, they were regular guns, not ecto ones, so you know, I was fine, but still! So rude!”

Tim choked on his coffee. A huge and angry guy in a big house with white in his hair? That sounded awfully familiar… Hadn’t Jason mentioned that he would drop by the mansion today? Tim coughed to clear his throat and then managed a weak, “That’s… weird.”

Ah. So that’s what Damian had meant when he called in a disturbance in the air earlier. They hadn’t believed him since the cameras hadn’t picked anything up, but if it had been a ghost… Maybe he owed his little brother an excuse. Not that he would ever admit that to said little brother, but still. And that also meant that Phantom had definitely been in the Wayne mansion.

Tim sucked in a deep breath. “That’s definitely worrying.” Phantom didn’t need to know that he wasn't talking about him getting attacked by a sword. Why the fuck had Phantom been at their house?!

Phantom nodded with a laugh. “Right? We didn't even know each other yet! Usually people don’t attack me with a sword until I’ve at least introduced myself first. Or, well, not always, but I can usually at least figure out why they attack me, you know?”

Tim didn’t know and decided not to comment on that worrying statement, instead focusing on gathering information instead. Familiar territory and all that. “What were you even doing in a random big house in the first place?”

“Not just any house!” Phantom wagged his finger. “They’re the Waynes! Which, okay, I didn’t really know a lot about them but my friend said that they are famous or something. And I believe her! The house was like a mansion!”

“Alright,” Tim allowed, congratulating himself on how unbothered he sounded as he parsed through Phantom’s excited rambling. “Why were you in the Wayne mansion, then?”

“Well, several of them have come back from the dead so I just had to check it out for myself!”

Tim felt himself go cold. “…How do you know that?”

“Ghosts take note if someone manages to come back from the dead, you know?” Phantom leaned in and lowered his voice as if sharing an embarrassing secret, “It’s a terrible faux pas.”

“Right. Of course.”

“Yeah!” Phantom nodded before pausing with a frown. “Wait. How do you know that they have died?”

“Of course I do. I’m a detective in Gotham and they are well-known in the city.”

“Hmmm…” Phantom trailed off, and Tim was tensing up in preparation for an argument, but then the ghost perked up as if remembering something. “And Bruce! Bruce Wayne! I’m pretty sure he trains his kids to be like child soldiers or something. Maybe he even uses them as his minions in secret evil schemes!”

Tim felt himself start to sweat. “Let’s—let’s talk to Batman about this.”

“The Gigabat? Why?”

“He might know the best approach.” Might know any approach, cause Tim certainly didn't.

“Alright. Sure,” Phantom agreed easily and followed as Tim hurried out into the corridor, seemingly blissfully unaware of the panic he had caused.

How on earth had they been noted by ghosts without knowing about it? How had Phantom managed to stumble upon this information? If had managed to find the mansion, what else had he managed to put together…? Had he seen the cave?

Tim pushed upon the door to Bruce’s office and walked in as confidently as he could manage at the moment. “B? Phantom has some… concerns he wants to bring up.”

Bruce had turned away from his screens as they entered the room, no doubt ready to admonish them for disturbing him, but something in Tim’s voice must have tipped him off that something was going on because he turned fully towards them and simply demanded, “What is it?”

Phantom didn’t waste any time before bluntly stating, “I think we should investigate the Wayne family. I think they might be a crime syndicate, possibly even supervillains.”

It wasn’t often that Tim saw Bruce at a loss for words. Tim couldn’t blame him as he himself had to restrain himself not to visibly wince at Phantom’s words.

Phantom on the other hand seemed not to notice as he continued, “I thought you would like to know, what with them being in Gotham and all? Really, I’m surprised you didn’t know about them already.”

“Why would you assume they are supervillains?” Bruce asked and Tim was impressed by how calm he sounded.

“Oh, well, you know… The kids all have obvious combat training, the house is riddled with weapons, and the family seems awfully involved with all the major catastrophes in Gotham as well as all the major villains,” Phantom said casually before pausing as he tapped a finger to his lips in thought and adding as an afterthought, “and, of course, because of the secret lair beneath the mansion.”

Well, that answered Tim’s earlier question whether he had seen the Batcave or not. He was very grateful for Bruce and his frankly terrifying poker face as the older man just said, “That’s quite the list…”

Phantom beamed. “Thank you!”

“And why did you start investigating them?”

“Well, on top of all the gossiping grannies mobbing me in the Zone to talk about the young men using the afterlife like some sort of revolving door, I know a thing or two about evil billionaires with hidden identities and Bruce Wayne just screams secrets, you know?”

