Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sunday, 24th October 2004

The first time Valerie sees the flowers, she doesn’t think anything of it.

They’re tall and sprawling, with white petals, and embed deeply into the soil. Something feels… off about them. 

Where they’re located, firstly, is almost ridiculous. The flowers reside in one chunk at a corner of the park, which edges onto near the woods. Now at first you’d think that maybe these plants just like the shade. No.

Valerie can’t find a single flower that even resembles the huge clump that inhabits the corner of the park. There’s something different about these flowers, they’re not like any other usual weed or plant. Sometimes, she swears she can see them glow.  

Mainly a blinding white, but sometimes they’ll glow a pasty green or an icy blue. It has to be a trick of the light.

Until one day, when she visits Fentonworks.

She’s visiting so she can get some new equipment that the Fenton’s mentioned, a type of blaster that is able to track ghosts as well as disable their powers. Which is perfect for her to track Phantom, eluding as he is.

“So, how is everything?” asks Valerie as she awkwardly slumps against the wall.

“Going as well as it can. The new ectogun prototype is up and running, however we’ve had a few.. distractions.” Mrs Fenton admits, as she pulls up her goggles.

What type of distractions? Valerie knows that Jack Fenton can be quite enthusiastic , however by the tone in her voice, it doesn’t sound good.

“Like what?” The girl tilts her head, and a startled gasp interrupts the two women.

It’s Danny Fenton at the kitchen table, blue eyes wide and his hands clenched to the table as if it’s a lifeline. He’s looking for a way to escape, she can tell, from the way he’s awkwardly crouched, ready to spring away. 

“No running away young man. Mr Lancer was kind enough to provide you with catch up work, and I expect it to be done by tonight. No escaping, you hear me?” The older woman faces him, and Danny awkwardly slumps back in his chair, but his eyes still flicker around nervously.

Huh. Valerie didn’t think Danny would be the type to escape. She doesn’t really know him that well, but from what she knows, even if Fenton does run away at times, she wouldn’t see him as one to try to escape his home. 

The only gossip Valerie has picked up in the past is about him and his friends, Sam and Tucker. Those three were as thick as thieves, and then some sort of mishap happened and then they weren’t friends anymore.

“Yes, Mom.” Danny nods, hesitantly looking back down at his work.

“Anyway, I’ll lead you down to the lab, you can see for yourself.” The ginger haired woman beckons her to go down the stairs, so she obliges, walking down into the room, which is filled in a soft, almost familiar green glow.

Nothing seems amiss, Valerie thinks as Maddie walks around a few workbenches and leads her towards the portal.

“Silene latifolia, also known as white campion, or the Flower Of The Dead.” points Maddie, and there she sees them, a sprawl of white flowers bordered around the portal.

The same as the ones at the park. Her heart stops with realisation.

“We don’t know why they’re here.” Maddie shrugs, whilst turning to the bench behind her and picking up the prototype ectogun, “We theorised it may be because the portal is an entryway to the land of the dead, or either the rich ectoplasmic levels give the flowers the right temperament to grow in.”

Her fingers clench in a fist as she gazes at the white flowers, mocking her with the way they sway gently, looking like a harmless flower. Ghosts. Of fucking course.

Then why the heck are they in the middle of the park? She’s lost.

“Why are they called the flower of the dead?” Questions Valerie.

“They normally grow around gravestones and in cemeteries — that’s why we’re so surprised to see them here. But it does make sense, with the portal being to the Ghost Zone — where the dead live.” Maddie shrugs, and crouches down, her hands brushing the petals of one of the white flowers, “However, these seem much more — paranormal than the samples we took from the cemetery. They glowed, and Jack saw them absorbing ectoplasm one afternoon.”

Her stomach sinks for the second time that day. 

The flowers grew around gravestones, and where she’d found the flowers had been quite secluded and a distance away from the children’s playgrounds or any paths from which onlookers might peer. Additionally, the grass had seemed disturbed, almost clumpy and overturned in a certain rectangular patch.

Now she thinks about it, it looked just like if someone had dug a hole and tossed a body into.

Have — have I found a crime scene? 

Blanching, Valerie hurriedly thanks Maddie, who looks startled as she runs out of the lab, not even pausing to grab the prototype ectogun. She knows exactly where she’s heading.

At the top of the stairs, she’s faced with Danny Fenton and his former friends, Sam and Tucker, mid-argument. They must’ve arrived while she was in the lab, but she doesn’t care.

“Red! Where are you-“ begins Danny, but the huntress ignores that he’s talking, and that he just called her Red — Phantom’s nickname for her.

Running out the door, her feet pound on the pavement, her breath heavy and eyes shedding tears.

Heck, she doesn’t even know if she’s right — but she’s potentially stumbled across a body. Of all the people, it happened to her, didn’t it?

The park begins to enter her eyesight, and Valerie can barely see the area near the woods as she passes the playground, with a few parents and kids frolicking around, enjoying themselves, blissfully unaware of the casualty lying metres away from them.

How long has it been there? She thinks, as she continues running. A couple of passers-by give her weird looks of alarm and confusion, the Red Huntress running frantically through the park certainly a strange sight.

The body could’ve been here years, months, or maybe just weeks. She doesn’t know how long the flowers had been there before she’d spotted them.

And there it is, right ahead of her, those eerily glowing flowers with their winding stalks, surrounding a clump of overturned soil and grass. Looking closer, Valerie swears she can see scratches scarring the dirt, as if someone had dug with their hands in desperation.

Valerie kneels on the grass, swallowing nervously. She doesn’t know how to feel. Was this a murder? A simple accident? Who did it?

And most importantly, who’s lying in the ground below her?

Then the glowing of the flowers catches her eye — surely if ghostly flowers are growing around a grave — then the victim would come back as a ghost?

Was it possible for a ghost to bury its own body? But according to the Fenton’s, ghosts can’t remember their past life, so it wouldn’t be able to happen.

But, there was someone there. Right underneath where she’s kneeling, there’s someone who’d once lived in Amity Park, had a family, gone to work or school. And she didn’t know.

What sort of hero am I if I didn’t even notice a potential homicide?!

A rage of anger fills her and Valerie grabs at the grave flowers and rips at them, tearing and shredding a clump right off their stalks.

Stupid flowers, stupid me! Stupid body which is buried here for heck knows why!

The upturned soil digs into her fingers as she grips at the ground, sighing heavily. 

“There’s no point to this.” The teenager sighs, and glances at the flowers in her hand, forlorn and no longer glowing. Her eyes steel to the grass, “But I promise I’ll get your name back and find out who you once were. It’s the least I can do — I’ve overlooked this for so long. I just can’t believe I never noticed.”

“Red?” Behind her, a familiar voice speaks, although it has a tinge of coldness to it.

“What are you doing here?” It accuses sharply.

She turns to see Phantom standing there, arms folded, his green eyes uncharacteristically cold, watching her with suspicion. Stranger than his normal demeanour — the ghost is usually cocky and mischievous with a flicker of excitement in his eyes. This time there is none.

She considers if her past thoughts about Phantom being an evil ghost are true, then shakes it out of her head. The ghost kid can help her with this.

“Do you know who’s grave this is?” She turns her head to him briefly, dropping the flowers on the grass beside her.

Phantom freezes for a second, his eyes observing the ground before he walks around Valerie — unsettling her as she’s so used to seeing him flying — and plants himself on the grass next to her.

Blinking rapidly, the ghost’s eyes go wide for a second and he taps his chin in consideration.

Valerie prevents the urge to grit her teeth. It’s a simple question, it shouldn’t be this difficult to answer.

And after what seems like an eternity, the ghost shrugs absentmindedly.

“How do you even know it’s a grave?” He gestures dumbly, trying to look convincing, but failing.

Then and there, Valerie almost tackles him to the floor, but prevents herself from doing so. Fists clenched, she glares at the ghost. This is probably a joke to him, wasn’t it? He’s probably enjoying dragging her along and wasting precious time.

However, he’s pretty much just confirmed that it’s a grave. She’d known that the whole time, but it being confirmed really makes her stomach flip with anguish.

“Ghostly glowing flowers, upturned grass in a shape big enough to fit a body. And you just pretty much confirmed it.”

Phantom sighs, his green eyes trailing away, avoiding meeting with hers. “Fine. It’s a grave,” The words sound like cement on his tongue.

“But I didn’t murder them, if that’s what you’re gonna accuse me of!” His head turns so fast as if it‘ll come clean off his shoulders, and he splays his hands forward, trying to reassure the huntress of his innocence.

Valerie can’t blame him. She did accuse him of anything and everything back then. It’s no suprise Phantom still walks eggshells around her.

Perhaps if they work together to find the body, he can learn to trust her again.

But then a strike of realisation goes through her. He’d mentioned murder.

Is it a murder? Is there a killer in Amity Park, walking free, not convicted of their crime? 

“It’s a murder?” Tenses Valerie, fear jolting through her like lightning. Amity Park could be in danger. Crime rates were always low in the town (except for ghosts), which meant less police, which meant a higher risk of a homicide to slip through the cracks and go unnoticed.

“And you know who it is?” She faces Phantom. If he knew it was a murder, he must know who the killer and the victim are.

“No! No! It was an accident. Just a stupid accident. Not a murder…” He trails off, looking forlornly to the soil.

Valerie gives a bark of laughter, but it has no humour in it. “An accident?! You’re telling me that a body buried in a park in an accident.”

“Yes.” A hand trails to the back of his neck in discomfort. “So, is that all?”

The ghost pushes up, as if to leave. 

“Nu-uh! You missed a question.” She folds her arms.

“What, I- I did?” Now standing up, the ghost looks down at her, his face blank, unconvincing.

“Who’s body is it?” Her voice is firm. No messing around now. She needs the information. And by the jumpy way Phantom is acting, it’s clear he has information about this.

“I don’t know!” He protests.

“You seemed to know an awful lot about the circumstances of this person's death, considering you don’t know them.” She retaliates curtly.

“Not my fault. I didn’t exactly expect to be bombarded with questions about a random body that I have no idea about.” Phantom shrugs, his eyes narrowing.

Fiery anger builds up in her, and Valerie pushes herself up, pointing an accusing finger at Phantom,

”But you knew the context of their death, so why didn’t you report it to the police?! Someone is dead, Phantom, and you never even considered reporting the body?”

Perhaps if he had, she wouldn’t be left with the remnants of this huge problem. Literally.

“Ah yeah. A ghost reporting a dead body to the police. I’m sure they’d believe me if I said it wasn’t me who killed them and it was just an accident.” The teenager scoffs, rolling his eyes, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

He has a point, she stubbornly admits internally, and takes a step back from him. 

“Why are you even here?” She finally asks, changing the topic. They are getting nowhere.

“The heck do I know.” exclaims Phantom, spinning around dramatically, emphasising to the whole park, “All I know is that I’m at home and the next thing is I’m here.”

He has a home? Ghosts can do that? She considers. Phantom has always been weird after all.

“I still don’t trust how you know it was an accident and not a murder, though.”

“Fine then. Don’t. Because I don’t know who it is. Look, if it was a murder, the person definitely would’ve been reported as missing and there would’ve been more evidence. I mean, this? It’s haphazardly been thrown into the ground, obviously someone was pretty desperate.” He points to the ground, and Valerie goes nauseous again. 

She’d forgotten that there’s a body literally in the ground beneath them. But how can a person go missing and not be reported? Unless…

“Are you suggesting that this person went missing and no one knows they've died?!” Her eyes widen in horror.

Oh God. Valerie glances at the floor. Beneath her feet, mere centimetres, was a person who’d died, violently she presumed, considering they were buried in a shallow grave in the park, and no one knew they were missing or that they were dead. It didn’t really imply good things for the person when they’d been alive either. If no one had reported then missing.. well they mustn’t have had anyone who cared.

You must’ve been so lonely. She thinks, looking at the grave. But I care, even if your family didn’t care to report you missing. You must’ve died in so much pain, presuming that your death would go unsolved and no one would ever find out what happened to you. But I promise it won’t. 

“I don’t know.” Phantom awkwardly inputs after a while, “Maybe.”

Why is he here, though? Of all the ghosts — it had to be Phantom to show up. Without thinking, words spill past her lips.

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

“What’s a sign?”

“A sign that you were summoned here.”

“What?”

“You had to be summoned here for a reason, right?” reasons Valerie, folding her arms and staring at the ghost, who now looked bored and confused. “That reason is to help me bring that person back:”

“Red, you do know how stupid that sounds, right?” Phantom accuses casually, brushing a hand through his hair and lightly laughing. He leans forward on his toes and speaks dismissively, “I was summoned here because of the grave flowers. They alert me whenever someone gets too close to my body so I can sort—“

Phantom freezes mid sentence.

Valerie is too shocked to speak.

“You-your body?!” She stutters.

Phantom has never looked so terrified in his life. Face as pale as snow, green of his irises practically unnoticeable, his mouth gawping but making no sound.

“Fuck.” Is the only legible word he can shove through.

So many questions flood her head. When? What? How?

Before she can question him, Phantom flickers out of sight. She’s left, standing alone above the soil that Phantom’s body rests in — and all she can wonder is how alone and terrified he must’ve been in his last moments, and what life he was living before if his family never even reported their teenage son missing.

(art by me)

Chapter Text

10th March 2004

Never has Danny seen his parents so.. dismal.

Their inventions don’t usually work, so this one shouldn’t be any different, right? But he can tell, from the depressed looks on their faces at the kitchen table, the unwillingness to do any family outings that Jazz encourages, the way their eyes don’t even meet the lab door that this has affected his parents.

“It’s not as if it’s the only invention that’s broken, right?” falters Danny, curled up on the sofa. Infront of him, Maddie and Jack sit, not even looking up to acknowledge him.

“Leave them.” A gentle hand on his shoulder makes him turn, and Danny is faced with a hapless glance from his sister.

Concern strikes through him like a lightning bolt. Jazz is telling him to leave them alone. Jazz, the one who pesters him with psycobabble and refuses to leave a person in trouble, is telling him to leave it.

Is it really that bad? The portal is just another invention that’s gone wrong, isn’t it?

They’ve spent years on that thing…  

And his parents had spent years of dedication trying to make the portal work. As long as he can remember, both his Mom and Dad would tinker down in the lab, jotting down plans for a future portal. Only last year was when they’d actually started building the physical thing.

But they can’t just stay like this! His mind protests, and he shrugs Jazz’s hand off his shoulder. I need to do something at least.

“What’s wrong with it?” The teenager asks, standing up from his position on the sofa, and facing both his parents.

“Faulty wiring- I don’t know.” Jack shrugs, looking up at Danny. His eyes are dotted with tears. “Something happened. Probably the plans. Even after four years of planning and two prototypes before, we still get it wrong.”

“Maybe, maybe this was all a waste.” whispers Maddie, looking small and frail huddled next to her husband, “You're probably right Jazz. You always were. The plans aren’t wrong, we’re just fools like the town says. Ghosts aren’t real.”

“I’m going to bed.” mumbles his Dad, getting up from the sofa.

Danny trembles. He can’t watch his parents flake away like this. He can’t just sit and watch them waste away because of a failed invention. From the look on Jazz’s face, she wants to help, but holds back from doing so. Tears trail down her cheeks.

Pitifully, Danny watches his parents traipse up the stairs after one another, looking like corpses on their feet.

“What are we going to do?” He asks Jazz.

“I don’t know.” Jazz fusses with the blanket on the back of the sofa, eyes forlornly watching the empty stairwell, “For once I don’t think I can.”

“We’ll figure it out, won’t we?” A tiny spark of hope flickers in Danny as he snatches the blanket from her hands. He wants her attention focused on him. Surely if they work together, they can help? Two heads are better than one.

“I don’t know Danny. They need space. I wish there was some way to fix this, but there isn’t. It’s not as if we can fix their portal invention, which is the main route of the problem.”

Fix the portal! Of course! If he finds a way to mend the portal, then his parents won’t be sad anymore. Of course he’ll have to keep Jazz out of the way, she’d be a worrypot if she knew he’s going into the lab unassisted. He’ll wear his HAZMAT, go down there, and see what the problem is.

“How about you go to the library, to get a bit of space? Maybe you can figure out how to help mom and dad when you’re there.” The raven haired teen tries not to let too much excitement leak into his voice as he gently pushes her off of the sofa.

“You sure?” His sister asks, concerned as she takes a few steps back and gazes at him warily, “I don’t want you to be affected by Mom and Dad’s current… state.”

“I’ll be fine.” He shrugs, giving a quick gaze to the lab door. “Probably just hang out with Tucker or Sam.”

Minutes later, Jazz has barely even locked the front door before he flings himself at the lab door, eager to go hunting around the lab for whatever is making the portal fail. For once the door is open. In their state, his parents had forgotten to lock the lab door, which gives Danny free rein of the basement. 

If he managed to fix it, then his parents would be out of their depressive moods and everything could return back to normal. It wasn’t just that, but something nagging at the back of his mind, urging him downstairs, like nothing he’s ever felt before.

Rifling in the closet, Danny pulls out his white and black HAZMAT suit from the dusty back of the cupboard, coughing as he brings it out into the light of the lab.

“Geez.” He pants in exhaustion, examining the jumpsuit on the hanger in his hands. He notices the embellishment of his father’s face plastered to the front of it.

“That is so not staying on there.” Danny mutters, crumpling up the sticker and tossing it on the tile floor.

For what feels like forever Danny struggles to wrangle himself into the HAZMAT, but eventually manages and concludes with a small cheer.

Now, for the portal. He thinks.

The portal is large and intimidating, almost taking up the entirety of the lab wall, and the inside is an abyss of dark nothingness.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Danny examines the outside of the portal. A few wires snake into the abyss of black, but other than that, he can see no exterior problem with it. Must be something inside, he observes.

Tentatively, Danny steps into the portal, feet gripped to the floor as if one wrong foot means he’ll never return into the lab. Darkness surrounds him, a hazy veil of yellow from the lab lights providing some vision.

Beside him, just against the wall, Danny spots a small fuse box with what appears to be two buttons on it.

What the heck is that thing? He wonders, and presses a clammy hand to one of the buttons. What was the harm in messing around? He might actually be successful by experimenting, it is a lab, after all.

Suddenly, an ear piercing alarm fills Danny’s ears, making his head pound sharply as everything around him sparks a blinding neon green.

Then burning. Everything burns.

His whole body is consumed by nothing but agony for what feels like forever, his chest boils with electricity, his hands sizzle with lightning and he screams.

He can’t breathe. His heart catches in his chest, veins pulse with searing pain, and he can do nothing.

Is this what dying feels like?

With images of neon green floating around him, Danny closes his eyes and awaits death. Thoughts of his parents and Jazz finding him like this run through his head. They’ve already been through so much, and now one of their inventions is killing him?

How would Sam and Tucker react to losing him? 

No. He can’t let that happen. He can’t let his family and friends suffer. He needs to keep them safe. Protect them.

He can’t die.

Within the agony, Danny tries to move his legs even a little, but the electricity continues to engulf him. He can’t move.

He tries again. This time, a chunk of cold fills him, freezing his body and swallowing him whole. It’s unfamiliar, cold.

There’s something there. Clenching his eyes shut, Danny follows the cold feeling in his chest, and tugs. 

Even more bright light engulfs his vision — no, he can’t be dying. Has he made it worse?

Yet the white light fizzles away, and suddenly the pain disappears. The teen feels lighter, and as if a ton of ice has been shoved into his chest. A buzzing flickers in his ears, and every part of him feels numb.

This time, hissing in pain, Danny drags himself out of the portal, stumbling onto the lab floor before everything fades to black.

The first thing he sees is green, and for a split second, he lurches, thinking he’s in the portal all over again. But it’s not.

The portal is working. There is it, in all its grandeur, bowing above Danny as he tiredly looks upon the invention. A tiny flitter of achievement runs through him before all the pain comes flooding back.

What even happened? It’s all a hazy blur.

Right hand splayed out infront of him, Danny tries to slow his quickening breathing, with little success. His chest feels cold and constricting, and unfamiliar. The black and white HAZMAT suit does nothing to help the constricting feeling as he pants weakly.

Wait. Black and white?

He blinks. But, hadn’t it been white-and-black before? Confused, his eyes graze his arm splayed out on the floor at the raven coloured material. It almost looks translucent, and he swears for a second his arm blinks out of sight.

“What the heck?!” He screeches hoarsely, voice like sandpaper, eyes wide with shock. His left arm is glowing.

Not the skin, but a neon, familiar green coloured glower on his skin in the shape of a lichtenberg figure, as if a lightning bolt had struck across his skin. The scar trails up his arm and seems to cluster at his chest.

“How…?” He cuts off, pulling the white glove (which he swore had been black) off his hand and dropping it on the floor. His skin is normal, if not a bit more tanned, except for the huge glowing scar across it.

How am I gonna explain this to Mom and Dad? How am I gonna hide it?!

“If they find out I fixed their portal but got injured in doing so..” Danny trails off, mouth dropping as he stares at the swirling green portal.

The scar on his arm is the exact same colour as the ectoplasm in the portal.

Breathing quickening, he stumbles up, attempting to make it to the mirror balanced on one of the work benches. He hopes the looming worry in his chest isn’t true.

He can’t be d- no.

When he eventually props himself up against the workbench, Danny finds himself looking at a stranger in his reflection. A ghost of himself.

It’s not him. It can’t be. But — but it is. The same messy, ruffled hair, the same nose and cheekbones, the same glassy sparkle in his now green eyes. He prods his cheek to double check.

“I’m dead-“ whispers Danny, “-a ghost.”

For the second time, he hyperventilates, but there’s no heartbeat, a thing he hadn’t realised until now. He’s too young, he’s only fourteen. Where will he go? Does he have to go into the portal, where the other ghosts belong? He shivers at the thought.

What about his friends, family? Something, the cold thing in his chest twinges at the thought of leaving them behind. But — he’s different now. Looks completely different. Would they recognise him? Hunt him down? Dissect him?

“Am I going to be evil?” He ponders mid panic, stinging hands holding his whole weight on the bench. He’d sat through enough parental rants to know that ghosts were malevolent beings. 

“Will Mom and Dad hunt me?” It was a high possibility — Danny didn’t even recognise himself, so why would they? He didn’t want to be hunted down by them. But he couldn’t exactly stay in the Fenton household if he was dead.

At that moment, the brutality really hits. He’s dead. A ghost, a phantom of time, stuck at fourteen forever, never able to grow up, to graduate, to go to college, get married, have a family, grow old…

It was all gone. He’d never be able to talk to his Mom or Dad or Jazz or Sam or Tucker ever again.

And they wouldn’t even know that he’d died either, would they? Because none of them were with him. The lab was soundproof, so his parents wouldn’t know he was down in the lab, and Jazz didn’t know what he was up to either.

“Way to screw yourself up in the long run, Fenton. Now you’re dead, but no one knows you are.” He scoffs, when a glimmer of white behind him in the mirror catches his eye. It wasn’t as if he was even a Fenton anymore, just a ghost.

“What the heck is that?” Weakly, he turns, attempting to use the workbench as a support again, but instead floats up a few centimetres off the tile, all thoughts of the white thing erased.

“I can fly!” He exclaims, midway in shock, remaining stationary in the air, bobbing up and down a little. Concentrating enough, Danny floats up a little higher, but he’s still weak from the whole…dying thing, which is surprising. If he was a ghost (but what else would he be?), wouldn’t he feel no pain and have no injuries? 

Out of the corner of his eyes, the white thing catches his eyes again, this time the actual object, and not the reflection of it in the mirror.

It can’t hurt to test his powers and go a little closer, right?

Delicately and in astonishment, the teen floats across the lab, and drops gently to the floor, curiosity sparked in him.

Glancing at the white object, Danny instantly blanches and turns, holding the nausea in his throat. Something inside wills him to look again, out of the corner of his eye, Danny peers at what remains of himself, disgust rising.

That’s—that’s his body staring up at him. The same melted white and black HAZMAT, the same remnants of messy black hair, the same new lichtenberg scars fried upon his arm and chest.

He begins crying. He doesn’t know why, or how, but the tears are green and glowing as they spill down his face and into his hands, but that just makes it worse to remind him that he’s a ghost and not coming back.

Kneeling beside it — he refuses to call it his body — his mind races with anguished thoughts. What the fuck does he do?

He just wishes he could have his family here right now, his father’s warm hugs, or his mom’s gentle words, or his sister's moral support. But he can’t. 

He’s alone, with only it for any company.

Fifteen minutes pass before he somewhat adjusts to looking at his body without retching (because how the fuck is he supposed to be okay with looking at his own freaking corpse), and places a hand on a relatively unburnt shoulder of the corpse.

It needs to go, that is the only certain thing in his mind right now. He can’t have anyone finding this, especially not his parents finding their son’s dead, toasted body lying on the floor, killed by their own faulty invention.

In all the luck, his arms decide to turn invisible, which he’s partially grateful for — he doesn’t have to touch the body anymore — but it’s unpredictable and he can’t control it.

Wait.. invisibility.

“If I can turn it invisible for long enough, and fly it somewhere across Amity Park that no one goes to, then bury it.. it should be fine.” Everything’s the opposite of fine, but he has a plan, which is at least a structure of whatever this mess is.

Grabbing the shoulder, the corpse squelches under his grasp, slimy flesh falling apart, still stuck to his hands like meat scrap, a chunk now taken out the top half. It takes everything in Danny not to scream as he grasps the body again, which fumbles and falls to the ground with a resound splat, a slip of disemboweled organs strewing out on the tile.

It starkly resembles a crime scene. Blanching at the sight of his own former body eviscerated on the lab floor, Danny looks around, placing a hand to the side of his face to block out the sight, which is still sour with the stench of blood.

“Doesn’t anyone keep any sheets or something down here?!” Frantically glancing around, Danny searches desperately, because anyone could come down the stairs at any point and see this, and he just would rather not be faced with the viscera of his own corpse.

Floundering, the teen begins searching to cupboards of the workbench, where he finally succeeds in finding a black tarp, just big enough to fit the body and the extras and carry it successfully.

“Here goes nothing.” He sighs, lying the tarp on the floor, wincing in pain with each movement, and drags the cadaver onto the sheet, while some viscera remains smeared on the floor.

Danny really really doesn’t want to pick his own organs off the floor and have to stuff them into the tarp with the rest of his body. But it’s the only way.

The next few minutes are some of the worst of his life, even worse than the actual electrocution with the portal. But he finally has everything packed up and ready to get rid of. Then, he notices his phone laying on the bench. Quickly, he retrieves it.

Whole body tingling, Danny successfully turns himself invisible, doing the same with the tarp. And if he’s a ghost, he should also be able to go right through the walls.

It works, in the end, as he remains invisible the entire flight, which drains a majority of his already diminishing energy, and looks for a place to bury himself.

“That sounds so wrong.” He mumbles, shaking his head. All of this is so freaking bad. There’s a spot at the corner of the park, just at the edge by the trees which barely anyone ever goes nearby and can’t be seen by onlookers.

“Well, if it was a proper funeral, I’d want to be buried in an actual grave, but this is gonna have to do.” He drops the tarp, feeling an immense relief at doing so, before staring at the ground in confusion. How does he even approach this? Just dig it up?

Tentatively, the fourteen year old begins ripping the grass up with his fingers, which is surprisingly easier than what he thought it would be, and begins to dig a decent size hole. 

“You’re not digging your own grave here, Danny. Just imagine, I don’t know, you’re digging a moat for a sandcastle at the beach. A really big moat. Or you’re burying that bone for a pet dog which you don’t have.” But it doesn’t alleviate the dread as he continues digging up the dirt with his fingers, finally making a deep enough hole for the body to go into.

As quickly as possible, he haphazardly rolls the tarp in, scattering the dirt thickly over the top of it, praying that no one will notice the misplaced dirt. Danny considers leaving a marker, like a branch or a stone, but decides against it. He doesn’t need another constant reminder of this.

“There. It’s done.” He sighs, before stepping back. His plan is complete.

But — what now? He can’t go home. He can’t be seen in public, no one believes in ghosts and he doesn’t want to be shot down.

A sudden piercing ringing fills his ears, his phone.

It’s Jazz. Fuck. His non existent heart drops to the floor. What can he tell her? But — he can’t just hang up. She’s probably back from the library, it’s near evening now, and wondering where he is.

This might be the last time he ever hears her voice.

“Danny!” Jazz screeches over the phone, “Where are you?”

“I’m, I'm just out. Needed a breather.” He lies, clenching a fist.

“Are you okay? But — do you have a cold? Are you somewhere empty? Your voice sounds echoey.”

His voice does sound different, now that he thinks about it. Like he’s talking into a tin can.

“I’m fine, just in an echoey building.” If he fakes a cold, she’ll be all over him, which is the opposite of what he wants right now.

“Alright. Be back soon, though. The portal switched on, Mom and Dad are much happier if that’s why you got away because of their mood. They think the ‘ectoplasm’ or whatnot took a lot to settle. I’m still not convinced of that ghost nonsense though.”

“Well I mean, if it wasn't true, you wouldn’t be speaking to me.” He snorts, words slipping.

“Is that an attempt at a joke? Good one, Danny.” says Jazz over the phone, exasperation in her voice.

“Sure.” Danny gulps. What the heck is he doing?! He hadn’t even been dead for three hours and he’s already slipping up. All the more reason to stay away.

“Uh, Jazz.”

“Yeah?”

“I uh — you’re the best big sister ever, alright? Tell Mom and Dad I love them. Love you too.”

“Danny, something has to be up. What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I’m fine, I promise.” His fingers clench around the phone, some tears leaking out of his eyes, “I just — something happened Jazz. And I don’t think I’ll ever be coming back.”

“Danny?!”

He hangs up.

Danny sighs, looking down at the — what he supposed is a grave — underneath his feet. He doesn’t know what to do. Then all of a sudden, a white halo flashes around his abdomen, just like it had in the portal.

“No, no!” He shrieks, worrying that it’ll be painful or like a flashback of the portal accident, but instead it splits, going either way. The teenager can’t watch, and clenches his eyes shut.

When he opens them, there’s no HAZMAT suit, simply the same ratty old red trainers, white t-shirt and jeans as before. 

What?! 

“But I’m dead!” He splutters. Barely a minute ago, he’d been a ghost. Or is that a dream too? 

But the soil on the ground definitely still contains a body in it, so it can’t be. How is he human again?

A faint pulse thrums in his chest this time, along with the same cold feeling from when he was a ghost. Slower than usual, but there.

Both a ghost and a human?

“I’m a human and a ghost? But, how is that possible?” He can’t be dead and alive at the same time!

He is still human though — maybe he doesn’t have to leave. He could stay, somehow, and stay wary of his parents' inventions, but remain there. He wouldn’t have to leave.

A chuckle of relief leaves his lips, and Danny sighs, looking down at the grave, before beginning the journey to home. His parents would be obsessed with the portal when he got home, and hopefully they wouldn’t be suspicious of how it started. And that phone call to Jazz, he hopes she isn’t distressed, but that’s not possible.

Slight revolt makes his mouth sour as he considers the last passing hours. His body is buried in the ground. He’d died. Partway, at least. But it was still his dead body in the same HAZMAT suit that was partly burnt away. Thanks to small mercies he’s not still covered in the gore and blood from the whole matter.

Danny can only hope, as he walks further away from the body and back home, that he doesn’t let slip about any of this and manage to successfully keep it under wraps.

But secrets never stay secrets forever.

Chapter Text

Sunday, 24th October 2004

He slipped up so easily.

All because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, now Valerie knew. Not the full truth — but now she knew Phantom’s body was buried in the local park, just mere metres from the playground.

Slumping at his desk, Danny sighs heavily, weaving his hands through his hair in frustration. A golden glow shimmers in his room, the sun beginning to set till night sets in. He knows he won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

What is he supposed to do? He’s lost.

Now Valerie knows — at least partially, and she could do anything with that information!

He’d been idiotic enough to flicker out of invisibility as soon as he said those stupid, stupid words, not even waiting to see her reaction or plead her to secrecy.

She could tell the police, his parents, the GIW, anyone! 

And if they dug up his body, and identified it as Danny Fenton’s…well…

It would tell them he was dead. Which wouldn’t make sense to them, considering he’s definitely a normal, human teenager. His parents would probably accuse him of being a malevolent ghost who took their dead son’s place and let him be shipped off to the GIW.

Danny shivers. He doesn’t want to think about the experiments.

And not to forget, Valerie only knows that grave as Phantom’s , so if it was identified as his human form, well, he could kiss the secret identity goodbye.

He doesn’t know what he can do, though. 

After he ran out after Valerie and went absent for an hour, but the time he returned, his Mom and Dad were furious. Especially since he flunked on the schoolwork Mr Lancer had given him extra time for.

Infact, he doesn’t even know where said assignment is — it got forgotten amidst the argument with Sam and Tucker.

Not that it mattered anyway. His grades are already in the gutter, his two closest friendships are pretty much destroyed, and he’s half dead. Not much else he can lose.

It had been going so well. 

Then Valerie shows up, arguing with Sam and Tucker, the schoolwork, the grave, being grounded.

He’s just so fucking tired.

Suddenly, he’s interrupted from his thoughts when his bedroom door cracks open.

He glances over his shoulder, seeing Jazz standing there, a sheen of disappointment written over her face, her hands full with sheets of paper.

"I came to drop these off." She announces quietly, and deposits the stack of scruffy papers onto his desk. He raises a brow to his sister, before looking at the papers with confusion.

What are they? He thinks, picking up the top piece of paper and scrutinising it.

The teenager's eyes widen.

Its all the extra worksheets Mr Lancer gave him — except the handwriting neatly printed on it definitely isn't his.

"You-" Danny stutters, voice wavering with disbelief as he looks up at Jazz, paper still clenched beneath his hands, "—You did my work for me."

Jazz nods once, looking down at her feet with a pained smile. "Yeah."

"Why?" Danny asks, genuinely confused by this revelation. It's not like his sister to go and do all his schoolwork for him, that would be cheating in her eyes. 

Jazz folds her arms, "Because you've been struggling Danny. I can't bear to see you like this, and I can't bear to see you get into trouble time and time again. And this is the only time I'm doing your schoolwork for you, don't think this one time means I'll start doing it for you."

"Thank you." He says, and some weight lifts off his chest. That's one responsibility accounted for. There's a pang in his chest at Jazz assuming he'd stoop so low to leech off her to do his schoolwork, but he can't expect any less with the way he's been acting over the past six months.

You should’ve told her at the beginning. He should’ve, he knows that. He should’ve told her right then in that phone call.

But there was no point in pondering what he could’ve done. The exact reasoning to keep it a secret in the first place, he doesn’t know. Perhaps the traumatic events combined with being labelled a freak or potentially getting dissected made him pledge silence. There are a number of potential reasons why.

“Danny, are you alright there?” Jazz snaps her fingers in front of his face, jerking him out of his thoughts. Oh. 

He blinks, seeing the concerned look on Jazz’s face return again. It’s the only expression he really sees on her, nowadays.

It makes his heart clench with guilt, and yet he tries to ignore it, pushing away from his desk.

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry for zoning out.” He tells her, smiling nervously as he flicks through the papers full with research, Jazz's writing consuming the pages, with his scratchy writing only showing up on a few lazily attempted questions.

"You know—"Jazz starts, and Danny holds back a groan.

"If you ever need anyone to talk to, I'm here for you. Yeah, as if I haven't heard that one fifty million times before, Jazz." He rattles off, arching his shoulders in anger.

How many times has she asked him if he needs someone to talk to? How many times has he reassured her in false consolation? How many times has he told her he's okay when it's just another bitter lie?

One day you'll have to tell her. Then you won't be her brother anymore. Because even if you're still alive, you're still a freak. You still died. The corpse proves it. 

He fights the thoughts, digging his fingers into the wood of the desk and clenching his eyes shut tightly. Sighing, Danny relaxes his shoulders.

Jazz watches on in concern, and places a hand tentatively on his shoulder. Just like she had before the portal accident—

“No!” The teenager bites sharply, ushering her hand off his shoulder quickly. Jazz’s eyes fill with worry.

Fuck. He’d messed up. His eyes go wide with realisation, and his shoulders sag.

This is about the point that people get fed up with him and walk away, and he’s expecting just the same of Jazz.

Except — she doesn’t.

“I’m sorry, Jazz.” Apologises Danny, shuffling awkwardly. He takes a deep breath, “It’s just when you put your hand on my shoulder it reminded me of when the portal wasn’t working and you said everything was gonna be okay. But it’s not okay. Nothing is.”

“Okay…” trails Jazz, as she leans against his desk, intrigue sparking in her eyes. She doesn’t say much, letting him continue, which Danny is rather grateful for.

“It was the day the portal started working — Mom and Dad never figured out how the portal started, did they?” He asks, as if by some miracle his parents have already found out about the accident so he doesn’t have to go explaining the whole thing.

“Uh, no?” His sister gives him an odd look, “What’s this got to do with how the portal started?” 

Jazz is smart, surely she’d figure it out without him having to actually say it. He doesn’t really want to.

Weird behaviour, a portal opening — surely she can connect the two as some sort of trauma related incident (if she predicted death, he’d be impressed).

“You were at the library when it happened.” His eyes meet hers before he averts to looking to the sunset outside. From the look on her face, she’s slowly calculating the events in her head.

Jazz gasps aloud.

“You didn’t do what I think you did — did you?” Jazz’s voice pierces like paper, her tone firm as her eyes narrow. She doesn’t even need to speak for Danny to already know what she’s referring to.

No going down in the lab.

“The door was unlocked. I wanted to see what was wrong.” Danny murmurs, now avoiding total eye contact with his sister.

“You! I- I can’t even!” Exclaims Jazz, standing up and beginning to pace around the room. She gestures her hands wildly, “You’re lucky you weren’t injured or even killed in that ruckus of a lab!”

But I was! 

Here’s his opportunity, to confess, just just be out and done with it. But he can’t. The words are superglued to his tongue. He can’t tell Jazz. 

What would she think of him if he told her about Phantom? She was already so angry about even entering the lab. 

“I-“ He stutters.

“Just please say you weren’t injured Danny. And I want the truth.” Her voice is firm.

He trembles.

What does he say? 

Gnawing his lip in fret, this is a chance to tell the truth, the time to come clean and be able to at least confide in someone!

Danny sighs, resting his cheek on his hand, eyes diverting to Jazz every couple of seconds. Her eyes are like a hawk, watching him. Waiting.

Maybe, maybe if he told her it would be better. He’d have someone to confide in, someone who would listen and wouldn’t label him a delinquent or slacker. Someone who would just be there for him. God knows he’s been missing actually having proper conversations over the past half year in fear of someone finding out.

And through all of it, she’s his sister. She’s there for him, and offering her help. Even doing his school work for heck’s sake! (Which he’ll have to repay her back at a later date)

It could all come crashing down… but he wouldn’t know unless he tried, would he?

Danny hesitates, but looks up at Jazz, who’s strangely blinking in disbelief, fixated on his left hand — the one marred with a lichtenberg figure, barely visible. 

Sighing, he faces her again, and answers her question.

“I wasn’t injured.” He responds, hoping his voice doesn’t sound shaky.

“Alright.” Jazz nods, but for a split second Danny swears she looks eerily unsettled before returning back to normal. “But-“ she pauses, straightening and approaching him.

“What?” He responds, tilting his head.

“I want a pinky promise.” She announces, holding up her right hand.

Huh? A pinky promise? He raises an eyebrow. Danny hadn’t been expecting that, of all things. More likely he’d been expecting another firm lecture about never going into the lab again.

“Okay?” Raising his left hand, Danny entwines his finger with Jazz’s. Danny swears her eyes go wide as their fingers join, but he dismisses it as a reaction to his cold hand. Ever since the accident, he’d been like a portable cooler.

“You better get some sleep — you look like you need it.” says Jazz as she steps away from him, heading to the bedroom door.

“Yeah.” Agrees Danny. Some sleep would be nice, “It’s been a long day.”

“Night.” Jazz calls, and shuts the door to the room.

Danny sighs heavily, pushing from his desk and collapsing into his bed. He doesn’t bother to change his clothes — he’s too tired for that. As soon as his head hits the pillow, he’s out like a light, blissfully unaware.

Blissfully unaware that when they’d linked fingers, Jazz had taken notice of the lichtenberg figure that maimed her little brother’s hand and wound up his arm.

She knew he’d lied. Something had happened in that lab.

And she was going to find out what.

Chapter Text

Monday, 25th October 2004

No one in the entirety of Caspar High knows why the friendship of Sam, Tucker and Danny has broken and shattered into pieces. Sure, there’re rumours, but none hold any actual evidence.

Some speak of a nasty breakup between Danny and Sam — even though it’s never been certain whether the two have actually dated. Others think it must just be something to do with Fenton.

Because it’s clear that in some way, the boy has changed. Although people are hesitant to believe that and think this is the way the skinny teenager has always been — with his attitude only noticed now because of the attention the trio get for such an unexpected ending of a friendship.

Perhaps it’s a cry for help? Everyone knows the Fentons are the eccentric, haywire idiots of Amity Park. The whole student body couldn’t be happier that they aren’t the poor souls of Jazz or Danny, having to witness the most absurd of things as a daily occurrence. They sleep two floors above a portal into another dimension for heck’s sake! 

No wonder Fenton is acting out, having to deal with that — but if anything, he’s actively trying to avoid attention. Pushing away his two best friends, sitting alone at lunch, not participating in group projects, much happier to lull in his own sleep-deprived haze of nothingness.

It’s just another day at Caspar High, and Danny Fenton remains an enigma to everyone.

Except for the one person who always suspects more than the teenage rumours give out.

Wes Weston.

It’s morning break as Wes deposits his school supplies from the first two periods, making sure to pick up his ring binder in the process, hoping to note any strange occurrences that might happen during the day.

He watches as the trio of Sam, Tucker and Danny walk down the corridor, with Fenton trailing awkwardly behind like a lost puppy.

They probably had another argument, Wes thinks. It wouldn’t be a surprise — he’s heard all the rumours about what happened to them.

However, the teenager can’t help but think that something else is amiss. Something big. This is more than a simple argument between friends. 

And he doesn’t know what, which infuriates him to no end.

A tap on his shoulder alerts him to someone. Who would be trying to approach him? 

Whirling around, Wes comes face to face with Valerie Gray, former popular kid, kicked out the A Listers, hates ghosts with a passion, and Wes is pretty sure something strange is going on with her too.

Taken aback, he slowly closes his locker shut, tilting his head in question.

“You want to talk to me?” He asks.

She nods, and it’s then he spots the fear in her eyes, which is strange for a girl who’s as tough as nails. Her eyes have dark bags under them, and she looks thick with worry. She’s fumbling with her hair, and only meets his gaze a few times. Strange.

“So Weston, you know about Phantom, right?” Valerie questions flatly, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

He’s taken aback at that. Phantom? This is her problem?

Of course, he knows of the ghost, but what he knows about the ghost is quite frankly limited. His folder has a few pages with some knowledge, but it’s mostly speculation about how much of an anomaly Phantom is. 

So why is Valerie asking this? She hates ghosts!

“Yes.” He responds, voice rounded with suspicion, “Who doesn’t?” 

His fingers fumble at the file gripped in his arms, trying to find the particular page about Phantom with the dog-eared corner, trying to do it inconspicuously, so Valerie doesn’t notice.

“Well, with all your conspiracies, I figured you might know more about him.” Her eyes direct to the folder where the page about Phantom stares at them both.

Wes sighs in defeat, setting his books in the bottom of his backpack, and slinging the backpack over his shoulder, and slamming his locker shut, “Fine. I know some stuff.”

Valerie smirks.

Great. Not.

She follows after him, falling in step next to him, while Wes starts heading toward the classroom doors.

“So what brought this on?” He asks, glancing at her from the corner of his eye, curious as to why she wants this knowledge about Phantom.

Valerie glances towards her hands, clenching her fists and letting them go loose, and shrugging. “I need your help with something, Wes.” She says, fumbling with her hair.

“I can’t say, exactly. But I found something out about Phantom, and I don’t know what to do about it. Because I’m the only one who knows, it seems, and I can’t just break his trust like that.” She says, and Wes scoffs. 

All that, and she won’t even tell him what she actually needs help for?

“You’re gonna have to give me something, Gray.” He huffs, “I didn’t come here to help your stupid crush.” 

“He is not my crush!” She shouts in anger, attracting the attention of some passing students, a look of disgust on her face from his snide remark.

“It’s to do with before he was a ghost.” She clarifies, and Wes freezes.

Before he was a ghost? No one knows what happened to Phantom before he became a ghost. Admittedly, no one likes to reflect on the fact that their protector is a dead teenager.

There’s been tons of rumours about that, so many that Wes doesn’t really have a judgement on what happened to Phantom. It’s the one conspiracy he doesn’t touch with a six-foot pole — Phantom’s past life. It’s not his place to pry.

Some say he died in a lab accident — the HAZMAT would indicate it so, some people rumour he died protecting someone, which is why he defends the residents of Amity Park so fiercely. Gossip flies that his family is still alive in Amity Park, and that’s where he goes when he’s not fighting ghosts. 

Some claim he’s the ghost of Daniel Walker, a fourteen-year-old kid who died in a lab accident a couple decades ago and his parents never got over his death — apparently his sister lives in Amity Park, desperately trying to search down her brother’s spirit. 

Others even go as far to state that Phantom is still living as a human in Amity Park — whether that be overshadowing, possessing his own corpse, being a hybrid of sorts, disguising himself as his old human self so his family don’t know he’s a ghost. 

It all remains a mystery.

But none of these theories, however wild they are, have really given him a good answer, other than to just continue with this pointless guessing game to guess the anomaly that is the ghost.

“When he was a human?” questions Wes, dumbly. Both teens pause in the hallway.

“Yes, what else?!” Valerie hisses in frustration, placing a hand to her head, “It’s to do with his death. I found something out, and I don’t know who to go to, or what to do — his family doesn’t know about it, and he’s been keeping this a secret for months!” 

The girl’s back slams against the lockers with a thunk, as she folds her arms, looking down at the floor, refusing to meet Wes’ gaze.

Shifting his school binder in his hands, a grimace paints on the teenager's face. The air is thick with awkwardness and tension as he considers what to say. Out of all the people, and she thought he was the right one to approach? Why not the Fentons or the police? Or anyone but him?

“What, did you find his body or something?” He snorts, attempting to alleviate the tension between them.

Valerie’s face drops.

Shit — she couldn’t have. It couldn’t be-

Jaw dropping, he takes a few seconds to process the words before being able to grasp them.

“What the actual fuck. You found Phantom’s body?!” His voice raises to a high screech, with both of them getting weird looks, but he doesn’t care.

God. Phantom, the enigma of Amity Park, and Valerie has managed to find his body. How did she find it? Where is it? Why? What?

“Yes!” She screeches back, grabbing onto his shoulder firmly, fingers like claws. Valerie’s green eyes scour his, sheened with trepidation but also with a firmness.

“Don’t go screaming it to the rooftops Weston, or I will have you killed and buried alongside Phantom’s body, you hear me?”

No fucking kidding. He takes a step back, not moving his eyes from hers. The fourteen year old would rather not be dead and buried next to Phantom’s grave.

God. Phantom’s grave.

He’s still in disbelief.

“Alright. Alright.” He brushes off her hand from his shoulder, as the bell echoes down the corridor. “We better get to class.”

They don’t get marked late by Lancer for being a few minutes late, which Wes can admit is a lot better than receiving a detention. Unfortunately, Fenton seems to have missed Lancer’s sympathetic streak.

“That’s another detention, Mr Fenton.” The teacher remarks.

Danny doesn’t even react. Simply drops sullenly into his desk beside Wes, and pulls out a stack of paper, crumpled in the corners — probably from being shoved in the bag.

“I did the extra work you gave me.” He mumbles, depositing them on the desk with his left hand, and rubs his palm with the other hand, wincing in pain.

Wes observes, pretending to be busy looking at his own papers. Guiltily, he hadn’t completed the papers last night, too consumed with his newest theory of some strange white flowers he’d found whilst trailing the local cemetery.

And, yes — no usual teenager would scour a graveyard after school hours, rather going shopping or hanging out with friends. But he doesn’t have any friends.

Not anymore, at least.

Wes looks up, frowning in the direction that Star, Kwan, Paulina and Dash are sitting, then shakes his head. That was the past. He’s much happier with what he’s doing now.

…alone.

Musing over his thoughts, Wes drifts back to his folder, opening the page with Phantom on it and considering. There’s not much there — a few lucky pictures of Phantom he managed to snap whilst the ghost fought, some basic notes scribbled about the spectre — but other than that, nothing. He’s never really researched Phantom — despite him being one of Amity’s bigger mysteries — and had never really wanted to.

Until now.

The one time some research would have actually been convenient.

“Mr Weston, your work, please?” Suddenly, Mr Lancer is in front of him, holding out his hand for the blank papers settled underneath Wes’s research folder. His eyes direct down to the page with Phantom on it. “And consider staying on focus with the topic at hand.”