Bruce didn’t answer, Tim just stared. Phantom clapped his hands, “So. When are we starting the investigation?”

Bruce shook his head, took a deep breath and said, “We’re not investigating them.”

Phantom looked surprised for a split second before raising a single eyebrow, “Is it because he’s so rich? Oh! Is that why you have so many expensive gadgets?”

“What.”

“I mean, that’s why you want to look the other way, right? Because he pays you?” Phantom turned wide eyes on Tim. “All of you?”

Bruce simply stared as Tim managed a weak, “No?” Even if, technically, he was getting paid by Bruce Wayne.

Phantom leaned in closer to Tim and whispered. “Do you guys need help? I’ve beaten up billionaires before, I can do it again.”

“Thanks? But no thanks. Please don’t beat up Bruce Wayne.”

Phantom gasped, turning back to Bruce with way too much delight in his eyes. “It’s consensual? Wait. Does that mean he's your sugar daddy?!”

“This conversation is over.”

“What?! Why?”

“You can’t come in here with baseless assumptions about civilians and expect me to play along.”

“Alright. Not your sugar daddy, I get it,” Phantom said with a wink towards Tim, “But I thought you guys would want to at least look into it a bit more?”

“They Waynes are not a problem,” Bruce all but growled out.

Phantom raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?” The words said as a challenge but Tim could see no anger or annoyance in Phantom’s expression, hear nothing but glee in his voice. It was as if he didn’t want Bruce to really look into them, as if he was just looking to rile him up.

Something about the whole situation made Tim pause.

It was a bit strange that Phantom came to them with this, wasn't it? He had no reason to think that they were connected to the Waynes by more than the city they lived in. He usually did his own thing, and he had done that by going to the mansion at first, hadn't he? So what had changed? Why had he decided to involve Tim?

The glee, the probing questions, the way he slowly revealed more information… It was almost as if he—

“Wait a second. You know!”

Phantom burst out laughing. “Finally! Ancients, I thought you would see through me in like one second flat!”

Tim punched him in the arm. “You’re such an ass! I can’t believe you!” Phantom just kept on cackling.

Unsurprisingly, Bruce seemed to catch on pretty quickly as he stood up from his chair, looming over Phantom threateningly. Or trying to, as Phantom was still floating a good few feet in the air. “And you figured this out from other ghosts?”

Phantom snorted and wiped at his eyes. “Mostly. Contrary to popular belief, the dead do talk. But I wouldn’t worry too much about it, not many of them ever visit the Human Realm and I can guarantee that they have no idea who you are. They are not up to date when it comes to human affairs.”

Bruce frowned and Tim immediately recognized his patented brooding face. “That’s a security risk I hadn’t considered.”

It must have hurt him to admit it, but Tim couldn’t really take any joy in it; he was right there with him. Tim groaned as he dragged a hand through his hair. “Aren’t they supposed to not tell any secrets?!”

Phantom laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, they very much do.”

“Well, considering a certain someone, I guess it shouldn’t come as a surprise,” Tim said with a pointed look at Phantom.

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?!” Phantom exclaimed in mock anger. “Have you guys considered not dying? I mean, man, I thought I had a problem with staying alive.”

Bruce cut them off with a no-nonsense, “You will not tell anyone about this.”

Phantom mimed zipping his lips shut. “Silent as the grave.” Then he pursed them in thought before adding, “On one condition.”

Tim saw the way Bruce tensed and couldn’t help the way he himself also tensed with anticipation. Phantom could ask for anything.

“What?” Bruce asked bitingly.

“I want some of those cookies that were in the oven. They smelled amaaaazing!”

Bruce silently turned back to his monitor, not gracing that with an answer. Tim grabbed a hold of Phantom’s—thankfully currently corporeal—arm and dragged him from the room as he said, “I’m sure Alfred would love to give you some cookies. You can come over for dinner and we can talk.” Tim paused and then continued, “And you can explain what’s going on to Jason and Damian. I’m sure they’re both freaking out.”

“Non-living dinner?” Phantom asked hopefully and the bizarre question almost made Tim stop walking.

“Yeah? Alfred usually cooks it first.”

“Sure, but, you know, does it stay dead?”

“Yes?” Tim asked with equal parts incredulity and dread.

“Alright!” Phantom beamed. “Count me in!”

Tim had a feeling that he had just made a grave mistake.

#dp x dc #dp #danny phantom fic #dp fic #danny phantom fanfic #dp fanfic #phic #there's big gremlin danno energy in this one #and it might be a spiritual (ha!) follow-up to Mad Scientists #just danny getting his revenge #my writing

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