Hesitantly, Wes pulls the papers from beneath the folder, glancing at them.

If I get another detention… I’m done for.  

He’s not an idiot. If his father finds out about another detention, then he won’t see his research folders or camera for at least another month. He’ll probably be grounded too — unable to talk to Valerie about her recent finds.

“I did—“ He begins, but all of a sudden, Fenton interjects between the two, slamming his completed papers on the table above Wes’ blank ones.

“I stole Wes’ papers!” Fenton exclaims, and Wes looks at the teenager like he’s grown a second head.

What?!

Fenton flushes, looking up at Lancer with what is a very convincing guilty face —even though he’s completed the work. Wes is surprised. He didn’t think Fenton was such a good actor.

“Mr Fenton, is this true?” Mr Lancer asks, scooping up the completed papers. “Mr Weston, are these your papers?”

Is he an idiot? Is Fenton trying to get himself into even more trouble than he already is? Why is he doing this?

“It’s true. I knew he got the extra papers like me after he got detention, and I didn’t finish mine, so I took his complete ones out his locker when he wasn’t looking and swapped them with my incomplete ones.”

Mr Lancer looks at them suspiciously.

“Thank you for telling me, Mr Fenton,” he says, and picks up the papers. “I’ll mark you down for a detention. Perhaps we’ll need to get your parents involved. I know you have…troubles, Mr Fenton, but I wouldn’t expect you to steal another student's work.”

Wes glances at the handwriting on the paper, then realises. The handwriting isn’t even Fenton’s. Has he stolen someone else’s work?

“What was that for?” Wes hisses to Fenton, who’s rubbing his left hand, looking out of it.

“Oh — uh.” Fenton shrugs. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble again. I know that research stuff you do means a lot to you, and, uh, I kinda overheard you saying how your dad would take your stuff off you if you got another detention. So… I did that so you wouldn’t get into more trouble?” he finishes lamely.

Wes just stares at him, dumbfounded, before shaking his head. He feels like he should thank Fenton — but he can’t speak the words.

“Thanks.” Wes says. Dammit, he must’ve slipped up or said aloud about his dad taking his stuff off of him.

“And…” Fenton pauses, flipping Wes’ folder over to the page with the ghostly white flowers. He leans over the side of the desk to reach into his bag, and pulls out something, dropping them on Wes’ desk.

It’s a clump of the weird white flowers he’d seen at the cemetery.

“I know you were doing your research on these and my parents had a few samples in the lab.. so you can have them.” That second part sounds like a lie, but Wes doesn’t argue, picking up the delicate flowers between his palms.

He did almost take a sample of the flowers from the cemetery, but was too concerned that he might accidentally summon a ghost back to their grave — not to mention it was just plain disrespectful.

“Thanks… but why?” Wes questions Fenton’s kindness. It’s strange.

Yes, Fenton is normally kind hearted and generous — before his weird personality change, that was — but this is just plain odd.

“You’re having a hard time after losing your friends.” Fenton shrugs, “I can relate. Your life is already difficult enough.”

Wes doesn’t know whether to be offended about that remark, but nods in understanding. He scans the boy's face for anything — a sign of something different about him. Except for some new eyebags, and bruises dappling his cheekbone and nose (probably from Dash), nothing is askew.

“Thanks?” He says, and turns to focus on whatever nonsense Lancer is talking about. He can’t wait for the lesson to be over already, and it’s only been fifteen minutes.

Instead, he lets his thoughts run amok in his mind, trying to process the fact that Valerie found Phantom’s body. How did she even stumble across it, anyway? As far as he knows, Valerie despises ghosts, so he doubts both ghost and girl would be sitting together in perfect harmony.

There is a body involved here. Things are serious. This isn’t like Wes’ afternoon adventures of collecting conspiracies and solving them for the sheer fun of it — this is substantial.

What am I getting myself into? This isn’t some stupid little game, this is a real potential crime scene which really should involve the authorities.

Somehow, somewhere, Phantom’s body was buried in those woods — for weeks, months, years, perhaps. 

A potential murder with a killer still on the loose, an accidental death with an attempted cover up, a death from abuse or neglect, it could be anything.

“Mr Weston, please keep in focus! I’m sure you don’t want another detention with Mr Fenton again.” the teacher interrupts the teenagers train of thought.

Wes’ head hits the desk.

He meets Valerie at lunch, feeling more drained than earlier that morning. Lancer’s lesson had dragged on forever.

Valerie is sat at one of the picnic benches already, her face grim as she sees him approach.

“Well, that’s not a nice welcome for the guy who’s trying to help you.” quips Wes.

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes, glaring at him, “So. Got any findings?”

He pulls out his research binder from his backpack, as well as his lunchbox and sets it on the table.

“Uh. No.” Valerie remarks, folding her arms, “You might be helping me but it doesn’t mean we’re suddenly gonna be all buddy-buddy, eating lunch together.”

“Okay. Geez.” Wes replies, “Just this once? I’m starving. If we’re working together that means we need to spend time together anyway.”

“No.” She answers firmly.

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

“Because I can’t trust you yet!” Valerie huffs, “Don't think I don’t know what you’re like, Weston. Just because you’re doing this, doesn’t mean you’re entitled to snooping on my own secrets either.”

“Yet you trusted me enough that I was the first one you came to about Phantom’s body.” He snarls back, pointing an accusing finger at the girl, “Which by the way, I still don’t know how you found out about his body.”

"That is none of your business." She replies coldly.

“Yet this whole Phantom’s body thing is? Even though I’m pretty certain he told you to keep it a secret.” Wes answers as he pulls the lid off his lunchbox and immediately bites into a sandwich. He’s starving.

He’s got her caught.

Valerie doesn’t answer, turning her head and fiddling with her lunchbox. “I dunno. I just needed someone to know. And that person was you, for some reason. God knows why. Just promise you won’t tell anyone about Phantom, and you won’t go snooping in my secrets either? And I mean it.” She holds her hand out.

The ginger teen doesn’t know what her secret is, but he knows there’s something different. This just confirms it.

“Otherwise you’ll have me buried alongside Phantom’s body? I got it. I was listening.” He smirks, and the two shake hands, making their deal.

“Now. Whatcha got?” Valerie asks, tugging at the corner of his folder.

Rolling his eyes, Wes pulls open the folder onto Phantom’s page. Instantly, Valerie’s face sinks with disappointment.

“Not much, then.” She grimaces.

“Well, there is…” Wes trails off, pulling out the pencil balanced on his ear and scrawls a few notes down on the paper, “the fact we know about his body now.”

Next to him, Valerie looks unimpressed.

“Wow. You’re such a help, Mr Obvious.”

“Sorry.” He apologises quickly, “What do we know about him?”

“His body is buried in the park, where no one could find it — he buried it himself.” The two share solemn looks, Wes’ jaw dropping.

“You — you mean he died, and buried his own corpse?!” 

He adds the words “buried own body”  to the page, whilst trying to process the whole thing. Why did Phantom bury his own body? Nothing could comprehend the potential trauma of picking up your own corpse and having to bury it.

“Yeah.” responds Valerie, as she rests her chin on her hand, “Phantom said it was an accident — actually he spluttered more than spoke, but you get my point. No one knows he died apparently. Not his family, friends, nada.”

“This is so messed up.” the ginger boy whispers to himself, shaking his head.

“That’s why,” Val starts, “that is why I need your help, Weston. To figure this out. Because I can’t do this myself. And if I can’t do this myself, I can’t even imagine what Phantom has had to experience on his own.”

Neither can Wes. 

He wonders why the ghost hid his body away instead of letting his family know he was dead. He’s still a ghost, so he can still interact with them. Perhaps he didn’t want his family knowing, to save them the grief. Or maybe his family never even noticed anyway, and he was escaping a dodgy household.

“What do you think happened to him?” says the teenager, wanting Valerie’s opinion on the situation.

Phantom’s death is apparently an accident — so at least that rules out a potential murder — but what sort of accident? Wes doesn’t really have enough judgement to give a proper assumption.

“Honestly, I’ve never really thought about it.” shrugs Valerie, snapping the lid on and off the top of her lunchbox, “Until now I was always too distracted thinking of him as a malevolent ghost only here to cause trouble rather than a kid with a tragic death.”

And that’s what Phantom is, isn’t he?

A kid. Just like them. Dead.

“But his family don’t know, and there’s been no missing reports for a teenager matching his description in the past year or so.” She points out, “-I think he might’ve been a runaway.”

It makes sense.

No missing reports. No distressed parents searching for a son. No death records for any kid negotiable possibly died in a lab accident — (plenty of students have searched death records for Wes to acquire this knowledge).

Or is it a case of not caring, rather than not knowing?

“It makes sense. But we can’t exactly just ask him that. ‘Oh hey, Phantom. Did you have shitty parents and is that why no one knows that you’ve died?’ No the best idea.” Wes points out, jotting down the possibility onto the page, beneath the rest of the new notes.

The bell rings, signalling the end of lunch.

“Dammit. Just getting somewhere.” curses Valerie, fists clenched as she gets up from the bench and faces Wes, “Meet me here after school. I’ll show you where it is.”

Wes freezes, and nods slowly. He’s not too sure how he feels about visiting the site where Phantom’s body lies, but he really has no other choice, does he?

Phantom went through all that crap alone, with whatever mysterious backstory followed him. The fourteen year old supposes he’s a bit like Phantom in that way — alone.

Nothing to do but drown in his own thoughts, using conspiracy theories and mysteries to solve the enigmas of Amity Park instead of solving his own problems. 

He imagines Phantom is like that to.

How often does he think back to his body buried in the ground, having to recall those terrible memories of burying his own former human corpse in the ground? How often does he look upon Amity Park’s buildings, knowing that his family is there somewhere, living their life’s and moving on without him in it?

It must be incredibly lonely to be a ghost, Wes thinks.

It’s not as of Phantom can return back to his old life and live as a human, see his friends or family again. All of that had been ripped from him in an accident, and yet he was still there, with memories of his past life and in the same town where he’d grown up, forced to come to terms with the fact he wasn’t alive any longer.

Wes sighs, slumping onto the bench. He doesn’t bother to move even though the lunch bell has gone off, watching with anguish as his former friends pass him and enter the school.

It’s fine. He doesn’t need them. 

They all drifted apart, and that’s fine.

That’s fine, because he’s got more important things to think about.

He’s got a mystery to solve.

Chapter Text

Monday, 25th October 2004

Valerie is nervous as she and Wes go up to the park, her heart heavy with regret and relief at finally telling someone about the catastrophe. 

I don’t think I’ll tell Phantom that I told Wes.

She thinks to herself as she leads the way through the grass, where a variety of people are strolling, walking their dogs, and relishing in the warmth of a bright afternoon.

Unfortunately, the circumstance for which she and Wes have come is far from cheerful. She understands that informing Phantom would cause him to shut down even more. And if she couldn't cope with the knowledge of Phantom's body, she couldn't comprehend how the spirit dealt with it. 

Her father had been worried about her since she returned from patrol late last night, unusually quiet and uninterested and lacking rants about how evil Phantom was. There’s three missed calls on her phone, but she won’t answer them. Not yet.

As they traipse through the park, Valerie begins to look around shiftily, paranoia growing in her that people might be watching them sneak off to a more reserved side of the park.

“So where is it?” questions Wes, his gaze rising from the camera slung around his neck.

“Down here.” She gestures. From a distance she can just make out the disheveled ground and dapples of grave flowers that populate the area. The flowers aren’t glowing green this time.

Wes’ eyes broaden and his jaw slackens a little.

“Fuck…” He breathes, only seemingly now grasping the reality of the situation.

They walk a little further until they reach the grave, Wes stopping to look back for any onlookers. The pair exchange glances and nod before they proceed into the shadowed area at the gravesite.

Dropping to the ground, Valerie lets the grass run through her fingers, trying to avoid a disgusted shiver of having a corpse barely layers of dirt beneath her, rotting away.

Her accomplice goes to grasp curiously at the white flowers, and Valerie slaps his hand away, quickly.

“What was that for?!” Wes accuses, infuriated.

“If you pull the flowers, destroy them in any way, it’ll summon Phantom!” She exclaims. If the ghost appeared now, all hell would break loose.

“Okay. I won’t touch them.” He reassures, holding his hand up whilst digging in his backpack.

Curiously, Valerie watches, and she swears she sees a flash of green in his bag as Wes’ eyes go wide and he shoves the zip of his backpack back up.

“What was that?”

She questions, concern beginning to eat away at the anxiety and fear that was previously eating her up. She had seen a glimmer of green. 

“Nothing. I just saw something in my bag.” he admits, averting his gaze. “Don’t worry about it.”

Grazing him with suspicion, Valerie looks back to the ground forlornly. No point in wasting time being suspicious of Wes — they weren’t even friends anyway — they were both entitled to their secrets.

“We should really tell the police.” Wes remarks.

Something inside of Valerie agrees. They’re two fourteen year olds, for fuck’s sake! They’re in no way capable of handling a crime scene like this, and nor is Phantom, from his past reactions.

But the ghost wants to hide this, for whatever reason he does. And she knows it was shitty of her to tell Wes not even a day after finding out, so now she can’t tell anyone else about this.

“I won’t.” She finally speaks, “It’s enough of a risk you knowing — but I can’t do that to Phantom. Even if I still have some of a loathing for him, that’s not fair if he doesn’t get the first say in who gets to know and who to tell about this.”

Wes gives her a stare, before dragging his backpack aside and looking towards the ground, sinking his fingers into the soil.

“You had no problem coming to me.” He mutters snarkily, eyes narrowed.

Frustration claws at her and Valerie fights the urge to slap him upside the head. Gritting her teeth, her fingers seethe into the grass. He’s been a cynical asshole as far as she can remember, taking any chance to point out someone’s faults, and always having a smug smirk on his face because he knows he’s right.

“It’s not as if I wanted to tell you!” She argues, ”Maybe I shouldn’t have told you at all. You’re useless at this stuff.”

She ignores the hurt expression that flashes across his face, before the teenager's face steels in anger.

“Still, that doesn’t make it right. You can’t blurt it out to me, and then go proclaiming ‘oh it’s Phantom’s choice on who knows’ as if you didn’t do that in the first place!” Wes snaps back angrily, refusing to look at her whilst gesturing to the ground below them. He grabs his backpack again and pushes it towards her, as Valerie watches on in confusion.

“If you think you’re so good at solving this stuff, then I don’t see why you need me to help you!”

Before she can protest, Wes stands up and faces away from her, ready to walk off. 

She watches. What can she do? 

Embarrassment fills her as Valerie considers. She needs Wes’ help, she hasn’t know who else to go to. And now she was pushing him away.

What a way to be shitty to the person who’s helping you even though he doesn’t need to. Big whoop, Gray.

“Wait!” The girl shouts, sighing heavily, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. And I know it was hypocritical of me to tell you straight away and then tell you to keep quiet when I did the exact opposite.

Wes looks back at her awkwardly, and a few silent minutes pass before he speaks.

“Yeah . I'm sorry too.. I guess? Finding out about all this stuff must’ve been really overwhelming. That’s why you told me, isn’t it? You couldn’t really keep this to yourself. I’m sorry for being a jerk. Guess I haven’t been the best support, have I?”

Valerie nods, “We’ve both been jerks to each other. And honestly, I feel like we’ve been completely focused on these petty disagreements that we’ve forgotten about the one who’s really suffered here.”

“Agreed. We’ve been so absorbed in our own crap that Phantom’s just been pushed aside. We can’t do this each time. It’s not fair on Phantom. If we’re arguing all the time, then this will never get solved. Phantom needs help, and we can’t be two immature idiots whilst doing so. So..” Wes considers for a second, a glimmer of a smirk appearing on his features as he holds out his hand to shake.

“Acquaintances?”

“Acquaintances.” She shakes his hand.

He grins and Valerie can’t help but smile back.

It’s a start, she thinks hopefully. A start towards helping Phantom.

But helping the ghost is where the actual problem lies. Phantom hadn't left on the best of terms the last time they'd seen, he'd gone blank with shock and disappeared after he'd spluttered out his secret. She hadn't caught a glimpse of the ghost ever since that, not even flying in the skies.

"I doubt Phantom wants to speak with me, that's probably the last thing on his mind." She considers.

"Well, if you want to find out more, the only thing you can do is ask him. How long has the body been here? How did he die? Why does his family not know? We need at least some stable evidence."

Valerie sighs and nods slowly, "Okay...I'll do that."

The green-eyed girl has no idea how she'll get a hold of Phantom, unless he decides to pop up or anything. It's not as if the ghost has a known location or any type of contact details, like a phone number.

Hah! A ghost having a phone. Her own joke almost alleviates from the growing stress of talking to Phantom, and Valerie watches as Wes opens his backpack, takes out a notepad and begins jotting things down.

After a short while, he tears out the paper from the small notepad and hands it to her.

"Here. Some questions you could ask him. He's obviously still very sensitive about.. the body.. so I wouldn't jump into it right away. Just ask him some questions, get to know him, y'know?" 

Grabbing the scrap of paper, she begins to read from it.

Nodding along as she reads the notes, she can't help the sinking feeling in her chest. What if Phantom never speaks to her? What if he decides to just ignore it, and expect her to go on as if nothing happened?

"How the hell am I going to talk to him?" splutters Valerie, folding up the note and tucking it into her jeans pocket.

Wes folds his arms and raises a brow, and Valerie thinks he's going to snark out another response and make them disagree again before he gestures all around him. "You're seriously asking this? When we're surrounded by flowers that summon him here?!"

”I can’t do that though! He’ll know I’ve been poking around here, and the last thing I need to do is for him to know.” Eyes wide in panic, Valerie watches Wes roll his eyes.

”You won’t know if you don’t even try to talk to him! And he’s gonna find out that you’ve been snooping either way, for fucks sake! It’ll be pretty clear that you’re trying to find info — I’m assuming from how things went last time — Phantom most likely assumes you’ll be after his grave. And—“ Wes reaches over to the nearest clump of flowers, “He’s not wrong.”

“Throw caution to the wind, live life on the edge, take the plunge, whatever you wanna call it. Because it’s best to dig your grave now than face a grizzly confrontation later on.”

Wes grasps the white blossoms between his fingers.

Her heart goes to her mouth.

The flowers rip clean off their stalks.

Maddie examines the flowers for what must be the sixth time that day as she shoves another flower petal of the silene latifolia underneath the microscope to check for any anomalies.

Yet again, it’s simply the same ectoplasmic structure, but for once, the flowers aren’t glowing, which is incredibly rare.

Upstairs, the door slams, and Maddie sighs, glancing at Jack. Danny was back home.

He hadn’t completed the extra work Mr Lancer had given him yesterday, and had instead ran away from their house. Neither of the Fenton parents had heard their son enter the house again last night.

“Why do you think these flowers glow, Mads?” Her husband asks, twiddling a previous sample flower between his fingers.

“That’s what I’m trying to work out Jack.” She responds, making a face of confusion as the flowers suddenly glow again. At first she’d thought the glowing was simply down to ectocontamination, the flowers had similar signs. But then the flowers had stopped glowing. Ectocontamination didn’t just simply stop.

None of it made sense. Why were these flowers grown at the portal? Why did they glow — if the cause wasn’t ectocontamination — then what was it? Why did they have such an adverse reaction to Danny?

She couldn’t ever forget when Danny timidly entered the lab and all the flowers had shone such a stark blinding white . Her poor boy had certainly been startled by such a sight, and he rarely came down into the lab. She couldn’t blame him.

After all, seeing that, and the strange chance of getting hit by a weapon, Maddie wasn’t so sure she’d want to be in the lab either.

That was just another strange anomaly.

Danny getting affected by their weapons. There was no reason for it — the teenager hadn’t been in any lab accident that would cause a serious amount of contamination. Somehow he even got hurt by the weapons — which were supposed to hurt ghosts, not humans. He tried to cover it up, but the woman knew her son had been hit by an ectoblaster and he’d badly hidden the wound under his t-shirt.

She hadn’t said anything about it, simply dropped some burn cream and gauze by the bathroom sink and by next morning it was gone, so something had certainly happened.

Suddenly, the two adults are interrupted by their daughter creeping down the stairs, her eyes scanning around the lab.

Maddie watches Jazz suspiciously, pushing away the microscope and turning to face her daughter.

“Jazz…are you alright? You know you're not supposed to be down here without our permission.” Jack asks, concern in his voice.

Jazz freezes and turns towards her father, slowly nodding, although that looks hesitant. What's wrong with her?

"I know. I think so, but Da-" she cuts off mid sentence as Maddie's eyes narrow with concern at her daughter. Something was definitely wrong, and Jazz wasn't saying it.

"What's wrong?" asks Maddie, getting up from her chair.

The whole time, Jazz's eyes are fixated on the portal, which the woman puts down to simply having not seen the portal many times. Beside the malevolent ghosts and eerie setting and constant state of dread when being around it, the portal really is beautiful. Beautiful and alien.

Something unknown.

"How did the portal start?" Jazz asks, voice strained. The couple give eachother strange looks. This was one of the first things they'd explained to their children after they portal had switched on. 

Well, Danny wasn't there at the time and Jazz was in a frenzy about a phone call Danny had sent her — something about not coming back. They'd gotten ready to set out looking for him when Danny had stumbled through the door, eyes weary with a look she'd never thought she'd see on her fourteen year old boy. Like he'd seen traumas that he couldn't ever explain — like he'd faced the jaws of death.

After assessing he was mostly fine, the older Fenton's had allowed their children one rare visit into the lab to see the portal actually working.

Perhaps Jazz had simply forgotten?

“We explained it after the portal switched on — simply the ectoplasm took a few to acclimatise to the human plain, and then the portal started working.” Maddie tries her best to explain, hope fading as Jazz’s face falls in confusion.

“But what if, theoretically—” Jazz began weaving her hands together, not looking at either of them, “—someone got a lichtenberg scar from the portal. How would that be possible?”

It's impossible — it just wouldn't be able to happen. How Jazz has come up with such an absurd theory, she doesn't know. Their daughters lack of knowledge on ectoscience could be a factor. Or perhaps she's creating scenarios to train her psychology skills.

"If someone was to receive an electric shock from this portal, with such a high voltage.. well they’d be dead to put it simply." Maddie shrugs. Neither her or Jack miss the way Jazz blanches in horror.

"But-" she quickly reassured, not wanting to see her daughter's face worried for a second longer, " theoretically if someone survived, which is incredibly unlikely, almost impossible , they would’ve had to go inside the portal and press the emergency on button — which would have to be initiated first — with the portal wires plugged in. It’s an incredibly small chance, however, since the emergency button is barely activated since we have the main control button."

"There was a close call just before the portal started — we’d activated the emergency on button just in case and plugged it in to test the launch, but then it simply didn’t work. Until it did. Thank God in the period of time from the button being activated and the portal starting that nothing bad happened!" Jack continues from his wife, turning to beam at the portal proudly.

"Otherwise the success of opening the portal could’ve taken a very fatal turn.” The ginger haired woman replies solemnly.

Jazz is frozen, as still as ice, skin like ash. Not saying a single word. Her eyes are broad, the green reflection of the portal swirling in her eyes, but she doesn't blink.

"Jazz? Is there something you want to tell us?" 

 Maddie asked cautiously. She knows her daughter's mind, has witnessed her over analyzing every little thing, and knows there is something on her mind, but she can't get an answer out of her, no matter how hard she urges her. 

"No.." Jazz responds after a while, and looks down towards her left hand, stroking it tentatively. "I'm.. fine. I'm not the one you should be worrying about." she adds in a quieter tone.

“Then who are you talking about? Danny?” Jack questions in response, his curiosity piqued.

Both older Fenton's know their son is acting up — skipping classes, falling out with friends, disappearing in the middle of nowhere, becoming more and more isolated and now there's Jazz with her hypothetical theories of getting electrocuted by the ghost portal, this somehow linking up with Danny, which makes no sense whatsoever.

Yet. Maddie thinks.

"Nope," her daughter shakes her head, and then walks past her parents, pausing briefly before turning around as Maddie tries to wrangle the connection between Danny and the portal. 

They've both noticed Danny tends to sneak off and disappear without them noticing, or even telling them. It's been happening for months now, just after the portal switched on, coincidentally.

Why was Jazz so adamant about Danny being connected to the portal? 

And just like that, the teenager steps back, the silence returning to the lab, only disrupted by the humming sound of the portal and the slight buzzing of the grave flowers as they pulse with energy again.

A faint thump can be heard from upstairs, but the three ignore it.

"Do you know where Danny is?" Jazz asks, her voice nervous as she starts stepping towards the lab stairs.

"He came in about half an hour ago. He'll probably be asleep." Jack offers, and Jazz creeps back up the stairs, leaving both Fenton's alone once again.

After a few minutes, Maddie looks back through her microscope, "These flowers have a much more stronger ectosignature than the ones in the graveyard. Maybe because they're next to the portal, so they have more ectoplasm?"

"What if the more powerful the ghost, the more powerful ectosignture the flower has?" Jack responds, "It makes sense, Mads. These flowers have the highest level we've seen compared to ones in the graveyard, and if these are the portals own flowers, well then of course it would be the most powerful!"

"Agreed. Although if the flowers have an ectosignature connected to a certain ghost — that makes me wonder. Do grave flowers only grow where a ghost formed? They're such rare flowers, and ghost formations aren't common." 

Jack nods in agreement.

Maddie turns her head, her brows creasing together as she considers.

"But, if grave flowers could form, then why do they glow? It still doesn't make sense. It's reminds me of a warning, like when a poisonous snake scares away someone as a threat. The flowers might be warning us to stay away from a ghost's grave."

"If the flowers have an ectosignature, then couldn't we trace the flowers back to which ghost they belong to?" Jack asks, picking up a bunch of wilted grave flowers in his hands, "If we tested these..."

"We already know they belong to the portal." Maddie chuckles, then looks down at the flowers, "But these could be useful. Wherever they're planted, we'll know there's a grave of a ghost nearby, as well as a body."

"Could be useful for criminology," Jack jokes, then laughs, "Imagine that! Ghost flowers helping solve homicides."

"Or finding evidence to help convict those murderers." Maddie's eyes flash with realisation as she leans on the workbench and glances at him. "Jack — I think — I think we might've just made a breakthrough to help solving tons of murders."

As quickly as possible, Maddie begins shoving as many flowers in as possible into a plastic bag, ready to send the sample off to the police station.

"But won't them flowers just track the scene right back here, to the portal, since it has the same ectosignature?"

"I doubt they'll be tracking by ectosignature." Maddie remarks, "If we give them these flowers, they know what to look out for trying to find a body, and perhaps cadaver dogs can be trained to pick up the scent of them."

Both her and Jack give eachother accomplished smiles, despite the lingered sombreness of so many unsolved murders, these flowers had the opportunity to solve murders.

To find out secrets and what truly happened to the victims who became ghosts after their deaths.

But most importantly, to give families answers that they've been needing for months, even years.

And it would mean the world to them to be able to provide answers for someone, because it would be one less family wondering what happened and hoping wherever their family member went that they were safe. 

And they could relate.

Because even though Danny was still there, with the amount of obscurity around their son, it sometimes felt like he was a murder victim, with them scrambling for answers for what had happened to him.

"Danny's not here!" Jazz's voice shouts from upstairs.

Gone. Again.

Perhaps a murder victim with them as a desperate family trying to scramble for answers isn't quite the right description. The desperate family, yes.

But Danny isn't a murder victim with an unsolved corpse waiting in the woods somewhere, he's just a teenager who's.. lost his way. Estranged from them. A lost soul.

He disappears, has ice cold skin, and walks with no sound in his steps. Gives of an air of eeriness, like something isn't quite right.

Just like a ghost.

Chapter Text

Monday, 25th October 2004

Millions of possibilities go through Valerie’s head as she gapes at Wes, the ravaged flowers still clasped between his fingers, not able to speak.

Phantom was going to find out — they were bringing him back to his grave, which it was obvious he didn’t want to talk about. The ghost would find out she’d spilled everything to Wes and it would all be over.

What should I do?! She thinks, watching as the flowers glow a bright, blinding neon green. Wincing, she turns away from the bright light, then watches in shock as Phantom materialises a few metres away, his body flopping to the floor, lifeless.

He’s still. Not even a twitch.

Hesitantly, Wes flicks the grave flowers at Phantom’s hair, looking up at Valerie, giving her a clueless look.

She glares at him.

“You fucking idiot!” She whispers quietly, looking down at the ghost. At least he’s unconscious. Relief dumps on her like a bucket of ice water as she backs away, planning to make a move for it.

She’s about to grab Weston’s wrist too, so they can get away before Phantom realises, but then the ghost begins to stir, groaning softly and moving his hands slightly.

“Was he asleep?!” She asks Wes incredulously, who shrugs. It isn’t possible — ghosts can’t fall unconscious — let alone sleep.

“I think so.” Wes responds, eyes going wide, “I wonder if he doesn’t get enough sleep — having to save the town all the time, y’know?”

“If he can sleep — then what else?” 

Phantom has always been stranger than the other ghosts, his skin a healthy shade of tan rather than green or blue, a more defined personality than other ghosts; quippy and spirited — seemingly a good ghost, and actually has some sort of defined intelligence.

“Wha? I was in bed… how?” A muffled voice groans, and Valerie and Wes’ eyes snap to the offending voice. During their whole discussion about Phantom, they’d actually…forgotten about Phantom.

“Wes? Valerie?” The ghost’s green eyes scan both of them up and down, then at Wes’ backpack at his feet. 

How does he know our names? Valerie wonders, watching the ghost with bated breath. She can see him begin to figure out the location as he spots the white flowers in the grass.

“You’re at my—“ he splutters, not finishing the sentence, sending suspicious glares towards Wes. The girl figures it’s so Wes doesn’t catch on, even though he already knows. 

“What? How did you end up here? You — you shouldn't be here!” the young ghost accuses, frantically pointing to them both as he stares back down to the floor, then back up at them, shaking his head frantically. 

"We won’t hurt you!" Valerie exclaims, extending her palms out in surrender. A memory flashes across her mind, and she wonders whether this is how Phantom felt the time she pointed her ectogun at him, but shoved it at the back of her mind. 

“Why should I believe you?” says the ghost. He glares at her, then shifts his gaze to Wes, his emerald eyes tinged with suspicion as he traces over the boy, spotting the notepad and pen in Wes' hand. Her stomach turns inside out. 

“I—I'm not sure.” Valerie sighs, her hopes dashed as she takes a step away from Phantom. She is powerless to respond. There is nothing she can do to prevent the ghost from burying his secret further, shutting her away.

But before... 

Neither of them had trusted the other. There was no ‘pushing further away' because she didn’t even know the ghost in the first place.

They didn't know each other at all. There is no trust to be lost since there was never any to begin with. 

“And I know you don't trust me—“ she continues, fumbling. Phantom floats above the strewn earth, shoulders hunched in defence. “and I don’t blame you for thinking anything else, but I wouldn’t ever tell anyone about this. Unless it was necessary.”

“How do I know you’re not lying to me? It’s not the first time.” Phantom glares, and Valerie sees the betrayal flashing in his green eyes. All those times she’d shot at him, hurled insults at him. He had a right to be angry. He had a right to not trust her. She’d do the same.

“Heck! For all I know, he’s figured it out!” Phantom looks to Wes incredulously, “I mean, come on. I doubt after I disappeared you called it a day and didn’t do anything. Of course you’d go snooping, and bring conspiracy crackpot here with you!”

“Hey!” Wes shouts angrily, irked, “I’ll have you know I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” 

The teenager picks up his backpack and unzips it, pulling out his research binder as Valerie tenses.

What is he doing, the idiot?!

Is he trying to get them both on Phantom’s bad side deliberately? Even though he had nothing in the notes previously, earlier that day both had added the new knowledge they’d gained about Phantom. And the ghost was just about to read it.

“What is it?” Warily, Phantom floats down to the ground as Wes flicks to the page about the ghost himself and offers the folder to him.

“It’s research about…well, you.” Mumbles Wes, flushing in embarrassment. He’d never think that someone he was trying to figure out would actually read his research about them.

“Me?! You were stalking me?” Phantom asks, eyes flitting back to Wes and down as he reads the smooth, pristine pages, “Then again, you always have been strange, Weston.”

Wes is about to ask what he means by that, he’s never spoken or seen much of Phantom for that matter, but the ghost continues muttering.

“You don’t have much, huh? And nothing about—“ The ghost mumbles to himself, kicking the soil a little as he reads the practically empty page about himself. Phantom’s face twists in discomfort as he looks at the pictures — probably alarmed at being photographed without permission, Valerie figures as her insides twist, waiting for him to read the notes.

Nothing happens.

Valerie’s jaw drops in shock.

What? 

Why isn’t Phantom accusing them and being angry — telling them to leave and never speak to him again? Scorching their research to pieces?

Instead he’s scrutinising the pages with no problems, albeit a little unsettled, but having no problems with slowly reading through the smooth, pristine page.

But hadn’t the pages been super dog eared? She wonders, tilting an eyebrow. She could’ve sworn the paper of Phantom’s page had been fairly dogeared. But this one seemed in a decent state.

Watching, astounded, she comes to the conclusion that Wes must’ve by some miracle swapped the sheets of paper.

“Besides the awful photos.. there’s nothing.” says Phantom in hushed tones, peering up at both of them, contemplating something. Valerie stiffens under his gaze.

“Nothing…nothing about… this. It’s just an empty page with barely anything about me. But I don’t know if you’ve told Wes, because you’re still here and I don’t know why you’re here.” He mumbles, voice sharp with hesitance as he questions.

“So why are you here?” 

Valerie’s mouth goes dry as she glances at Wes, and back to the spectre, awaiting an answer. 

She knows his patience won’t last long.

The temperature drops significantly, as she shares a wavering glance with Wes, who she’s never seen look so terrified, refusing to even look in Phantom’s direction.

“Well?” Phantom’s voice twinges in anger, and she refuses to meet his face.

She can’t. She can’t look him in the face and directly lie to the most powerful ghost in Amity Park.

It’s not fair. Why did Wes have to make such a stupid decision, and she have to face the consequences?

“I — don’t know.” She stutters, still deflecting his gaze, choosing to stare at the now glowing green grave flowers on the ground.

She’s the Red Huntress — she’s meant to hunt ghosts, and be strong and fight to protect her town. But — now?

It’s not even a fight and she feels like a coward.

“I can’t tell you. There is nothing to say.” She shrugs, still avoiding his gaze. Ahead of her there is a thump, and out of the corner of her eye she watches as Phantom drops to the ground.

She still doesn’t make eye contact.

“Nothing.” The ghost scoffs, “Heard that one before.”

Valerie sighs, and looks up directly into Phantom’s eyes, chest growing heavy as she prepares to see the look of resentment on his face, and his green eyes shining with scorn.

But instead of an angry ghost seething with power — she just sees a scared kid.

A kid. Just her age.

Before she knows it, the words fall from her tongue.

“How old are you?”

The ghost jumps up in shock, Wes’ research folder still in his hand. Judging his reaction, that wasn’t what he’d expected her to say.

She watches as the ghost... the dead teenager… considers, before settling back on the floor after recovering from the question.

“I’m fourteen…” He says doubtfully, tilting his head, looking to the sunset in the distance as he speaks, “Although I wasn’t for very long. About a week, maybe? Yeah. I was fourteen for a week. And then—“ The ghost sighs, the setting sun reflecting onto him as he hugs himself tightly, bringing his knees to his chest and simply staring at them both.

He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

Valerie knows what he means. A week after his fourteenth birthday — he died.

“It was in March.” The ghost trembles, making little eye contact with Valerie as he stares to the ground, wrapping the grave flower stalks around his fingers.

March. That’s not even a full year he’s been a ghost.

This ghost in front of her, has experienced more than she will ever have known in the span of a year. Even less. 

He was probably excited to start being a fourteen year old— she imagines a scene in her head — although she blanks at what Phantom would look like as a human. Surrounded by family and friends, blowing out the birthday candles. Ready to start another chapter of his life.

And a week later, everything was turned on it’s axis.

Phantom had been a teenager for a year and one week, before it was promptly cut short, by whatever had happened to him. She doesn’t really want to think about what it was — but as she stares at the ghost and his black and white HAZMAT suit — something more sinister is implied.

“You died.” Wes states bluntly, and the ghost winces, but nods.

She doesn’t know how to react.

“Do you ever get…lonely?” Wes asks, which surprises Valerie. Then again, it’s not as if Weston has any of his friends anymore. The same group of friends that ditched her, ironically.

It’s a bit of an absurd question, she thinks. The ghost’s own family don’t know he’s dead, and his own kind hate him. She doubts he has much company.

“There’s not a time I’m not alone, I don’t think.” Phantom shrugs, “I had friends, but it’s not as if I need them. Not now. My family…they don’t know, and never will. I can’t put them through that. I’m perfectly fine by myself anyway.”

Phantom’s voice wavers slightly at the end, as though he knows nothing about this situation is alright. He's lying to himself, trying to reassure himself with a false sense of security that everything is okay.

She can see that, Wes can see it, and heck, Phantom himself knows it.

But can she blame him?

His whole life has been ripped away, and he's got no one to support him. No wonder he's trying to deny everything.

“You need to stop lying.” She says, “Most of all to yourself. I know you want to hide it, ghost, and I can’t blame you. But you can’t hide it forever. You know you’re not fine. You know you’re not fine with losing your friends. You know you’re not fine with your family not knowing you’re dead. And most of all — this.”

“I can’t.” The ghost whispers, voice shaking. “It’s too far now. I know it, I know what you’re saying is true. But if I admit it — then everything will fall apart. And I’ve only just started getting everything back together again.”

“Gray...cut it out.” Wes snaps beside her, tugging on her sleeve. She ignores him and instead responds to the ghost.

“Have you, though?” Valerie challenges, “Or is it just a web of lies and denial that make you think you’re coping?”

Phantom doesn’t respond, and squirms awkwardly under her accusing glare. His mouth opens, and she thinks he’ll answer-

Then, he blinks out of vision.

Wes’s folder falls to the floor with a thump.

She barely has time to process anything before Wes starts raging.

“Fucking idiot!” Wes hisses beside her, looking furiously as he stands up, grabbing his folders off the floor where Phantom dropped them.

“What happened to the ‘oh I don’t want to scare him off’?! You thought confronting him about that type of crap was a good idea?! It might not be the best way, but that’s the way he’s coping right now, and overwhelming him like that isn’t helping.”

Her cheeks flush in embarrassment as she remains seated on the floor. 

God, she was supposed to be helping Phantom, not scaring him away!

Another brilliant job, Gray. You almost made Weston bail on you and now Phantom is gone anyway. Now he’s probably never going to show up again.

The air still has a chill to it as she eventually stands up, shame consuming her body. Valerie tries to avoid Wes’ pointed glare as she begins to walk away from the grave. She can’t stand another second here.

Around her, the breeze ruffles again and Valerie pauses, narrowing her eyes. 

What’s going on? Can't be a ghost, my scanner didn’t go off!

“Why are you just standing there?” Wes asks as he grabs her by the shoulder, nails digging in, “Do you want people to get suspicious of us here? Because I’m pretty sure if you did that then Phantom definitely wouldn’t talk to you again.”

“Fine.” Reluctantly, she begins to walk away, letting Wes walk up ahead onto the path when the breeze tugs beside her again.

It can’t be a figment of her imagination this time.

“Meet me in the woods.” A voice, discernibly Phantom’s whispers in the breeze, “ I’ll tell you as much as I can, but don’t bring Weston with you again. Be here at around the same time as now.”

Shocked to silence, Valerie nods, hoping the ghost can see the gesture as she doesn’t want to alert Wes of what’s going on as she trails behind him. The chilled spot in the air dissipates, signalling Phantom’s departure.

“Well…that’s the investigation screwed up on the first day, so congratulations.” Wes drawls beside her, clearly pissed off. She’s not thinking about that, though.

Tomorrow, she’s meeting Phantom in the woods. That is, if he even shows up. What would he tell her? His human identity?

No. It was much too soon for that. But, if he didn’t want Wes there, it must be something important.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” She remarks back to Wes, disinterested.

“Huh? Huh? What’s changed your tune?” says Wes.

“Oh! Nothing.” The teenager shakes her head, cursing inwardly. Darn it. She better get better at this secret keeping business, and fast.

Something told her tomorrow would only bring a flood of more secrets.

“Hmm. Fine then.” Wes remarks, his arms folded as he turns around to walk to the gate, when he freezes.

Probably some stupid thing he’s seen. She groans. There were always going to be downsides to working with Wes, this one of them. Constant distractions.

“What have you seen now?” She asks, following his eyes, directed towards where Phantom’s grave is. Just a little bit ahead of the trees is a dark haired teenager dressed in a white shirt with coloured trim and jeans. He’s got something in his hands.

Rolling her eyes, Valerie pokes his shoulder hard. It’s probably just some teenager relaxing in the park, now under Wes’ scrutiny.

“Stop stalking poor teenagers from a distance! Just because they’re a little bit near his grave, doesn’t mean you have to go scheming about their involvement-“ Wes looks startled as he looks back up to Valerie, looking slightly pissed off.

“-It is a public space after all.” She finalises.

“”Yeah, well—“ The ginger haired teen goes to speak, but then cuts off.

“Well, what?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Exactly.” Valerie replies at Wes’ perplexed expression, “Nothing to worry about.”

Why the boy is suddenly enamoured with some teen who’s at the other side of the park and like a fly in their sight of vision, she doesn’t know.

But he’s Wes Weston. She doesn’t think she’ll ever really understand his ways.

“Come on. I need to be home soon.” She trails off, and begins walking as Wes hesitantly turns around from staring at the random teenager. It’s early evening now, and the sun has begun to dip underneath the clouds. Her dad will be worried sick.

Valerie hadn’t answered any of the calls he’d made to her early on in the day, but she’s been too busy worrying about the whole debacle with Phantom.

At least with the meeting in the woods tomorrow, hopefully she’d get some questions answered.

Danny feels his heart pounding as he runs back home, his chest heaving with fright as he scrambles along the path to get home as fast as possible. Above, the sky is beginning to turn a hazy orange — it’s got to be at least past five.

That’s not good.

And so is whatever the hell just happened with Valerie and Wes — for some reason? He wasn’t sure why Wes had been there.

He’d given him the flowers earlier that morning, there’d been no need for Wes to get another batch of the wretched things.

At this rate, there’s going to be none left. He thinks, looking at the wilted bunch in his hand, another three he’d plucked from the ground. Danny had taken them after Valerie and Wes had left and remained in the park for a little while afterwards.

Yet people stealing his flowers is the least of Danny’s worries.

Stupidly, he’d told Valerie to meet him in the woods tomorrow, which was just asking for trouble. Now she was closer to his secret. He’d also suspected Wes, but after seeing his empty folder, Danny wasn’t so sure.

The guy genuinely did seem oblivious to the soil underground, although Danny was pretty sure the ginger haired teenager had been the one to summon him awake from his nap.

Yawning, Danny stuffs the flowers into his pocket, turns right on the pavement, and walks into his street, FentonWorks being at the bottom.

“Mom and Dad are gonna kill me.” He groans, rubbing the back of his neck, knowing his parents are going to be furious when he gets back. Hopefully he can sneak in without anyone noticing.

It hadn’t been like this before. Why now, of all times?

His parents had been fine with him going out at whatever time as long as he got all his schoolwork done (he’d lied about completing it almost every time), and Jazz had kept to herself — and then she was completing his work for him.

What if they know?

The thought stops him in his tracks.

What if they know and they’re treating him like this before the inevitable ending where they’ll all snap at him and insult him, calling him a ghost freak and an imposter of their son and brother?

What if they know — but they think he’s fully dead — and are silently grieving him?

What if, what if, what if?

There’s too many possibilities that ring in his head, and the halfa trembles in fear as he grabs the door handle and twists it open as delicately as possible. The area infront of the door is clear.

Phew. No confrontation tonight. He sighs, and steps into the living room, beginning to walk to the stairs-

“And where have you been, young man?”

His mother snaps at him, standing up in alarm as Danny enters their house. “Why weren't you in your room when Jazz went to check? And why did I get a phone call off Mr Lancer today telling me that you failed to hand in the catchup work?” She questions, her face pinched in anger.

“I-“ Danny splutters as his father enters the room, his face filled with pity instead of anger like his mom.

And to Danny, that pity is worse than the anger.

”What’s happened to you, Danno? Why are you like this? You’re so distant from us no matter what we do…is it us? Are we the reason you’re so distant?” asks his Dad, and Danny shakes his head frantically.

Oh God. His parents are blaming themselves — partly the reason why he never told them — even without knowing his secret.

”No, no! It’s not you!” He insists, splaying his hands out, as Maddie lets out a small gasp, fixated on his arm.

Before he can register anything that’s going on, his mom grabs his hand and pulls it up for closer inspection, then points at his arm.

”Daniel James Fenton! Where did you get a scar like this?!” Danny blanches as she turns his arm over, revealing the lightning bolts of his death scar marred on his arm, twinges of green flecked into it.

Beside Maddie, Jack says nothing, his mouth wide in a silent ‘o’.

Danny tenses. This can’t be happening. They can’t be finding out now. Not because of a stupid scar.

”How did you even get such an injury?! This would’ve required a hospital. It’s a miracle you weren’t killed.” His mom continues, tracing her finger down the scar.

”Yeah…” He trails off, not wanting to say much in case he spills anything.

”Maddie, you don’t think…” His Dad gives a worried expression to the scar, which makes Danny nervous inside, “How Jazz was saying earlier about the scars, and what would happen to someone if…”

”Oh.” Maddie whispers, dropping his hand.

What had Jazz been saying? Was she snooping too? 

“We’ll be back in a bit, sweetheart.” Suddenly, his Mom kisses his head and ushers his father down the lab stairs, leaving Danny in the sitting room, alone.

All for being told off…

Blinking whilst trying to comprehend everything, Danny begins to trail towards the stairs, where he can escape to the sanctuary of his bedroom. Hopefully no one will disturb him so he can sleep (and panic) in peace.

He gets to the top of the stairs and turns to his bedroom door, when of all a sudden Jazz peers her head through her bedroom door. At first, she looks confused, but when her eyes meet his, her expression becomes one of pure terror.

“D-Danny. You’re here.” His sister stutters, and Danny tilts his head in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, and steps forward, but Jazz clutches at her door and lurches back, so he doesn’t move any further.

“Nothing.. it’s fine.” She shrugs, shaking her head, eyes fixated somewhere on the floor to his left instead of looking at him.

What happened to the sister just yesterday who was insistent on invading his business every chance she got? What had freaked her out so much?

“You don’t look okay.” He responds, “By now I would’ve thought you’d be bombarding me with questions of where I went.”

“Well.” She thinks for a second before resuming, “That was one of my thoughts, but that’s not really on my mind right now.”

“Oh.” That’s surprising. Jazz never starts another focus without finishing another. So to switch so quickly from him to something else is, alarming. Not that he’s complaining — he’s quite happy at not having Jazz breathing down his neck every hour of the day.

“So what’s on your mind?” He asks, wondering what’s gotten her so freaked out.

“Just…things.” Shoulders hunched over, his sister is uncharacteristically quiet as she glances at him sheepishly. Her mouth opens and then closes again as she places a hand towards him tentatively, “Can…can I hug you?”

Tensing, Danny approaches her reluctantly, afraid she might find out something by simply just being near him. There’s an instinct to run back to his room as Jazz’s arms wrap around him, but the teenager ignores it.

She clasps onto him like a lifeline, shivering slightly at his temperature, but doesn’t budge. Hesitantly, he places his arms around her to, reciprocating the hug.

He hasn’t been hugged in over six months.

“ Oh Danny. I’m so sorry that I didn’t notice .” Jazz mumbles lightly, probably something he’s not supposed to hear.

“Why?” sputters Danny, pulling away from the embrace.

Why now was Jazz only just hugging him? Why now was any of his family just taking notice? Whilst the hug was nice — it was too close.

They all had acted weird, his parents, Jazz, and he didn’t want that. He was getting too over his head, again. Letting them get too close to him, when he knew very well that he should be avoiding them when it came to his secret.

Jazz looks taken aback as she steps back, scanning up and down, “Why what? Surely you know. You have to know.”

“What?” Trepidation bolts through him like lightning as Danny tenses, waiting for the worst.

She knows you’re half ghost, she knows the portal accident did something, she knows your body is in the park, she know. She knows something.

“Jazz, what do you know?” Eyes narrowing, Danny begins to back away as his sister remains frozen, in her own state of shock.

“I know that time I was away at the library, something happened in the lab. And it resulted in that.” His sister points directly at the death scar on his hand, “Mom said any person involved with the portal and such a fatal accident should be dead! Even more so with a lack of hospital treatment.”

Although, her eyes looking like they’re trying to say something else. Full of worry, full of grief. He panics.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stumbles, clothing his bedroom door handle.

“Danny, I know. A scar like that doesn’t just magically appear out of nowhere.”

“Okay? Big whoop. But how can you assume it’s from the portal?” He argues, hoping the argument will be enough.

“Well, you just confirmed to me you’ve been in some sort of accident in the lab that caused that lichtenberg scar.”

Shit. I can’t- she can’t find out!

Desperately he yanks the bedroom door open and Jazz blinks in shock as he runs through the door, turning back and yelling.

”There’s nothing wrong with me! So what if I got into an accident in the lab? Leave me alone Jazz!” He shouts furiously, desperately trying to mask the fear on his face as Jazz stares at him in shock, reaching out a hand then pulling back.

I’m sorry.  Guilt festers in his stomach, but he doesn’t say anything, and slams the door shut in front of her face. 

“Way to go, you idiot.” He murmurs, “Shutting Jazz out when she’s only trying to help. If only you’d avoided her more then maybe she wouldn’t have seen the scars again.”

Sighing, his eyes direct to his closet where some shirts are strewn out onto the floor. And he’d only just stopped wearing long sleeved shirts, finally eased off that the scar wouldn’t cause a big fuss or reveal his secrets.

Looks like it’s back to the sweaters and hoodies.

Danny flops onto his bed, pulling the covers over his body, considering everything.

He’s just so tired and sick of people snooping everywhere. Why can’t they just leave him alone? Why can’t they just understand that he doesn’t like it when they snoop?

”And all that stuff with Valerie…” He groans, planting his head into the pillow. He said he’d meet her tomorrow, and tell her as much as possible, but now he wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t as if he was actually really going to tell her much anyway. He doesn’t even know her very well.

Sinking into his bed, worrying thoughts swirling in his mind, Danny lets the abyss of sleep consume him.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 26th October 2004

Wes strolls down the mostly empty corridors as he wanders aimlessly with the folders grasped in his hands, not really looking for anything in particular. It’s lunch. He has nowhere to be.

Some part of him hopes that he’ll run into Fenton, just so he can ask what the hell the boy was doing at Phantom’s grave yesterday, with Phantom’s grave flowers in his hands.

Sighing, Wes glances down at his folder, the pristine pages of the new Phantom file looking up at him. The other one was too dogeared and outdated, anyway. Just thank god he hadn’t added the extra information of the body before Phantom read it.

“Hey, watch it!” A sharp voice hisses, cutting him out of his thoughts.

The ginger haired teen looks up, faced with Fenton’s former best friends, Sam and Tucker.

“Huh. Manson. Foley.” He grimaces at the two with distaste. They aren’t exactly all buddy-buddy with one another. Him, much less so.

After all, they’d left Fenton behind. And he’s not about to go diving to Fenton’s defence, but abandoning him when he’s clearly going through troubles is just a shitty thing to do. Yesterday’s lesson sitting next to Fenton said enough.

“What do you want?” Manson scoffs, “Here to blabber conspiracies to us of why you think we’re not friends with Danny anymore?”

“No!” Defensively, he shoots back, shoulders hunched, “And let me tell you, you two are pretty shit friends.”

“Us?” Foley pipes up, clearly angry as his hands clench the strap of his backpack, “He’s the one that stopped talking to us, shut us out, refused to talk to us, turned down every offer of help we gave him, and you’re calling us the shit ones?”

“Yes.” Wes spits, not backing down.

“How would you even know about friendship? It’s not as if you have any.” blurts out Manson, her eyes suddenly going wide.

She regrets it the second she said it, Wes can tell.

Too late for that. He thinks. Dread seeps into his chest. As if the massive gaggle of former friends he once had that he passes each day isn’t already a reminder, then Manson’s accusation directly speaking the truth hurts even more.

I don’t have friends.

“Geez. Way to make a guy feel appreciated.” He snarks, flashing a glare at Manson, “No wonder Fenton stopped talking to you both.”

Manson and Foley glare sharply at the redhead, but neither of them say anything.

“Why are you interested in him after all?” Manson pries, “It’s not as if you cared about him before this.”

The redhead isn’t exactly certain of what he saw yesterday — maybe it’s just a figment of his imagination.

“Well I started to care because the people who are supposed to aren’t… but if you must know, I saw Fenton at the park yesterday.” Wes can’t help the quip as both look on in surprise, clearly not knowing Fenton was there yesterday.

“We do care about him -- but he makes it a damn struggle when he doesn’t talk to us for months, disappears altogether. Surely you know what that’s like, Weston? To have people you thought you’d always rely on, always support and always have your back, and then suddenly they begin coming more and more distanced, and you don’t even know why? Don’t deny the crap that happened with the A Listers.”

Unfortunately, Manson’s right.

The same crap did happen between him and his ‘friends’ — all them months ago, him believing that they’d always have each other's backs and he could trust them with anything. And then they began growing more distanced with him stumbling for answers as to why they were acting that way. Had he done something wrong? Did they not like him anymore?

It was much too late to find out the answers to that now. He was much more satisfied digging up the answers for other questions and mysteries, rather than his own problems.

“I guess.” Wes shrugs, grimacing, “It’s similar. Having all these questions, not knowing why they’ve changed, the guilt in thinking you’ve done something wrong—“

“Exactly!” exclaims Tucker, irked, throwing his hands in the air, “All these questions and secrets are driving me nuts.”

Me too…

All that mess with Phantom and keeping that under wraps, trying to do research on his own pet projects, keeping an eye out on Fenton, wondering why the A Listers ditched him — it’s a vast list that just keeps on compiling.

But it’s not even the start.

“Why was Danny even in the park anyway?!” queries Manson, looking at the teen as if he’ll have all the answers to the universe.

“I don’t know.” he answers honestly. Wes doesn’t know why Danny was so close to Phantom’s burial site. Of course, it could just be a coincidence.

Well, he’d believe that, if Danny hadn’t been holding Phantom’s grave flowers.

“Because… well. Jazz told us some stuff this morning.” hesitates Tucker, before turning to Manson, “Are we allowed to tell him this?”

For a few seconds, Manson scans him up and down, before shrugging.

What had Jazz told them that morning? Hope surges in Wes’ heart, maybe he can be one step closer to solving the mystery behind Fenton.

“I suppose so. His weird problem solving skills might come in handy.” 

“So?” he urges.

Manson sighs heavily, “Jazz came up to us this morning, and we instantly knew something wasn’t right. She was pretty freaked out. I didn’t process much of it, but long story short, apparently she thinks Danny was in a lab accident, died and is posing as a human but is really a ghost.”

Fenton? A ghost?

It's absurd.

“I know, it’s pretty stupid.” begins Tucker, “Danny apparently being a ghost. He’s never been in any accident, and how would he even die without any of us knowing? Where would he even hide a body? It just doesn't make sense!”

“What he says.” Sam gestures to Tucker, “And you might literally be the only person insane enough to even partially take this seriously. We both don’t believe it. I mean, come on! Danny being a ghost? That’s so stupid! His parents are ghost hunters for crying out loud. Not to mention, there’s not even any evidence of what Jazz says. I don’t know where she got the idea, but maybe you can find a more logical reason for all of Danny’s weird behaviour?”

“But what if it is true?” Wes questions them. 

Never in a hundred years would Wes think Danny Fenton being a ghost is the reason for his strange behaviour — but after learning their town hero has buried his body, died without anyone knowing, and buried his own body. Well, anything is possible.

The two friends look at eachother, their faces glazed with grief and pain as they stare back at Wes.

“If it’s true… that means—that means he died. And no one ever knew. Our best friend might’ve been dead for months, and we didn’t even notice.” whispers Sam, horror etched into her voice as Tucker stares with an equally as spooked look.

Realisation hits him like a bullet. There’s a possibility that the kid who sits next to him in third period English every afternoon is dead. There's a possibility he’s been posing as a human for who knows how long, that his life ended and he's now a ghost. The chance that Danny Fenton died alone, and his family remained naive to the fact, despite specialising in ghost hunting.

For some reason, the mention of dying alone rings freakily familiar in his head.

“What I don’t get-” Tucker thinks, “-is how Jazz got to this conclusion. It’s not as if he’s acting, ghostly, right? He’s just being a bit more distant than usual, spontaneously going to the park for some reason.”

But the more Wes thinks about it, he has been acting… off. Strangely cold. Disappearing to nowhere. Eyes sometimes looked like they were green. Footsteps not making a noise, as if he didn’t weigh anything. Ghostlike.

Distant from friends and lashing out -- a possible malevolency from ghostly instinct? But that’s a theory made by the senior Fenton’s about why ghosts are evil and he can’t really support it. Not when this situation is about their own son, and Danny definitely already doesn’t conform to ghost normality, like being human.

Maybe… maybe he’s being distant because he doesn’t want anyone to find out? Of course no one would know if Fenton deliberately went out of his way to hide it!

But that still doesn’t explain why Fenton was close to Phantom’s grave. Or why he had Phantom’s grave flowers in his hands. 

It’s common knowledge to Wes, after the previous day of pulling the grave flowers out of the ground, that they’ll always summon a ghost. So why wasn’t Phantom summoned when Fenton pulled up the flowers? It doesn’t make sense. Or maybe he wasn’t summoned because he was there the whole time? But even so, the redhead would think that Phantom would be made visible.

“Weston? You've gone silent there. Brewing up conspiracy theories?” Sam asks, suddenly, he’s brought back to reality. Standing in the corridor, a few minutes before the second lesson starts.

But this is involving Phantom, and Wes knows he can’t talk about or even mention having an involvement with the ghostly hero.

“About Danny, perhaps?” Tucker drops in, and Wes shakes his head.

He’d been thinking about sharing his barely developed theories about Fenton, but it’s now apparent that the possibly-not-alive-but-posing-as-human boy has a connection to Phantom. And he can’t let that slip. Especially if it comes full circle to Phantom, the ghost will know that he knows more than he’s giving on, and that loses Gray her opportunity to talk with the teenager.

Although I’m pretty sure she blew it anyway. She seemed quite distracted about it yesterday, though. Wasn't really bothered when she lost her chance. I wonder why she changed her mind?

“No. Seriously, it’s nothing.” Wes confirms again, force seeping into his tone. He can’t tell them anything connected to Phantom.

Undeniably, Fenton and Phantom are connected somehow.

If he reveals Fenton, the truth about Phantom will be dragged out.

But how are they connected?

Fenton had a hold of Phantom’s grave flowers. So is it possible that Fenton has knowledge of Phantom’s grave?

But how? Since when? Phantom had made it pretty clear that no one knew of his grave beforehand -- he’d died alone. Unless, other ghosts automatically know or something?

But no one knows that Danny Fenton is a ghost either. He’d died alone. That’s if he even is a ghost at all. All of this could just be a massive misunderstanding. Something in Wes urges that it isn’t.

Fenton doesn’t have a ghostly form, and if he even has a body at all, it makes no sense for where it would be.

He’d died alone.

Both of them had died alone.

Both of them had died in a lab accident (he’s not an idiot, he’s noticed the HAZMAT suit).

No one had known of either’s death.

Both of them. It wasn’t both.

It was just one, wasn’t it?

Fenton did have a ghostly appearance. 

Fenton did have a body. And it was buried in the park.

Oh god— oh god. Something in Wes prays that he’s wrong, that this is stupid, but there’s too many connections that line up with his theory. Both had died in a lab accident, and both had happened at around the same time — March last grade was when Fenton had begun acting up, also when Phantom had allegedly died.

With both Phantom and Fenton, no one knows that they’ve died. And he doubts it’s very common that a child will die and no one has knowledge of it — dying alone at that. 

And both look similar — how didn’t he notice that?! Both have the same hairstyle, practically the same voice, the same face shape and Phantom wears a HAZMAT eerily resembling Jack and Maddie Fenton’s.

His thoughts are a mess and he can’t think.

The only thing he’s certain of is that he can’t tell Sam and Tucker. Even if they’re his best friends. Wes can’t tell them their best friend is dead — that Jazz is right.

He was sworn to keep it a secret. 

And he’ll keep his word.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” Wes quivers.

He turns away from Sam and Tucker, leaving them standing alone in the corridor, thoughts uncontrollably running through his head and plaguing him with confusion.

Haunting him with disbelief.

Fenton is Phantom.

Fenton is Phantom .

Earlier that morning

“So, what’re we doing for Halloween? Some trick or treating?” Sam asks casually, fiddling with the straps of her backpack as she walks alongside Tucker to school, passing by the Fenton’s household.

“What sort of person would I be for refusing free candy?!” Tucker almost screams, looking at her astoundedly.

“A weird one.” She chuckles. Tucker’s love for junk food shows no bounds.

“I want to really, really badly.” Her friend says, but his green eyes catch onto something and his face falls. The goth turns and follows his line of vision.

He’s looking at the Fenton household.

“But…it just wouldn’t be the same without Danny.” The boy murmurs, face drained of all past mirth, as he begins to walk quicker.

She sighs. It’s different without Danny by their side, the third part of a trio, and now he’s gone.

And she doesn’t even know why.

He’s been acting off for months now, ever since March, their friend had acted differently. Lying to them, running away, injuries. None of it made sense.

Although, she suspects Danny does still want to be their friend. She can’t miss the pitiful stares he gives them each time he trails after them in the corridor. Even when he does follow them, he makes no attempt to talk. He just stands there. Like a ghost.

“I know, Tuck.” She responds, and begins walking faster, “Come on. Let’s get outta here.”

A door nearby them slams, but both ignore it in favour of walking to school and getting away from the place that holds the ghosts of their past.

“Sam! Tucker!” A familiar voice shouts, sounding absolutely terrified.

Both teens turn to one another, both giving equal looks of shock.

Jazz Fenton runs up to them, her eyes frantic with worry, her hair unkempt and looking at them with pure terror. Normally, the girl is calm and professional.

Something is wrong.

Something is very wrong.

“What’s going on?!” cries Sam, voice erupting with worry as the ginger haired girl finally comes to a stop to the pavement in front of them.

“You look rough.” remarks Tucker, concern on his face, “What Sam says. What the heck is going on?!”

“It’s Danny!” exclaims Jazz, panic apparent on her features.

Sam does a double take — something to do with Danny? Now, of all times? Seven months of ignorance and a nonexistent friendship?

“Why should we bother?” She snaps, folding her arms, as Tucker gives her a confused look, “It’s not as if Danny ever did.”

“Look, I know you two don’t want to be around him, and I don’t blame you after everything. But— I found out why he acts like that!”

What?! The teenager almost does a double take. It feels almost unbelievable to her ears.

Jazz has found out what’s going on with Danny? Found out the cause of the excuses, the injuries — the ignorance?

“Well. It better be a damn good explanation.” She says after a while, tilting an eyebrow expectantly. Tucker looks equally as spoked, and she imagines he’s thinking something similar.

Had Danny told Jazz? Did she find out herself? 

Blanching, Jazz looks down at the floor, tapping her shoes. Sam swears she sees what looks like…tears…at the corner of the girls eyes.

“I…I think Danny’s dead. Which is why he’s been acting so distant. He doesn’t want anyone to know, and certainly not Mom or Dad. There was something that happened in the lab, I don’t know, but it happened and I didn’t even know and it turned him into a ghost, but he still looks the same!… I don’t know! It might just be a power that conceals it, but he’s a ghost, he’s not possessed because he has the same eyes. But he has this scar that appeared out of nowhere and I-“

“Woah woah woah!” shouts Sam, voice raised as she flings her arms out to silence the older Fenton. This has to be a joke. Jazz can’t be serious, “Are you telling us...that Danny is dead...and that no one ever noticed?”

“Yes!” the teenager nods her head so fast Sam thinks it might snap off. 

How? What? When?

There’s no way Danny can be a ghost. She would know. Tucker would know.

And what evidence does Jazz even have, anyway? A scar appearing out of nowhere? Judging by his recent clumsiness, Sam isn’t surprised that Danny’s foolishness might not leave him completely unscathed.

And a lab accident? Well, it would be understandable for her ex-friend to get caught in his parents weapons, considering the Fenton's weapons are everywhere, even on the kitchen table. 

But even she knows that both Fenton kids are strictly prohibited from the lab, unless without permission. Maybe he snuck in? Messed around with something he wasn't supposed too?

"It doesn't make sense." The goth finally speaks, "There's too many specifics that would have to make...whatever this is. Too many empty questions."

"I know, but I really do think I'm onto something."  Jazz replies, a little more desperate, "Something weird went down there in the lab that day. Danny isn't the brother I remember. He started wearing the sweaters and hoodies to cover up, you remember that, right? I thought maybe he was just exploring his individuality, but then he started wearing his t-shirts again...and then I saw the scar."

"No offense Jazz but I don't agree. I mean, come on! Danny isn't dead." Tucker exclaims incredulously, hands tightening around the straps of his backpack, as he takes a step back, “And unlike your brother, I don’t fancy being late this morning.”

Without another word, Tucker turns and stalks down the path, leaving an awkward Sam gazing towards Jazz. She can’t blame him, really, the last six months have been hard hitting. Danny is the last topic he wants to talk about.

And although Sam doesn’t really like to mull upon the subject of the teenager for long, she is intrigued to why he’s behaving so differently, and why he ended their friendship. Unfortunately (and thankfully), Jazz’s hypothesis is not the one they’re looking for.

Because if Danny had died and she hadn’t even noticed…

Well, Sam wouldn’t know how to live with that guilt.

But thankfully, it’s not true, therefore she doesn’t need to dwell upon that.  So why is there the tiniest inkling ebbing away at her, telling her that it could be true?

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 26th October 2004

Doubt begins seeping into Valerie by the time her watch hits half five. Phantom was supposed to be here an hour ago, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

It doesn’t surprise her really. After yesterday’s disaster confrontation with the ghost, she wouldn’t be surprised if he never shows up again. Sighing heavily, she drops down by the roots of a tree, dropping her backpack onto the mossy ground. 

The clearing she inhabits is well sheltered, away from any onlookers, and well, well away from any of the walking trails within the woodland. Phantom is shy enough already. Valerie doubts he wants to spout his secrets in the middle of a park.

Some curiosity does increase within her. What does Phantom want to tell her? Things about his human life? Further detail about how he died? What to do about the body?

“That’s if he shows up at all.” The green eyed girl mumbles, observing the sun dipping beneath the trees. She’s going to have to get going soon, if Phantom doesn’t show up anytime soon. Another repeat of last night with her dad pestering her for where she’d been and why’d she’d missed his calls? 

If it happened again, she’d get grounded, and then definitely wouldn’t be able to help Phantom.

Having me off his tail would probably be his dream come true.

Valerie scoffs. No way in hell she’s letting Phantom continue the way he is, scrambling through his afterlife with so many secrets wearing him thin. No one should have to go through that crap – not even a ghost, let alone a teenage one.

She shivers as the air turns cold. A chill runs up her spine and she glances around, watching the shadows play tricks on her vision. Something’s there, lurking close to the treeline, almost out of sight.

Phantom . Hope flutters in her chest.

After a few hesitant minutes, nothing else happens.

He’s probably watching me right now, invisible. She shivers at the thought of Phantom watching her every move, herself naive of lurking eyes. However, this time she is thankfully aware of the eerie presence a few metres away from her.

And its not as if he doesn't have a reason to be pissed off either. Weston had given her enough of a chastise yesterday for her outburst over Phantom not coping properly with his death. but it's not as if she's wrong either!

It's not fair on himself to continue living a lie. It's not fair on Phantom's family. His friends.

"Even if he is pissed off at me, I'm not budging. He needs to tell them." Valerie tells herself adamantly, turning from the treeline and hugging her knees to her chest as she takes a heavy breath. Will he ever show up?

The temptation to get up and go back home is strong -- there's tons of homework she could be catching up on, or ghosts she could be hunting, reassuring conversations she could be having with her dad and his growing concerns over her absences. But something, just a small inkling keeps her cemented to the ground.

Maybe it's the desperation to get every scrap of information. Weston's off the mission now -- it seems like it, anyway.

At lunchtime she'd wanted to discuss things with Weston, to see if he'd been digging up Phantom's past any further. Maybe, just maybe the redhead wouldn't shove an insult into a conversation every few seconds. But he'd been acting strangely all day; ignoring her point blank when she'd approached him at his locker, trailing after Fenton and the trio with a wary look and his head shoved in another research binder. When Valerie had finally gotten him to listen, he was a stuttering, scrambled mess.

Nothing like the cynical, blunt meddler she knows.

Of course he would go off by himself. He's Wes fucking Weston. The kid that scours graveyards and believes in all sorts of stupid tales that come his way. No matter how it ends, he's always alone. 

Why'd I think I could trust him on this? Why did I think it would be any different with Phantom's secret? Why did I even think for a moment that we'd be a good team?

Because when you see him alone, you see yourself -- that same rejected, lost kid, stumbling for any semblance of approval from their peers. 

And it's true. When she sees Wes scrambling to explain his theories to anyone or the distant stares he gives the A Listers as they pass by, she sees the desperation for someone to just listen. Even for a split second, for just someone to give him their time of day. She sees the same things reflected in her own experience of having her whole social circle just ripped from her in an instant, with no support system or anyone to talk to.

"That's why we work as a team...because we listen to each other. Even with all the arguments -- we still intake what the other says." she murmurs to herself, "When one of us doesn't listen to the other..." Guilt rises in her chest, "It doesn't work."

Mulling in the silence of her regrets, Valerie doesn't even notice the change in temperature, or the breeze that ruffles her hair slightly.

"Valerie?" A sheepish voice calls, edged with uncertainty and nervousness.

"Phantom!"

In front of her, Phantom watches her warily. Dark marks round the ghost’s eyes and his arms are huddled to his chest. Whatever situation it is this time, he’s gotten the short end of the stick by the looks of things.

“You alright?” She asks, tilting her head as she scans his figure up and down, “You…uh…don't look too good.”

To her surprise, he reciprocates and shrugs, “Not really…” the ghost looks awkwardly to the grassy ground beside his feet, “Things going on…my friends acting weird…”

“You have friends?!” The teenager blurts without a second thought, before clamping her hands over her mouth. Phantom sends her an accusatory glare, before nodding.

Are they human friends? Ghost friends? Considering how Phantom seems to avoid communication at all costs, she can’t help but feel surprised. He’s not the most sociable, she thinks.

“Not, not because you’re a ghost and I don’t think ghosts can have friends-” stumbles Valerie feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment as the ghost raises an eyebrow and plonks himself on the floor next to her, “-I mean, you don’t seem like the most sociable pers–ghost.”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” He quips, giving a light smirk before returning to his distant mood, “You’re not wrong. Recently I have been pretty shitty to them. But today something felt really off with them – more so than usual at least.”

A twinge of sympathy runs through her as she observes Phantom with interest. This must be the longest they’ve held a conversation with one another, where one of them wasn’t pissed off at the other.

New record. I wonder why he seems so more talkative about himself than usual.

It is strange. Phantom’s usually much more stubborn to admit anything. What’s changed today?

Something to do with the apparent weirdness between his friends? Maybe they were the ones he went to for emotional support – and she’s a substitute for it?

It makes sense.

Well, at least he’s getting some sort of support, I suppose.

Although, Phantom had directly said he didn’t have any friends or family to turn to. Who are these friends? None of this makes sense.

It’s then that she realises Phantom’s green eyes are focused on her, awaiting a response in the uncomfortable silence.

“I thought you lost all your friends. You told me and Wes that you had friends, and didn’t need them.” 

She doesn’t miss the way Phantom winces slightly.

“Uh. Yeah..” The ghost trails off, “Something just feels.. off though. I don't know what it is, but it might be to do with that.” Wildly, the green eyes teen gestures in the direction of his grave, his face blanching with terror.

Misdirection from the original question. Not surprising.

But Phantom’s friends knowing about his grave? How would that be possible?

As far as she’s aware, she and Wes are the only ones who know about the grave. Never in a million years would Phantom tell anyone about his body. Heck, the only reason she knows is purely by Phantom slipping up.

“How would they even know? I doubt you’d go and tell them.”

“No! Never. I couldn’t put them through that.”

He shudders, fumbling with his hands, “What I mean is it’s another aspect of my secret.”

Another aspect?!

How many secrets does this kid have? Reeling with confusion, Valerie shifts her legs into a more comfortable position underneath her. She’s going to be here for a while, probably.

“What do you mean..another aspect of the secret?” she asks hesitantly, voice trailing off. Treading on thin ice in case Phantom might shut down at any second.

“They uh…” Phantom trails off, as if he’s lost for what to say, hand reaching around the back of his neck, “They don’t know I’m a ghost.”

Okay. What the actual fuck.

Forget the absurdity of the ghost’s own body being buried in the park and somehow managing to keep his sanity together – this – this is the breaking point.

Valerie lets out a dry, abysmal laugh, but there’s no humour behind it.

“God. Can this get any more fucking ridiculous?” She gasps exasperatedly, head lolling back to rest on the tree trunk behind her.

How – how can they not know he’s a ghost if they’ve had contact with him today? Sure, Phantom may look more human than most ghosts – but there’s no avoiding the beacon of light surrounding him, or the floating white hair, or toxic green eyes.

At this point, Valerie can only assume they’re humans. Which stirs her up emotionally – she’d love to meet the humans who were brave enough to communicate and become close to one of the most powerful and enigmatic ghosts in Amity Park, but also beat the sense into the people who were so fucking stupid to befriend him – most likely with a lack of ghost equipment at that.

“Well geez. Glad to see my suffering amuses you.” snaps the ghost, green eyes flaring bright as he stares daggers into her and begins to stand up. Wincing at Phantom’s misunderstanding, Valerie straightens, shaking her head simultaneously. This is her only chance and she might blow it again.

“Far from it, actually.” objects Valerie, “It’s just a lot to take in, okay? More and more layers keep on getting added to whatever the hell you’re hiding, and at this point, I really don’t know how you’re still functioning.”

“I’m not, I’m dead.” He quips cheekily — it has to be instinct at this point — and remains half stood up, waiting for her to continue.

“How do you talk to your friends if they don’t know you’re a ghost?” The teen questions, trying to ignore Phantom’s quick remark and the dread it’s left embedded in her chest.

“I don’t – “ Phantom replies, looking unsure as to how to explain the problem. His gaze drifts to the ground once more as he sighs; “Some ghosts have powers that are unique to only them, and they can be pretty rare."

He pauses, glancing at her to see if she's following. Nodding slowly and beckons for Phantom to continue. 

His unique power is that horrific screaming wail -- it has to be. Deafening, horrific screams that echoed in her ears and kept her wide awake at night clutching the bed sheets the first time she'd heard it.

Over time, she's grown used to it, but it doesn't stop her from shuddering with horror at the thought of them screams wracked with so much raw pain.

"I have..." Phantom freezes mid sentence, mouth falling into a grimace. She braces.

This is something big, isn't it? Another reeling revelation.

"I can look human. I don’t know why—maybe because I was so stubborn to stay here that I developed the power…it’s kinda like I’m half human, in a way? I can look like I was when I was alive, and yeah."

Phantom trails off nervously, shoulders hunching and head dropping downwards as he looks at Valerie, who watches in stunned silence, unable to formulate anything intelligible in the moment of such heavy information thrown at her face.

Her breath catches in her throat as her brain struggles to process.

"So that's why no one knows you're dead or a ghost. You're still pretending to be alive."

Phantom flinches visibly.

He doesn't respond. Awkward silence falls upon the two of them as Phantom's knees buckle and he collapses into a gangly heap on the floor.

He’s pretending to be alive. Exploiting — no, using this power to disguise himself amongst humans.

He could’ve been any of the people she’s passed on the street for a split second, only to never to see them again. She might’ve served him at Nasty Burger at some point, completely unaware that the boy in front of her was also her ghostly enemy that she’d been so willing to tear into pieces back then.

As much as this molehill has turned into a mountain within the span of five seconds, it does help explain the lack of death records — apparently anyway. If he’s pretending to be alive, he won’t have any records.

I’ll have to get Wes on that . She thinks, then halts.

When I see him again, and if he isn’t acting so weird still.

But now without records, it leaves Phantom’s past identity practically untraceable.

Who was he? What does he look like?

How does he keep such a secret? Is there ever a desperation to let the truth stream out, let the words torrent out so his whole afterlife doesn’t have to be a lie? 

Is there that ever waking paranoia that someone may find out and rip apart the whole foundation of lies he’s built upon as a defence?

“Who were you?” The question slips out as she fixates onto Phantom, and his shoulders visibly tense as he narrows her eyes at her, “And who are you pretending to be?”

“I’m not pretending to be anyone. I’m still me.” Snaps Phantom, hugging his knees to his chest tightly. She watches as his eyes blearily unfocus from her, filled with unspoken terror.

“I’m still me….” he mumbles, almost inaudibly, “I’m still me.. I’m still their son…I promise.”

Valerie doesn’t know what to say. There isn’t anything she can say.

“-I’m still–.” Phantom continues lamenting, thick white hair obscuring her vision of his face as his voice grows even quieter, “-- I’m still Danny .”

Seconds later, the ghost fades away into invisibility to wherever the hell he goes to, leaving her alone in the woods with a rotting corpse in the glade a few metres away as company. The only remnant of who Phantom was – and is still pretending to be.

You were supposed to ask him questions, not reduce him to a snivelling mess .

Valerie stumbles up and brushes off her skirt as she stares into the empty woods, grabbing her backpack and slinging it over her shoulder.

Danny — that’s his name. His human name.

It was barely audible from how much Phantom’s voice was trembling — but it was unmistakably there. His name. A new scrap of information to add to the mess.

And upset Phantom for — what? To reduce him in such a state?

Grief crinkles her heart. She hadn’t meant to make him so upset.

“Wes was right. I shouldn’t have been so confrontational. And there I am — back at it again.” The girl scolds herself, rolling a pebble beneath her shoe.

Only one question floats in her mind, along with the viscous guilt.

Just how is Phantom able to cope?

he’s not.

Hiding a body, whilst pretending to be human at the same time. Not to forget he’s probably juggling school whilst playing vigilante. She can barely keep up with schoolwork, so Phantom's grades are probably in the gutter too.

And the injuries. Oh God. The injuries. 

She’s seen him take plenty of hits, either from her own weapons, the ghosts, the Fenton’s. Some that would be fatal on a human.

How’s he managed to hide them at school? At home?

If people haven’t noticed the hits he’s taken – then surely the people in his life must be far from observant. Or just not bother to care.

Or maybe they don’t look any different because the people in his life are inflicting the injuries too.

Bile rises in her throat at the thought. She can’t even voice it. Being a ghost — then the possibility of that, too.

She hopes —no, prays, pleads,and silently begs that it isn’t like the awful awful thought her mind has just summoned up. Although that wouldn’t explain why he would be so adamant to stay with them instead of running away. From the possible lack of concern in Phantom’s welfare, she doubts anyone would notice him missing.

Being a ghost should be his escape, surely?

So why is he staying home, if no one cares?

Possibly because he has siblings to protect? Younger ones that can’t defend themselves?

No. Stop it. You can’t be making assumptions that far. 

Before she knows it, her legs are carrying away from the depths and towards the area she’s become far too familiar with in the past couple days. The grave. The damn grave.

“He—he has no one.” She speaks aloud then glances around, her eyes scanning the forest for any flashes of black and white. He’s probably invisible — watching. Just like he was yesterday. Waiting to see what she’ll do.

So maybe…what can it hurt…to try and speak to him? I might look stupid…but if it’ll get my point across without him having to face me right now. 

Valerie takes a deep, hurtling breath, her eyes averted down to the grave as she starts to speak to the invisible ghost that is, hopefully, present.

“Even if you think you’re alone, I care. I’m here for you, Danny .”

She looks down at the grave with it’s secrets buried in the soil below.

Imagining the trepidation, the desperation — Phantom’s fingers piercing the soil as he haphazardly throws his marred remains into the hollow, dragging dirt back to cover up his grisly fate, barely able to comprehend what he’s become, unable to accept he’s dead, the growing worry of having to return home and being able to conceal such a tremendous burden, having to act as normal around his friends, his family, having to stand there and consider he’s now a ghost and that he’ll be one forever, that nothing will ever be the same but he’ll have to act like it is, that no one is observant to take the time out of their day to ask him what’s wrong, the web of lies growing more tangled and tangled each day until he finally snaps.

And that was the breaking point. That — that right there had been it for Phantom.

Right in the forest, crystal tears shedding, begging that he’s still the boy he once lived as.

Her green eyes snap away from the grave, she can’t bear to look much longer, as she starts another lament, silently pleading that he’s listening.

”—I know you don’t want to talk — and I don’t blame you — because how can you when you’ve been so long without support? I know you won’t want to talk to me after how upset I’ve made you — but — I’m always here to talk. I don’t care who you are, if I know you as a human, that is. I don’t care. But I can tell it’s hurting you, you’re desperate to let the truth out just to someone— you just can’t bring yourself to find the words. You—you might not, but the options there, if you ever want to talk. No judgement. No questions. You don’t need to be a heroic vigilante ghost, or a human with breaking relationships and tangled lies. You can just be yourself. Be Danny .”

Valerie looks up once more into the forest for one glimpse — a flicker. But there is none.

She can only hope he was listening.

Jazz has always thought herself a collected person. Able to recover quickly from an emotional blow, managing to support others in the meanwhile, all whilst keeping a calm head on her shoulders.

Now, she is anything but.

She wants nothing more than to fall apart on the spot. Everything feels like too much. But she needs to keep her composure, for Danny’s sake.

Because Danny is dead.

Dead — and pretending to be alive.

Why?

She doesn’t know.

The clock on the wall ticks away seconds as she slumps at the kitchen table, festering in her own emotions of the whole day. Muffled talking and clashing echoes from downstairs, her parents probably working on their newest ghost weapon.

Designed to hurt Danny.

And that’s just another thing on the long list of problems she’ll have to sort now — making sure Danny doesn’t get killed a second time — if that’s even possible.

It was their parents' negligence that caused this, after all. Doesn’t mean it can’t happen again.

“I told them they shouldn’t have built it.” scowls Jazz, eyes averting to the basement door, as she lets her head fall into her hands, “Ghosts aren’t supposed to be real. None of this ever should’ve happened.”

She still can’t process it, not really.

A week after her baby brother’s fourteenth, he’d gone into the lab and died in it, unbeknownst to Jazz and her parents. She’d just thought he was being rebellious, wanting to grab the independence of being a teenager by the coattails and fly along with it. 

Danny was just hanging out with Sam and Tucker in the Nasty Burger. Or going to the park and playing on the roundabout until he flung himself off and got himself dizzy. Until he was really dying in their lab whilst all three of them dismissed his absence as typical teenage behaviour.

Guilt gnaws away at her chest. Jazz doesn’t know what makes her feel worse — the fact she wasn’t even the slightest bit concerned until she received that phone call, or the fact she left Danny to his own devices with both their parents in such a state.

If she’d just stayed—

“No.” She shakes her head frantically, as if it’ll rattle the thoughts out of her mind, “He’s already dead. That can’t be changed.”

No matter how much she wants to go back — what’s done is done.

Infront of her, the clamouring beyond the lab stairs grows louder and Jazz silently dies inside a little. They’ll definitely have a new weapon, and a five hour explanation she’ll have to sit through.

For once, she’s glad Danny isn’t present.

Being a ghost, and having to sit through hearing your own parents going on about dissecting ghosts—

Bile rises in her throat, but she manages to pull it back. So that’s why he’s kept it secret. Maybe, if she wasn’t a mess of emotions, she would’ve been able to figure that one out earlier.

Shoulders tensing, Jazz awaits the excited chattering of her parents behind the door with growing anticipation and intrigue. Her fingers knit together furiously, as if she’s already destroying the hypothetical weapon they've conjured up.

Because if she doesn’t destroy it — one day it may destroy her brother.

And she’d like to keep whatever remnants are left of him in one piece, thank you very much.

“Jazz!” Jack’s voice booms excitedly along with the clanging of the heavy lab door as he shoves it open, the poor door scavenging for life on its hinges.

“Careful about the door…” Maddie follows from behind, looking crestfallen at the hapless door, before turning to Jazz, her face bright.

“Oops.” Jack acknowledges for barely a second, before turning back to his daughter and throwing his hands up, “Guess what we did?!”

“…What?” She asks, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. There are no visible weapons, as far as she can see. But this might be worse — concealed weapons, after all.

From the giddy sparkle in her parents eyes, this can’t be good. What’ve they planned this time? A weapon that blends ghosts? Something that dissolves Danny?

“We’re getting a dog!” Jack exclaims excitedly, leaving Jazz to take the impact in the absolute bombshell he’s just dropped.

“You… what?” screeches Jazz, voice hoarse from shock. 

Whatever had been soaring through her mind, it certainly wasn’t this.

“When? How are you even going to care for it? And why so suddenly?” Standing up, Jazz faces both parents, hands flattened firmly to the table.

What animal shelter around here thought we’d qualify for adopting a dog, I’ll never know. 

Heck, their house is a death trap. Literally.

“Well, it’s not a dog from the shelter, but rather a cadaver dog.” responds Maddie, looking crestfallen for a second, “We called up the police department with a potential breakthrough in how to crackdown on homicides. They refused, but my friend — the dog handler, Olivia, remember her?”

She lets out a subtle nod. Jazz can faintly remember the woman who Mom met in her college days, obsessed with dogs and crime. It only seemed perfect that she became the dog handler for Amity Park’s police unit.

Not that the past few months had seen much crime however, not since the ghosts showed up. Not since…Danny died.

“Olivia managed to get us a deal that we get a cadaver dog to conduct our own research, and if we crack a cold case within two months, they’ll consider the grav— our breakthrough as a possibility.”

For once in her sixteen years of living, Jazz finds herself lost for words.

A cadaver dog, in their house. Not even that — just a dog in general. How’re they even going to look after it?

However, the more she glances warily, the more it’s apparent her parents smiles are strained.

The glimmer in their eyes isn’t just a facade of happiness, but rather a layer of guilt.

Is it to do with Danny?

She hadn’t stayed for long after confronting them yesterday in the lab about the portal and what could’ve happened. They hadn’t believed her.

Neither did Sam and Tucker.

But maybe, this is a cover up of their guilt?

She’s psychoanalysised her parents enough times to know that when they get guilty, they pile up things to distract themselves from it to avoid the confrontation. Just in the way Danny piles on his lies to avoid the eventual truth, their parents cram their schedule with new inventions and ideas to avoid their unspoken guilt.

Solving homicides and cold cases — possibly a way to requite their guilt of not noticing their own son's death by helping another family shattered by the disappearance of a loved one?

Danny isn’t a cold case. He might be dead, but he wouldn’t have left a body.

Disgust fills her at the thought, but also a wary relief. An accident with the portal like that — his body — if he even left one — probably would’ve been incinerated to ashes.

At least he doesn’t have a body to hide on top of all the secrets he’s buried himself in. 

“So…what do you think?” her Mom asks awkwardly, folding her arms and waiting for a response. Besides her, Jack shuffles awkwardly.

It’s takes the teen a minute to realise she’d been so caught up in thinking about Danny, she hadn’t been listening to her parents' tangent of this new cadaver dog, or something of the like.

“Um. A bit sudden.” She mumbles, staring at the pale wood of the table, “When are we getting it?”

“Tomorrow. Olivia’s bringing the dog up to the house tomorrow. She’s used to busy environments, so should fit right in with us!”

Ah. Very sudden.

Yeah right, busy. She avoids scoffing. Both her parents are usually holed up in the lab, herself at school, and Danny with whatever escapades a fourteen year old ghost-pseudo-human can get up to. The house is as empty as anything.

“Her name is Haunt—“ Maddie continues, and Jazz can’t help the small snigger that escapes her lips.

Her mother smiles back fondly, “The police department thought it would be a funny play on the whole “haunted town” ploy.”

“Tomorrow? Does Danny even know? Where’s the stuff for the dog?”

Her parents share stricken glances.

“We’re telling him tonight at dinner.” responds Maddie mutely, loitering by the door.

At that point Jack strides over to the fridge, flinging the door open and seeing if there’s anything edible, “Most of the things are getting brought with the dog, but I’m going out shopping for some food and some other doohickeys the scamp might need,” he announces, whilst opening a few tupperware dishes which glow a suspicious green.

“And probably some food for ourselves.” sighs Maddie, looking at the ectocontaminated food with revolt, then back up at Jazz, “What do you fancy, sweetie? It’s been a while since we sat and had a family dinner.”

“Uh..” She stammers, taken aback by the question, “I’m not too sure. Don’t really have much of an appetite.”

The jars of green mess— once food, which her father is now trying to wrestle out the dishes with little success has put her off any type of meal. 

But her mom is right.

When’s the last time they’ve all sat down at a dinner and just had a nice time?

Danny’s fourteenth birthday. Before any of this happened.

It had been a brilliant day, dare Jazz say one of the best of her life. The future was bright, ghosts didn’t haunt their town, he had two brilliant supportive friends, his grades were good—impeccable, his eyes sparkled with dreams of the stars.

Life was good.

Until that phone call. That fucking phone call.

Danny had sent her it a week after his birthday, his voice echoey and rattled with nervousness as he told her that he wouldn’t be returning. And then he hung up.

She remembers as clear as day the hysteria in her voice as she screamed down the phone, tears torrenting down her face, screeching his name, as if he could hear her. But all her shouts fell on an unresponsive phone call, followed by the gleeful shouts of her parents.

It was a cruel juxtaposition. Almost a sacrifice, in a way.

Jazz had blamed them. Shouted at them that it was their fault that Danny was gone and that he wasn’t coming back. He’d never liked their ghost inventions, and now they’d paid the price, him running away from home.

A bucket of relief was tossed when he’d appeared through the door, walking in on them arguing.

But something was very wrong.

His eyes didn’t sparkle with dreams of stars — instead they reflected the maws of death, with such darkened horrors that no one dared ask him about it. 

Whatever Danny had experienced — her psychoanalysis skills were nowhere near able to fix it.

But maybe this can begin to heal it.

A shrill clatter stirs her from her thoughts, and Jazz is faced with now broken tupperware jars, and green goo everywhere. Coating the table, the floors, her father, some flecks even glowing brightly on her blue sweater.

“This is no place for a dog.” declares Jazz, flicking a bit of goo off her shoulder where it splats onto the floor, her blue eyes gaze up to Jack, “And try not to ghostify the dog—Haunt. I’ve a feeling the police department won’t appreciate that.”

“Of course we won’t — don’t be ridiculous! It’s not as if we’ve ever created a ghost before! We only destroy ghosts!”

Jazz can’t help but visibly flinch for two reasons. Mainly at the irony that they have involuntarily created a ghost of their own son, but also that Danny is a ghost and they destroy ghosts.

Have they ever shot at him before?

“You alright there, Jazzy-Pie?” Jack asks, his navy eyes filled with concern, as well as her mother’s.

“Yeah.” She nods, a wide grimace painted on her face, “Just this ecto…stuff isn’t the most pleasant.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll have it cleaned before dinner.” Her mother reassures her, walking behind her and brushing a few green flecks off her woollen jumper, before placing reassuring hands on her shoulders, “How about you go and tell Danny about dinner whilst me and your father clean up?”

“Sounds good.” Jazz nods, a small seed of pity growing at the fact that her parents assume Danny is home. He rarely ever is. Ghost things, perhaps?

Trailing out of her chair, she treads carefully to avoid stepping in the ectoplasm pieces before heading up the stairs and into the vacant landing.

Danny’s bedroom is wide open, and empty of life.

Well, it always is now, she supposes with a slight wince.

Without a second thought, she enters the room, unorganised and piled high with crumpled worksheets and homework dating back weeks, months even. A vast array of hoodies and sweaters lie on Danny’s bed, and she realises dismally that his favourite collection of red and white t-shirts are tossed carelessly into the bin.

“I guess it’s back to the sweaters and hoodies for you, then.” She mumbles, as if addressing her brother.

Danny wearing his t-shirts and short sleeved things in general hasn’t lasted long, then. When he did — there’d been a flicker of hope that maybe things would return to normal.

But right now, Jazz has as much hope as the once loved t-shirts tossed into Danny’s bin.

Letting out a renounced sigh, she slams her chin onto the desk, the thought of Danny being a lost cause that she can’t help gradually becoming more accepted in her head.

She doesn’t know what to do.

Dinner is heavy with tension as the four of them sit down and begin to tear away at spaghetti that for once, isn’t ravaged with green.

Jazz takes a drink of her water as she watches her parents eyeing Danny awkwardly. They’re probably figuring out the best time to tell him about the dog.

“So…Danny.” Jack begins, placing his cutlery down, navy eyes staring at his scrap of a son with interest.

“Mhm.” Danny responds, not even looking up from his plate.

“How was your day today?” asks Jack, tilting his head, “Hang out with Sam or Tucker? Stay at school all day?”

What feels like centuries later, Danny finally responds.

“Uh…fine.” The raven haired teenager shrugs, expression hidden under the dark blue hoodie he’s wearing, “You know I’m not friends with Sam and Tucker anymore— I told you that ages ago. I didn’t run out of any lessons, if that’s what you’re probably thinking.”

“Actually, we didn’t.” juts in Maddie, twirling some spaghetti on her fork, “Since when were you three not friends? What happened?”

A light grumbling that sounds suspiciously like ‘I died’ is followed by the teenager's heavy sigh, “I dunno…we just fell apart.. I guess? Back in April, maybe?”

Resting his chin on his hands, Danny pushes his plate more towards the middle of the table. Jazz is surprised he finished it that quick — after all, aren’t ghosts not supposed to eat?

“Oh.” Maddie mutters, looking at her food despondently, “That’s a shame.”

“Can I go now?” Her brother mumbles, already twisting sideways to get out of his chair and rush back to the confinement of his bedroom.

“No!” retaliates Jack, his eyes wide and arms splayed out in a ‘stop’ motion.

Danny freezes, eyes wide. But waiting.

“We still need to tell you something.” Jack shares shifty glances with Maddie before looking back up at his son.

Jazz braces, hoping that this won’t go awfully. After all, Danny’s always wanted a dog, right?

Taking a deep breath, Jack nods before beginning.

"Danny," He starts, "We're getting a dog!"

There is a significant pause before Danny seems to reboot himself into the real world.

“A dog?” He repeats, licking his lips and looking to the floor, “But, uh, wouldn’t it be…dangerous to have one here? I mean…the lab with all the inventions..and the portal—it’s not safe around the portal.”

Oh Danny . 

There’s a desperate urge in Jazz to scoop Danny up, to hug him and reassure that everything will be okay. But they’re far past that point — and she doesn’t want to freak him out more.

The hug yesterday had shown the sheer desperation, he’d clung onto her like a lifeline — if he let go, he might never see her again.

“Animals won’t get injured by the inventions — just like humans don’t! It’s nothing to worry about Danno.” Jack announces reassuringly, but his face drops as he scans Danny’s figure up and down, particularly fixating on the wrist where the green spindle of a branching scar should be — concealed away by his hoodie.

“Besides, she’s only here for a couple months. She’s a cadaver dog, and we’re getting her to assist our research which was rejected by the police department.” nods Maddie, placing her arms on the table.

“Research?” Tilting his head, Jazz doesn’t miss the way his blue eyes steel over.

“Yes. The police rejected our first attempt — we tried getting them to use the grave flowers we found around the portal—“

Suddenly, the temperature of the kitchen drops.

Chair legs scrape the wooden floor with anguish.

The temperature nips at Jazz’s skin, wanting to make her shiver.

But her eyes are frozen on Danny.

Fingers gripping deeply into the edge of the table, shoulders rigid and blue eyes a poisonous green. Mouth twisted into a grimace.

“How do you know about the grave flowers.”  The dismembered voice drawls, echoing in Jazz’s head and filling her heart with terror.

Maddie remains naive.

“They grow where a ghost died, we figured the portal produced its own because it is the door to the dead. The flowers could be used to recognise if there’s the body of a ghost nearby,”

“Mads…” Jack squeaks, frantically patting his wife’s shoulder to get her to cease speaking.

To stop her from disturbing the thing at the end of their table. 

Where Danny once stood. But looks nothing like him.

Poisonous green eyes lavish into their souls, implanting terror and confusion as the bitter air whittles away at their bones, leaving them frozen, trembling husks. The things skin is paler than any corpse, it’s skin pallid and milky white, more like a porcelain doll than a healthy human tan. It’s black hair floats serenely amidst the terror, as if an invible force has caught it.

Whatever this….this thing is. It is certainly not Danny.

But it is. It’s Danny. It’s Danny. Jazz clamours in her head, as if she doesn’t keep repeating it she might stop believing that the terrifying presence leaving her plastered to the seat is really her brother.

“ They’re mine. Leave them a l o n e.” 

“Leave it all  A L O N E”

L

E 

A

V

E

M

Y

B

O

D

Y

A

L

O

N

E

I’m not P R E T E N D I N G

S

T

I

L

L

H

I 

M

I AM D E A D

BUT STILL HIM

N

O

O

N

E

EVER 

LISTENS

so maybe now you will.

He disappears, and so does the cold and the tension and all the lies and secrets.

There is nothing.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, 26th October 2004

That thing can’t be Danny. It isn’t.

Maddie refuses to believe that thing is her son. Her gentle, blue eyed boy, replaced with some sickening apparition with toxic green eyes.

She inhales heavily, trying to catch her breath as her heart races faster. Beside her, Jazz is frozen and stiff, eyes broad with horror. Jack is reduced to nothing but whispers.

“That—that wasn’t Danny.” She finally stutters, breaking the nervous silence, “Jack, we need to get—“

Trying to quench her shaking figure, the woman pushes the chair out, ready to go down in the lab. She needs to grab the weapons — who knows where the thing could be now, her son vulnerable and under control.

A hand firmly clamps to her arm.

Jazz.

“No.” whispers Jazz, voice hoarse, her cheeks damp with tears. Her daughter rubs her sleeve against her cheek before facing Maddie, her eyes pleading, “Please don’t get the weapons. Even if Dan—the ghost has him, he’s still Danny. Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

Without another word, Jazz gets up from her chair, plate long abandoned, leaving the couple festering in an attempt of a family meal.

After a few minutes of certainty that Jazz can’t hear them, Jack turns to Maddie. 

“I can’t Mads—knowing Danno might be out there. However long he’s been controlled by that thing—that ghost.” He states, fingers curling around the back of his chair.

“I know, I know.” 

The urge still itches within her, to spring up and rush to the lab. But for whatever reason — Jazz doesn’t want them to go after the ghost.

Surely she’d want her brother to be safe?

“Why doesn’t she want us to go after him?” Jack asks, an edge of desperation to his voice, “Doesn’t she want Danny to be safe? It would be easy—we’d just get the Fenton Peeler.”

“And then she’d never trust us again.” finishes Maddie, shaking her head and getting up from her chair. Their children’s trust is more important, “If Jazz says we shouldn’t do it, then we won’t.”

“Okay.” her husband nods, beginning to gather up the plates — three half eaten, one demolished, “But we need to do something. Even if it isn’t getting the weapons—the ghost still has Danny.”

It does. And without the weapons they’re already at a disadvantage. Why doesn’t Jazz want them to use them?

Her mind flashes back to Danny’s sloppily hidden burns, piles of bloody and green speckled bandages stuffed at the bottom of the bin in an attempt to hide them.

“Jazz doesn’t want us to use the weapons — because the weapons already hurt him.” The realisation makes her stumble back in shock.

Their weapons. Even though she’d been aware of the effects the weapons had — it didn’t truly seem to sink in until now. 

Why do the weapons hurt her son?

Pieces of the puzzle merge in her mind.

Because he’s overshadowed.

Prolonged overshadowing isn’t a study field that has been examined often — mainly because of the ethical concerns behind it, and also because there’s only been six months of physical proof, years of theories which may not even be true. And Danny — he’s been like this for a while, hasn’t he?

Six months.

Exactly around the time the portal turned on.

And neither of them noticed until now.

But, at this point, Danny’s been overshadowed (at least, that’s her theory for now) for a long period of time.

Who knows what the side effects are.

Because her and Jack, considered ghost research geniuses of Amity Park — certainly don’t.

It wouldn’t be too far a conclusion to guess that the weapons are affecting Danny because of the ghost that leeches on him. A parasite.

“He’s been overshadowed that long, that maybe the weapons are beginning to affect him too,” finishes Maddie, barely able to glance at Jack’s guilt ridden face.

“…maybe that’s why he’s so scared of the lab. It’s not him, rather the ghost that wants to avoid it. Jazz said about Danny getting involved with the portal—could—could that be it? A ghost came out and overshadowed him?”

His idea makes sense, and that terrifies Maddie. Something had happened to Danny and they hadn’t even noticed—he’d been overshadowed and they didn’t realise.

What great ghost hunters we are. Not even noticing our own child is possessed by a ghost.

They might not even be right, but the evidence is too damning.

Leaning against the table to stabilise herself, Maddie gives another glance to Jack.

What do we do?

The ghost can’t stay overshadowing him, certainly not. But if they take any offensive matters…there’s the potential of Danny being injured in the process.

“What—what if we just talked to it? Ask why it’s been overshadowing Danny for so long.” Jack asks, voice trailing off into an awkward silence.

God, it sounds ridiculous. 

“I guess— maybe .” She tilts her head, shrugging haplessly. As if a ghost would willingly want to sit down and be all chummy with them. Especially not the ghost who’d just been freshly exposed for overshadowing their son.

What if it attacks them? Highly probably, given how any ghost that enters Amity Park has acted malevolent in some way. Even Phantom.

The thought of the ghost sends an uncomfortable prickle down her spine. There’s something…something off with him.

At first he was a dime a dozen in a pick of ghosts on their daily patrols around Amity, but there’s something different about him that Maddie can’t identify. Perhaps the fact he looks so strikingly human — the way he acts, mischievous and cocky and throwing sly quips once in a while? Or how powerful he is, in such a short period of time?

She’s never been able to figure it out.

He’s got secrets. It’s subtle, in the way his smile never seems genuine, or the fast glimmer of recognition when he sets sight on Maddie and Jack in the battlefield. There is something much more direful buried beneath the surface of Phantom’s obvious differences.

Anyway , Maddie shakes her head. This isn’t time for Phantom.

Time to focus on her son.

“I doubt the ghost would want to show up for a while, especially not after exposing itself.” She ponders, while Jack grimaces and nods.

Each time we manage to incapacitate Phantom, he’ll vanish and won’t show up for a while. Not such a far-fetched guess that this ghost will want to avoid us for a while, too.

Gritting her teeth, Maddie sighs. This isn’t about Phantom! Why is she making these conclusions?

“All the more we need to get it.” He grimaces, folding his arms, staring out the kitchen window, “The longer it’s left—the higher chance Danno’s in danger.”

A heavy sigh leaves her lips as she stares at the floor, her hands clasped tightly together on the table.

This is bad.

"We'll need something that allows us to talk to it, but equally doesn't hurt it." She mutters, looking up to find her husband's eyes on her.

The woman smiles weakly at him, yet there is no happiness behind it. Both of them have messed up. Big time.

Months on end, they danced around Danny's strange behaviour, not approaching him for the childish hope that he'd approach them first and tell them what was ailing him. Of course he wouldn't! 

Possessed, without any autonomy to his body on what to do or say.

It only makes the pit in her stomach deepen.

Over the past months, how many times has she talked to Danny and it’s actually been the ghost? Has her son ever truly been there, fighting for control before the ghost takes charge again? Did he even understand what was happening to him?

Keep on track, Maddie. She scolds herself.

What can be used to get a ghost to talk… some type of summoning, perhaps?

Summoning. That’s it.

The ghost had even mentioned the exact object.

“Jack!” His head snaps up in alarm at his name being called, “The grave flowers! The ghost mentioned them, so it must have a bunch out there somewhere. And if we trace the flower’s ectosignature, we can match it back to the ghost.”

For a split second, the man looks hopeful, before he considers, resting his chin on his hand.

“Where’re we gonna find them?” He questions, eyes trailing up the stairs, lost in thought. The woman doesn’t interrupt — it’s clear that her husband is in one of his brainstorming moments.

After a few silent moments, his eyes broaden with realisation, and looks over to Maddie hesitantly.

“I know we really shouldn’t…but Danny’s room may have some. It couldn’t hurt to try, right? And I mean…he’s not here.” 

God…ignoring all of this was bad enough…and now invading their sons privacy really is the tipping point.

“Okay.” Maddie nods, her gaze firm, “Tomorrow. When we get the cadaver dog, we’ll do it then. She’ll be able to trace the scent of the flowers in his room, if there are any. If not…back to square one.”

Both of them begin to saunter up the stairs, filled to the brim with guilt and heavy hearts. From the guilt of how unobservant they’ve been, but also a tiny ebbing terror of uncertainty.

What if it isn’t overshadowing?

And if it isn’t overshadowing…there’s only one other conclusion it could add up to.

And it’s that Danny died six months ago, at the hands of their very own invention.

Wednesday, 27th October 2004

By the next morning, there’s still no sign of him.

His chair is empty, and Maddie only stares at it silently as she stirs cereal around in mindless circles. Her mind can't yet fathom last night.

The events play out, and the woman can't wrap her thoughts around it. Green eyes, pallid skin, hissing voice. All the signs were clear.

She shakes her head.

Instead of pondering on the chasm Danny's absence has left them, her eyes saunter to the clock on the wall. Half eight.

It won’t be long until Olivia arrives with the dog, and hopefully Haunt can provide some well needed distraction to help her and Jack focus on their research.

Beside her, Jazz sighs heavily, pushing her chair from underneath her and shoving it back under the table. Unspoken words lie heavy between the two.

Jazz knows things that she and Jack don’t. It’d been proven when she’d stormed into the lab, on the brink of spurting information about Danny. But yet again, they blundered on before she had the chance to speak — unobservant, uncaring to what their daughter had to say over their bias of ghosts.

Desperation aches within Maddie. She wants to know what her daughter had to say, the questions sit right on her lips. But now is not the right time to interrogate Jazz.

What information did she know about Danny? What’d made her so panicked that day?

“Bye, Jazz…” trails Jack from the kitchen bench, watching the girl leave without a single word, only turning to give them both a grieved look before she slams the door.

After a few moments of strained silence, Jack finally stirs.

"God, Mads." He sighs, voice muffled as he holds his head in his hands, “How did everything become such a mess? 

“We—we didn’t listen to the kids.” gulps Maddie, swallowing the lump forming in her throat, “I think—Jazz didn’t tell us Danny’s overshadowed—because she’s worried we’ll hurt him.”

Maddie feels sick. Has the rift between them and their children grown so distant? To the point that Jazz keeps Danny’s secret, because she’s worried they’d hurt their own child?

Suddenly, a knock on the door sounds, interrupting the strained atmosphere, followed by a bark.

“Olivia!” Maddie exclaims, arising from her seat.

Maddie smiles as she opens the door for her old college friend, Olivia, who responds with an uneven smirk. She takes a step back and lets the brown-haired woman in, the dog circling her feet. 

“Jack.” Olivia acknowledges the man leaning on the kitchen bench as she moves deeper into the room and takes a look around. 

Maddie's shoulders tense as the woman's brown eyes lock into hers, making her feel increasingly suspicious. 

"Did something happen ‘ere?" says the dog handler. "There's no usual...flair," she says nonchalantly, tilting her head and spreading her palms out.

Yes.

“No!” She falters, her smile wide as she grins at Olivia. At the other side of the room, Jack does the same, hunched over, looking minuscule for a man of his size.

"Nothing happened." Maddie assures the dog handler as Olivia’s eyes graze the kitchen, and settle onto a family photo hung on the wall nearby the living room door. 

The woman grimaces at the photo, before turning back to the couple, “I guess your boy done a runner again?”

Visibly wincing, Maddie nods. Of course Olivia would catch on quickly — and make a correct assumption at that. Apparently she had been listening in the tedious phone calls where Maddie drawled on about Danny’s absences, it seemed.

“Well, y’know what they're all like, ‘adds.” shrugs Olivia, “We wasn’t exactly angels either. He’ll come crawlin’ back soon.”

It’s already too late for that. 

After it’s slip up, why would the ghost come back? It has no need too. If anything, returning to Fentonworks would endanger the apparition more.

“I hope so.” she whispers sullenly, and can only nod. Danny is out there, somewhere, and she has no clue to whether he’s safe or not.

For a few minutes, an awkward silence falls over the three of them before Jack breaks it, enthusiasm clearly fake as he approaches Haunt, a smile plastered on his face.

“And who's this good girl?!” He coos, reaching to scratch the brown and black dog. Haunt retaliates, shoving forward enthusiastically, her tail a flurry of brown.

Maddie can’t help the genuine smile that ghosts her face. 

She’ll fit right in.

“Y’know she’s Haunt, newest addition to our dog unit!” exclaims Olivia, kneeling beside the dog and scratching her chin as she turns to face the couple, “There weren’t much crime anyway, and the previous one Tilda were getting old, so they let her retire.”

Before all the ghost invasions, Amity had been a relatively peaceful town, low crime, if any at all. The most exciting thing to reach the headline would be the celebration of nice weather of something to do with Caspar High.

Now it’s all about ghosts.

“Then the ghosts came, and they was freaked that the ghosties might kill civilians or something.” Olivia continues, rolling her eyes, as if it’s the most ridiculous thing ever to consider ghosts ever killing civilians, “So they got her an’ named her after the whole ghost shtick. But Phantom does a cracking job, so there’s no killer ghosties out there like they thought there’d be.”

Killer ghosts. Her stomach flips; both at the horrific thought of killer ghosts and at the mention of Amity’s pretend hero.

What if a ghost killed Danny?

What if it took his place?

“You think Phantom’s a good ghost?” inquires Jack at the dog handlers seemingly positive view of the ghost.

“Well he ain’t too bad. Misunderstood.” The woman shrugs, face painted a grimace. An argument on which neither side will topple their opinion.

“Right.” sighs Maddie, pinching the bridge of her nose as she looks down at Haunt, trying to distract herself from unwanted thoughts. There’s worse things to worry about than having an argument over a ghost.

“Do you have the dog’s things?”

Nodding, Olivia gestures to her backpack, and hands the dog’s lead to Jack, before pulling the bag off her back and onto the floor.

“All her stuff is in ‘ere.” the woman explains, her posture rigid, no doubt still awkward from the ‘evil ghost’ debate.

“Alrighty then.” mutters Jack, and Maddie can’t help but smile as Haunt flops on the floor, lying like a sack of potatoes.

“You better’ get that rest. You’ll be workin’ hard, Haunty.” Approaching the door, Olivia waves faintly back to the dog, who fails to acknowledge her.

“Rude.” The brown eyed woman glares, an edge of affection in her voice as she opens the door and turns back to the couple.

“If she causes up a ruckus, lemme know.” she mentions, then pauses, frown scratched upon her face, “And ‘Adds, if you want me to file a report for your boy—“

“No!” Maddie exclaims, suprisinging herself with the sharp tone. Her friend freezes.

Sighing, she shakes her head, “This is already so much, Olivia, you’ve helped us. You don’t—I’m sure he’ll come home.”

Internally, the doubt eats her alive.

What if Danny never returns—what if the ghost never returns with him? What if it’s already too late?

“If you’re both sure.” brown eyes flicker between the couple as Olivia steps outside, “Good luck.”

The door slams.

Silence.

“You think Danny’s okay, wherever he is, Mads?” murmurs Jack, his voice almost unhearable. 

“He will. I…I hope so.” she bites her lower lip, glancing down to the dog seated by Jack's feet, "But we better get started -- if we want to fix any of this."

A blossom of hope seeds in her chest as she grabs the clump of sample grave flowers from off the kitchen bench, holding them in front of Haunt.

The dog presses her muzzle to the petals, before stepping back. Presumably getting the scent of them.

Huh. Smart dog. Maddie observes, before gesturing to the flowers again.

“Find. Find flowers.” 

A flurry of brown fur scoots past them both, clambering to the top of the stairs and pausing, turning and barking at them both. Hope simmers in Maddie’s chest.

“I think she wants us to follow.” chuckles Jack, stepping up the stairs as Haunt barks again, “Okay! Keep your fur on, we’re coming!”

Maddie doesn’t say anything, simply obliging in a wordless silence and follows both of them into the upstairs hallway. As expected, Haunt patters towards Danny’s door and comes to a halt, circling back around expectantly.

Even though it’s expected, Maddie can’t help the sour combination of hope and dread. It’s true. Unless Haunt is wrong, which she doubts she is, then Danny does have a stash of grave flowers somewhere in his bedroom. 

There’s no reason for her son to have grave flowers in his bedroom — unless they belong to someone else, another ghost. The ghost that’s overshadowing him.

Maybe they belong to him. Maybe he’s been dead this whole time. How did you not notice your own son, dead? What sort of parent does that make you?

The unwanted thoughts leave her reeling.

"Come on." Maddie opens the door and Haunt sprints through, keen to accomplish her task. As they enter behind her, Maddie can't help but notice the state of the room.

Piles of homework lie on Danny's desk, incomplete and forlorn, some stained with suspicious rust coloured patches. His bin is top heavy with his favourite white and red cuffed tees, she realises with a renounced sigh. Only when things were looking up, did they have to come shattering back down.

“How did we miss this?” mutters Jack, his eyes cast to the bombsite of a desk. Maddie can only shrug.

They watch as Haunt sniffs around the bottom of the desk, particularly around the lower drawer which hadn’t ever been opened since they’d refurbished Danny’s bedroom a few years back. Or so they thought.

“Good girl.” Jack pats the dog on her flank, simultaneously giving a worried look to Maddie. He edges towards it as if it’s some sort of contaminated entity, before grimacing and grasping the handle.

“I thought he’d never even opened that drawer, let alone used it.” observes Maddie, arms hugged across her chest. And what does that tell them? 

Supposedly empty drawers, the ones that Haunt went straight for. There’s clearly something inside — even if it isn’t the grave flowers.

“Same here.” croaks Jack, voice sounding hoarse as he clenches the handle and slowly pulls it open. She can’t blame him. Whatever’s in the drawer, it’ll reveal something they won’t like.

Maddie finds herself looking away, rather focusing on the array of NASA posters on the bedroom wall, looking like they haven’t been touched in months. Even Danny’s NASA obsession, which she thought would be unbreakable, has been affected by this.

Overshadowing, murder, lab accidents — she doesn’t know anymore. She clenches her eyes shut at the sound of the drawer creaking open and Jack’s deep intake of breath.

“Mads…” Jack’s tone is wary. Never a good sign.

A clump of three grave flowers, just like they’d expected, lie wilted in his hand, and packets of rusty green stained gauze stuffed in the other. What is that green substance? She doesn’t recognise it.

But the russet stain is recognisable enough.

“Is that… blood ?” she trails off, horrified. 

“Yup.” gulps Jack, “And I think the green might be ectoplasm.”

Suddenly the thought of their son being overshadowed doesn't seem so incomprehensible. Ectoplasm, the blood. Danny's blood.

"The ghost's been hurting him." Maddie trembles, guilt leaking into her voice as she walks over to Danny’s bed and perches on the end. Horrid thoughts fill her mind and she immediately scrapes the images of Danny being hurt by a ghost — which, for some reason, she substitutes with Phantom — out of her head.

“How didn’t we notice?” she puts her head in her hands, “We’re ghost hunters and we can’t even protect our own children.”

“That ghost! It’s done all this!” rants Jack, the bloody gauze and flowers crushed in his hands as his fists tighten, “And now—what are we supposed to do? Sit and let it take Danny? He might be dead by now for all we know! He might’ve been dead for months! I’ll-I’ll go and I’ll—“ he sits up and begins to head for the door, down to the lab no doubt.

“Jack! No!” She calls to her husband, who turns, his blue eyes filled with anger.

“Why shouldn’t I Maddie? Why shouldn’t I? For all we know our boy is dead because of that thing. I thought you’d be on my side!”

“Because Jazz said so!” She cuts back, interrupted by a sharp whine from the other end of the bedroom.

Both of them turn toward the cadaver dog. Haunt stands pressed up against Danny's wardrobe, her ears pinned against her head. Maddie swallows thickly.

"Come on." She beckons to the terrified dog as she looks to Jack, "Poor girl. Having to listen to our squabbling. We've got our flower sample — I don't think we should go out exploring today."

"Agreed." Jack looks down to the items in his hand and the implications they hold, "I don't think I could deal with seeing a body today."

Maddie blanches at the thought. Danny's blood, the grave flowers...this makes it real.

Beforehand, they'd seen this as a treasure trove of research potential. A way to figure out how ghosts connected to the one thing remaining of their human life -- their body. A rarely researched subject, one that other ectobiologists wouldn't touch with a six foot pole. But they? They dived right in. 

Ghosts were spawned from a violent death, and a high percentage of these fell under homicide victims or disappearances. She'd seen it as a way to give families their answers.

Oh, they've been naive, haven’t they? Thinking that grabbing a bunch of flowers and towing a cadaver dog would be enough to start digging up dead bodies. 

"I don't even know if I can do this anymore." she quivers, taking in the sight of the bloodied gauze. It has to be Danny's blood. “At first I thought, I just thought of the research opportunity and helping families. But it's so much more than that. These are real people who've died, who've suffered. Even if they're ghosts now, they still once lived. Maybe we even knew a few."

Like the one possessing Danny. Maybe we knew it, once.

“We should hold it off, just for a little bit. I still want to take a signature from these, though.” Jack states, holding up the wilting flowers, “Even if Jazz won’t let us attack that ghost, for who knows why, I still want to find who’s possessing Danny.”

Maddie nods. She knows exactly how he feels. From the very beginning they should’ve focused on Danny’s declining state instead of the ghosts and the cadavers. And now they’ve paid the price, with the one thing they swore they’d never let happen to either of their children. Injured by a ghost. Or perhaps even worse. Killed.

“Come on.” She opens the door, letting Jack and Haunt out, before giving a wistful glance around the bedroom and slamming the door. 

Out of all the times they’ve failed Danny in the past half year, this is their one final chance. Their one final chance to save their son.

The eerie green light of the portal is all Maddie can see as she unlocks the heavy metal door to the lab. The grave flower seeds have been planted for a few hours now, and although she doubts there’ll be any progress, she still wants to check on them.

She sighs, flicking on the lights as if second nature, and begins trailing down the lab stairs. They’re no closer than to finding Danny than they were in the morning, after they’d failed to get an ectosignature from the flowers in Danny’s bedroom. The flowers were too old and wilted.

They’d had no other option but to retrieve the seeds from the wilting flowers and plant then, in hopes of taking an ectosignature from the newer samples. Precious time ebbs away, the longer the flowers take to grow, and Maddie can feel her patience wearing thin.

Danny still hasn’t returned, and the longer he’s away, the higher chance he’s in danger from the ghost that possesses him. At least, that’s her theory. But there’s no other possible things it could be alongside the indisputable evidence of the grave flowers in Danny’s bedroom.

Unless they’re Danny’s own grave flowers. That there is no other ghost, he’s the ghost, and he’s been dead this entire time. Bile threatens to rise in her throat, and she shudders it back down. No. It can’t be that. It—it has to be overshadowing.

Even with what Jazz said, the portal, the scar, Danny’s terrified expression that damned day, his change in attitude, the injuries, the ectoplasm mixed with blood, he can’t be a ghost.

He can’t be a ghost because there’s no way her and Jack could’ve missed their own child dying .

A clatter from upstairs startles her out of troubling thoughts, and Maddie sighs again. Jack’s probably dropped something whilst making dinner. Even though he’s usually clumsy — it’s increased tenfold since Danny’s vanishing. She can’t blame him. They’re all on edge.

Waiting. Waiting for a flash of black hair, a glimmer of icy blue eyes, a awkward voice edged with witty jokes. But all Maddie can remember now is the hissing voice, so inhumane, those piercing green eyes that stared into her soul, lavishing away at her fear.

Those green eyes, so toxic. So familiar.

The same colour as the portal. Maddie realises, mouth gaping as she stares towards the machine, it’s swirling vortex almost inviting. A tiny thought in her head reminds her that Danny had an encounter with the portal, that with a lichtenburg scar of that size, he should be dead.

He already is dead. He has been for months. The thoughts devour her, but she pushes back.

That’s not true! Danny’s alive. He’s still human.

Are you sure? What did last night show you?

He’s being overshadowed! Some ghost got him and I’m going to stop it.

Don't deny it Maddie, you can’t deny it any longer. Your son has changed. The Danny you knew is gone.

Struggling with an internal mantra, to Maddie’s surprise, the planter of grave flowers is full of glowing white flowers. Mere hours ago, they were tiny seeds. Ghost flowers will always be weird.

Unease prickles down her back as she approaches the flowers, hands outstretched to take a sample. She stares into the neon glow of the flowers, oh so familiar, but she cannot figure out why.

The glow is the same colour of the portal, the same colour Danny’s eyes had been when he was overshadowed, but it isn’t that, she knows it. There’s something else. 

There’s only one ghost with eyes like that.

Gulping, Maddie reaches down.

Danny had Phantom’s eyes, is all she can think, before she grabs the shining flowers and tugs.

Chapter Text

Friday, 29th October 2004

It’s been days since she’s seen Phantom. Normally she’ll see him flying about, a shooting star against the constellations.

Now, nothing. Although the past week has been far from normal, learning secrets so horrific that Valerie doesn’t quite know how Phantom has made it this far. Part of her isn’t surprised for him to recluse, especially not after his confession in the forest.

He’s still posing as a human. His family don’t know he’s dead. His corpse is buried in the park. He buried it himself.

Slumping on her desk, Valerie sighs, twirling her flip phone and watching it spin around in hapless circles and come to a halt. She doesn’t know what to do.

She’s done everything she can do. Offered help to Phantom, to allow him to be truly himself. And now that’s done the opposite, driving him away. Perhaps it’s not her fault, but it can’t just be a coincidence, her offering up help, and then the ghost vanishing.

“Valerie? Your shift starts in half an hour!” A knock on the bedroom door jerks her out of her thoughts, her dad's voice filled with concern.

“I’m not going.” Valerie murmurs, not even trying to hide the tiredness in her tone. 

“Why not?” Her dad responds, voice pitched.

“Just don’t feel like it.” she shrugs, before looking at the door. It feels awkward having a conversation like this, even though she’d rather avoid him right now, “Come in.’

“This whole week you’ve been acting strange. Something isn’t right.” her dad shakes his head as he enters the room, leaning against her bedroom wall, “Not picking up my calls…going out after school late into the evening and now refusing to go to work?”

Guilt seeps in Valerie’s heart. She hates leading her father around like this – deceiving him – refusing to tell him anything even as he grow worried. But how can she? Any instance he hears about Phantom and he’ll claim it dangerous and probably stop her from seeing him. That’s the last thing Phantom needs right now.

“It’s nothing.” She murmurs again, turning to face the wall.

“Come on Valerie. At least give me something here.” She hears the creak of the bed as her dad sits down and tries not to internally implode. He’ll be here a while — no getting out of this one.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been distant.” Valerie gives him a quick glance, before turning around again. “I’ll answer all your calls from now on.”

Maybe by promising to fix her wrongdoings, he’ll leave.

“Val, it’s not just that.” Her dad sighs. “Is there something going on? Something with that friend group of yours bothering you?”

“Of course not. They haven’t bothered me in months.” She shakes her head. Thinking about it more, she doesn’t doubt there’ll be a clash soon, what, with the way Wes watches them like a lost soul. Even though he hasn’t spoken to them in months, before she’d sat with him at lunch, it’d been painfully clear that he’d been alone.

“What is it then?” He inquires again. The persistence makes her want to scream.

Digging her nails into her palms, Valerie inhales, trying to steady herself.

It’s not his fault. He’s just worried.

“It’s the ghosts.” She admits, turning to glance at him. Even by confessing such a vague expression, a slither of guilt writhes down her spine. 

From there, all her dad needs to do is pick through the obvious clues. Which is the ghost she used to rant on about all the time? Which ghost is her most hated enemy? Which ghost has she suddenly stopped hunting?

“The ghost hunting?” Damon questions, narrowing his eyes. “I knew it was dangerous for you to be doing. What happened?”

He scans her figure up and down, as if expecting to find any visible injuries on her. It’s been a while since she’s been injured — and not just due to easing down on the patrols from the past week.

Before certain events, Phantom had been even more apparent than usual amongst Amity Park. Ghost fights ended in minutes, less sightings. That made her fearful.

What if Phantom was getting more powerful, able to defeat the ghosts easier? Putting Amity Park at a higher risk.

Her tracker had picked him up at the park, last week, so she’d gone to confront him, maybe knock his newfound confidence down a few pegs. That’s when Valerie had found the flowers, in all their creepy, glowing glory. Phantom’s grave.

Looking back, it doesn’t take a genius to think why Phantom was at the park then.

“Nothing happened.” She reassures, “There was just this ghost and, I don’t know, we’re acquaintances now? He’s really been struggling with…things. I’m trying to help. I know you’ll say that I shouldn’t, that it’s dangerous and he could overshadow me or something…but he really needs my help. He’s got so much baggage from his former life… literally…and no one to support him. So I need to help, Dad. Even if you don’t agree.”

Silence. Nothing but the rustling of bed sheets as her dad stands up. Her breathing hitches, awaiting a spiel of how he’ll ban her from seeing Phantom.

’If you think it’s the best choice, then I’ll be here for you.” He smiles reassuringly, although Valerie can still see a ghost of worry behind her dad’s eyes. She’s worried too—not for herself though.

“You’re not going to stop me from hunting? Or meeting P— this ghost?”

“No.” Damon sighs, “I think I’ll always be scared of you going out into the field and fighting…but it’s who you are. I can’t change it, even if I ban the suit or ground you. You’d still find a way to get to Phantom.”

“P-Phantom?!” Valerie almost jumps out of her skin, horror reeling deep within her bones. “I-I didn’t mention that.”

“An assumption on my part.” Her dad frowns, concern only deepened by her excessive reaction — probably. “He’s the ghost you always talked about, and you haven’t been…as passionate about him this week.”

“Mhm.” Valerie doesn’t respond, not wanting to answer with certainty. If she responds that, yes, it is the ghost boy she’s been talking to, then she’s betraying Phantom. 

“I can understand you wanting to be secretive. It’s Phantom’s business, not mine.” He reassures, before frowning. “As long as something serious isn’t going on. I’m not having you get caught into a murder inquiry or something of the like.”

“Nope. No. Nothing like that.” She presses, shaking her head.

“Good.” He chuckles. “I wouldn’t fancy the police showing up at the door.”

Her dad stands up and head towards the door, giving her an affirmative smile before leaving the room. With that, she’s left in silence.

Way to go Valerie. She scolds herself. She betrayed Phantom and lied to her father about the severity of the situation in one vast swoop.

Now she understands how easily Phantom managed to tangle himself in tendrils of lies, more overwhelmed by each passing moment.

Lies are easy. A quick remark, offhand comment.

The burden emerges with trying to uphold the facade and managing to stick to it. How Phantom’s kept up with it for more than six months, without a single soul knowing, she can’t comprehend.

Then the facade begins to crumble. Lies are chipped away to reveal aspects of the truth. Secrets unburied, revelations made.

Phantom isn’t far from that, she feels. 

Even then, it might already be too late. Phantom’s strange absences don’t sit right with her. 

Sure, he’s disappeared before. But never completely, always popping back up a few hours later.

Dread rises in her chest. 

Somebody knows.

The sun barely begins dipping under the skyline as Valerie deactivates her hoverboard, tentatively stepping onto the fire escape outside her bedroom window. 

She slumps down onto the cold metal with a sigh of relief. It’s over. Valerie prides herself on being able to defeat most of the ghosts she encounters and come back with nothing but a few grazes.

Maybe, just slightly , there’s been a few times where she’s needed Phantom’s assistance.

That had been one of them. But he hadn’t shown up.

Deactivating her suit, she scans the auburn sky for any sign of Phantom. Evening is just beginning — it might be too early to spot him. She’s observed in the past that Phantom likes to blend in, barely noticeable amongst blackened skies.

Look at you, Gray — wanting to see a ghost. She scoffs to herself. A week ago, she would’ve been glad at his absence, finally getting some reprieve. Now it’s the total opposite.

The inkling that someone knows about Phantom reverberates about her head, just like that awful wail of his. He’s not usually this hidden. Something had to have happened, something to alter the equilibrium of Phantom’s double life. 

And the only conclusion she can muster is that Phantom’s been found out. Or at least, one of his many secrets.

Any other theories, she has no clue.

If only Weston was here. Valerie thinks gruffly. She’s been wishing that a lot — the presence of people who a week ago she’d despised. At least Wes would be helpful in thinking of new theories.

Resting her head against the wall, Valerie closes her eyes and lets herself breathe. It’s no good to get herself worked up. For all she knows, Phantom might be doing this deliberately.

A creak interrupts her train of thought, but she ignores it. Probably just the downstairs neighbours on the fire escape. 

“Grey!” A strangled voice alarms her.

In front of her Wes stands hunched over, his hand clinging to the railing and chest heaving. He gives her a look, reddish fringe stuck to his face and eyes weary. 

She stands up immediately, back pressed against the wall. How — how is he here? How does he know where she lives? What does he want?

“How do you know where I live?” She snaps, shocked.

Wes heaves, giving her an incredulous look. “I’ve climbed five storeys—and that’s what you want to know?” He intakes a deep breath, knees buckling onto the fire escape.

“You’re lucky I’m only asking you that.” She responds, eyes narrowing. There’s plenty more questions she could ask him. Observing his exhausted figure, she decides against the interrogation. For now. Any answer would only be half hearted.

“Where the hell were you?! One minute you’re telling me we’ll solve this mess together and the next you’re acting as if it never existed!” Valerie inquires.

“Geez, give me a break, will you?” Wes snaps, stumbling to his feet and leaning over the railing. He gives her a sheepish look before glancing over the sunset. “My dad took everything. Camera, files, the lot. Even my phone. That’s why I couldn’t contact you. No resources — what was the point of trying?”

“’Well, you still could’ve told me!” Valerie presses, crossing her arms. “I wouldn’t have cared that you didn’t have your stuff, that we couldn’t do research for a bit. You had the opportunity to tell me at school, and you blanked.”

“Sorry.” Wes grimaces, turning around to face her. “I don’t know. I guess—I guess I thought you were like them. Once you didn’t have a use for me, that I couldn’t do the research, you’d get rid of me. Better to blank than to admit it.”

“Were you even there on Tuesday?” She can’t help but quip.

“What?” He looks at her incredulously.

“Remember when we said to each other that we wouldn’t be immature idiots for Phantom’s sake? If this is going to work, we need to trust each other.”

Wes opens his mouth as if he wants to object, before shaking his head and thinking better of it. A few seconds of silence pass before he speaks.

“Right.” Wes utters.

“Now. No more secrets, you hear me? Especially not involving Phantom.” Valerie says, before deciding to add an extra condition. “We can have our own secrets…but any knowledge we learn about Phantom or things surrounding him has to be crystal clear. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” He hesitates, but shakes her hand firmly. His green eyes follow hers, wary. 

Something is definitely off.

“Would you like to start by telling me why you’re here — and maybe how you’ve managed to find where I live?”

“Phantom, obviously.” Wes scoffs, regaining his usual composure. Good. She’d almost begun to worry he was losing that trademark cynicism.

“And the whole, stalking , me?” She pries.

Wes raises an eyebrow. “I used to be friends with the A Listers, remember? Around the time that you left. Non stop talking about the crappy little flat you moved to.” He glances around, eyeing the walls and fire escape. “I mean, it’s definitely not as awful as they made it out to be.”

“Anything that isn’t a mansion might as well be a dumpster to them.” Valerie quips, a small smirk playing on her lips.

“True.” Wes grins back, his expression hardening. “You moved here because of Phantom, didn’t you? Your dad lost his job.”

“Yep. A ghost dog and Phantom destroyed the labs while he was on guard.” Valerie frowns. It seems everyone in Caspar High knows about her circumstances. Then again, Wes is the resident theorist and know it all, so it’s not surprising he gets the gossip, even without company.

“Speaking of Phantom…where is he?”

Ah. So that’s why he’s here. He’s worried about Phantom, just like her.

”Well, he’d never show his face here, if that’s what you were thinking.” She folds her arms, raising an eyebrow, voiced laced with sarcasm. “I thought you were smarter than that — maybe I gave you too much credit.”

“Oh haha.” Wes rolls his eyes. “You were the last to see him, I’d assume. What did he seem like?”

“He seemed…normal.” She considers back to the afternoon in the forest, Phantom’s terrified face. “Jittery like he’s always been. Things are closing in, I think it’s beginning to get to him, though.”

”Agreed.”

”So what do you think happened?” Valerie questions him. “Surely you’ve got some conspiracy brewing up there, Weston.”

”Mhm.” Wes doesn’t answer, fussing with his flannel sleeves.

”Don’t be evasive with me. Remember our agreement?”

”I can’t exactly forget. My memory’s not that bad.” He quips back, shuddering.

Valerie’s about to answer, but finds a shiver wracks her body, chilling her to the bones. When did it get so cold? She looks over the fire escape, the sky now streaked with mauve.

After much deliberation, she sighs and opens the door into her bedroom. 

“Come on then. It’s getting too cold out here.”

The relief is clear on Wes’ features as he scrambles into the shelter of her bedroom, although not much warmer than outside.

“I thought I was about to freeze.” He remarks as she enters after him, closing the door behind her.

“Like I’d have let you. You’re not getting out of my questioning by catching hypothermia.” Valerie quips, but there’s a mischievous smile on her features.

“Maybe I’ll go back onto the escape then.” He responds jokingly, stepping forward as if to go back outside.

“Uh-uh.” She shakes her head, prodding his shoulder and gesturing for him to go into the living room. She knows he’s only joking, but any chance of Wes bailing now would be the worst possibility.

Wes takes a while to observe the room, his eyes scanning the walls before finally reaching the sofa. Hesitantly, he approaches it and looks at her, a silent gesture for permission. She can’t blame him for acting wary. Here, in her own apartment which he has no knowledge of (at least she hopes he’s not that creepy) and Valerie herself fluctuating hot and cold on her feelings about him.

“Thanks.” Wes sighs and slumps back into the sofa, blinking at the ceiling.

She waits for him to say something, to elaborate on her question from earlier — but he doesn’t. It makes unease twist within her stomach. If anything she knows about Wes — it’s how much he loves to blabber on about his theories. So to not divulge about Phantom is very wrong.

“So what do you think happened?” She asks again, leaning on the arm of a chair next to the sofa. 

“Huh?” Wes tilts his head, before taking in her question. He deliberates, fussing with his sleeves again. “Honestly, I don’t know. My first thought was that he was just laying low after this whole thing. But you’ve known since last Friday, haven’t you? And he still made effort to be seen in public even though he was probably terrified of his body being discovered. So his disappearance is out of character. I think something…someone might’ve got him — whether that was because of the body or not, I don’t know.”

Great. If even Wes doesn't have the foggiest, they're utterly fucked. But it also backs up her idea that someone's gotten Phantom, which is very concerning.

"Why do you think someone might've taken him?" she queries, genuinely curious.

Wes takes a few seconds to respond, leaning back on the sofa and drawing a hand over his face. She lets him think.

"I thought it could've been the corpse.. but then that would've been all over the news, wouldn't it?" Wes ponders. "And surely we would've heard the rumours of a body from Caspar High by now. So I think these...people...captured him for another reason."

"And what's that reason?" Valerie narrows her eyes, patience wearing thin. She could've had this answer out of him five minutes ago if he didn't keep deflecting.

Wes deliberates, letting off a small cough of laughter. His green eyes scan hers, glimmering with uncertainty. 

"How the turn tables...isn't it?" he scoffs, pulling his flannel sleeves up to obscure his hands and drawing his knees to his chest. "I was the one prying information from you first and now it's the opposite."

Wes looks, strangely timid, considering he's always so blunt and straightforward, so certain to dive headfirst into things, like when he'd ripped the flowers from Phantom's grave. It's a change that makes her spine prickle with unease.

"Go at me." Valerie approaches the sofa and sits beside him. The unease still lingers in her chest, so without a second thought she grabs the remote and switches the television on. Perhaps some background noise would help relieve the abyss of worry and uncertainty surrounding them both. "I just discovered our ghostly hero buried himself at the park. I might as well be invincible."

"True." Wes scoffs. He fusses with the flannel again, inhaling heavily.

This is big. Even though she's learnt what has to be the worst of it - there can't be anything worse than Phantom's corpse -- surely? Some hesitance blooms in her chest just like the grave flowers. 

"I know who he is." Wes admits, his face unreadable. He doesn't look at her, instead staring into the blue light of the television that washes over them both.

"He goes to Caspar. Wasn't there yesterday...or Thursday...or Wednesday..." Wes continues, voice trailing off into silence. She doesn't respond. Can't. Won't. Of course he goes to Caspar. Of course it had to be that way.

Phantom goes to school with them. Phantom is a fellow school student, this whole thing happened and no one ever noticed. She's sat in classes with him, passed him in the corridors. 

Wes knows who he is.

Valerie feels a twang of jealousy, but then rejects it instantly. She can't be feeling jealous over a thing like this -- being the first to find out Phantom's identity. It's an awful thing to feel that way about, something neither of them should know, not until Phantom is ready to say, at least. Did Phantom tell Wes? Did he slip up? Did Wes find out himself?

"How--how do you know?" Valerie inquires.

Wes gives her a sideways glance. "I didn't do anything revolutionary, if that's what you're thinking. I haven't seen him, so I didn't get it out of him. I just genuinely put all the pieces together. I didn't mean to - and it feels wrong to know, but now I do."

Valerie nods. That's how she feels about this whole situation. Selfishly, she wishes she'd never found out about Phantom's grave and his tangle of secrets and lies. It's too much too handle, revelations one after the other. But she can't feel that way, because Phantom needs her. And if she hadn't found out, well, she dreads to think how he would've continued alone.

"Someone else knows." Valerie wavers at the thought. Maybe someone out there had put the pieces together, just the same as Wes had. She doesn't know why someone would take him -- not for good things, though. Experimentation, interrogation, destruction. Millions of reasons why they might've captured him.

"I think I know who captured him. Took him, whatever." Wes blanches. "And it's really really really not good."

Suddenly, the television switches from a calming nature documentary -- a harsh contrast to the macabre subject they're discussing -- to a breaking news segment.

"Breaking news! The ghostly hero Danny Phantom has been missing since Tuesday. The ghost was last spotted at a ghost fight in the late morning, before disappearing. No one has seen him since. Ghost attacks have started increasing, with no signs of the Fenton's assisting in battles either. Does this mark the end of our ghostly protectors era?"

Valerie feels the panic and horror torrent through her before the reporter even finishes speaking. She shares a glance with Wes, him looking equally as terrified.

What was once a quiet investigation between the two of them, expanded to a unknown party who'd captured Phantom, intended to do bad things to him. Worrying, but at least manageable.

Now? The entirety of Amity Park.

More eyes on Phantom. More potential people digging into his secrets, unearthing everything.

There’s humming in his ears, the sour tang of ectoplasm lingering in the air.

He can’t move. He’s stuck. His core pulses in terror, but there nothing he can do to calm it. A jolt of pain lingers around his left arm, and something heavy holds his wrists.

This isn’t where he was. This isn’t the soil with parts of the grass torn away or his grave flowers humming lightly in his presence. He doesn't know how long he's been here. He went to the grave Tuesday night...stayed there most of Wednesday...now he doesn't know.

He cracks an eye open. Everything is grey, clean, shiny. A bright green casts the room.

The humming is too harsh — too loud. But familiar, in an eerily horrific way. His core jolts with pain again, burning, fizzling, cracking at the recollection.

The lab.

No. No. No.

All the reoccurring nightmares, but he’d never held the actual belief that one day it would come true. A childish naivety.

He pulls at his wrists. Nothing.

“Well. Looks like you’re awake, finally.” A cold voice.

A cold voice of someone who should care for him, should be there to hug and comfort him. Not looking down at him as if he were scum. 

He probably is scum, to them.

“Now.” He feels heavy hands lift him upright. His dad, probably, who walks infront to stand beside his mother.

He can barely sit upright, too drained from whatever had happened to him. One minute he was at the grave…the next not.

He slumps, not daring to meet their eyes. He doesn’t want his last memories of his parents ones of hatred towards him.

“Now.” His mother puts her hand beneath his chin and jolts it up so he meets her gaze. She’s wearing the goggles, so all he sees is a layer of red and the sheen of the portal reflecting in them. 

“Tell us what you’ve done with our son.”

Chapter Text

Saturday, 30th October 2004

For months she’s fought hard for this chance. The chance to finally have Phantom in her grasp, to find out what makes him an anomaly from all the other ghosts in Amity Park.

But now all she can think is how that uniqueness was probably Danny’s doing. Her own son, captured and controlled for months on end. The emotions, the empathy, the stuttering, the hand behind the neck. All Danny’s characteristics. Him crying out for help whilst she hadn’t even noticed.

She stares over the ghost, the only movement being the slight rise and fall of his chest. Another anomaly that should be from Danny.

Yet, there’s a nagging in her chest that tells her this quirk does belong to Phantom. She doesn’t think he’s overshadowing Danny right now. Phantom is cheeky but he wouldn’t dare — not after that stunt in the kitchen.

That means Danny is out there somewhere, alive and safe. Or he’s never been safe and he’s…

Focus. Maddie shakes her head, turning to where Jack is scurrying about on the workbenches. This time though, he doesn’t have any weapons. A plate of fudge in one hand, a stack of notebooks in the other.

“Ready to get documenting, Mads?” A wide grin paints her husband's face as he strides over, handing her an already open notebook with chicken scratch all over it. 

It’s all the questions she’s going to ask Phantom. If he cooperates, that is. And if she can restrain herself to not blast him into pieces then and there.

At least wait until he wakes. Something dark in her mind debates. He doesn’t deserve the mercy of being unconscious when you do it.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She grimaces, looking down to his slumped figure.

There. A twitch of his hand.

She shares a sombre glance with Jack. This is it.

“Wha—” Phantom slurs as he comes back into reality, a slither of green showing as he peeks open his eyes. He sways and pulls his arms towards his chest.

Without a word, Jack moves to crouch behind the ghost, putting his hands under Phantom’s arms to pull him up. The notion makes something poignant stir within Maddie, the distant memory of one humid summer when both the kids were little. Jazz six and Danny four.

Danny had been playing on a balancing beam when he’d fallen off, grazing his knee. The tiny screams still echo in her head. Jack had been right at his side, murmuring reassurances and goofy jokes to get a smile back on Danny’s face. And then he’d ever so gently placed his hands under Danny’s arms and pulled him up towards his chest. And Danny had reluctantly pressed his hurt leg to the floor, realising that everything was fine — that his leg hadn’t fallen off and he could still walk.

The thought makes her smile, but then pushes Maddie back into reality. That was Jack and Danny. This is Jack and Phantom. Why is she reminded of such a poignant memory and comparing it to this?

“Now.” Maddie rights herself, tucking the notepad under her arm and placing her goggles over her face. She can’t bear to look into those poisonous eyes.

Shrinking into himself, the ghost tries to divert its gaze to the wall, it’s brow furrowed in fear. It’s cathartic in a way, to see Phantom so terrified, knowing that he made Danny feel the exact same way.

Probably. She doesn’t know. That’s what she’s here to find out.

“Now.” Maddie places a hand under his chin, yanking his head up so his green eyes bore into the reflection of her goggles. The green oozes fear.

“Tell us what you’ve done with our son.”

“I didn’t—I don’t know.” The ghost shudders, his voice barely a whisper. He stuffs his shoulders up by his ears, simply watching her.

“Of course you do!” Maddie snaps, barely able to restrain the anger within her. She never expected this to be easy. Phantom is sly — any secrets he’ll keep till his second dying breath.

But this time she will get the truth out of him.

“Where were you in the middle of March?” Around the time that Danny began to change, the time that he shifted from her starry eyed son to the monster with venomous green eyes standing at her kitchen table.

Phantom blinks at the question, almost taken aback.

“I—“ His green eyes divert to the left. She follows his eyeline, where it lands on the external controls and wires for the portal. Phantom's eyes snap back to her. “I didn’t exist yet.”

“You hadn’t died?”

The ghost flinches.

“No—I hadn’t died.”

Barely six months old. Behind her, Maddie can hear Jack give a hmph of curiosity and the scrawling of his pen on paper. It’s unexpected. With a ghost so powerful, she would think he’s much older.

“Do you know why you’re so powerful at such a young age?” Maddie inquires, feeling frustration in her veins at this pointless rambling. Albeit, it’s gaining important insight about Phantom, but isn’t useful right now.

What is, is what he’s done with Danny, and if Danny is still alive…

“I’m not too sure.” The ghost rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe because I formed here instead of the ghost zone, I guess?”

The open statement is a surprising one, and a bit too revealing for Maddie’s taste. It’s uncharacteristic of him. Phantom forming on Earth possibly does explain his attachment to Amity Park and its citizens, though. Possibly even explains why he’s so strange — if Danny isn’t involved in that.

“Liar.” Her word is like ice and Phantom is cut by the shards, cowering in a pathetic heap on the floor. To think this is the ghost that’s terrorised her son is almost laughable — if his mortality didn’t hang in the balance, that is.

“I—I don’t know what you want from me.” He utters, green eyes glimmering with diamonds of fear.  Phantom presses his hands together, left hand cupped on right. His fingers trace a circular pattern on his palm as he speaks again, “Do you want information? Stuff about the other ghosts? I can—”

“What I want is for you to tell me what you’ve done with Danny.” Any self restraint torrents away as Maddie snaps, taking harsh steps towards him. Behind her, she hears the click of an ectogun.

No, Maddie. Focus. She scolds herself internally. It’s no good detonating at Phantom now, no matter how satisfying it is to see him squirm in fear. No. She needs to wait till Phantom gives her the information about her son, no matter how difficult, wait till she sees Danny alive and well, and then she can get to work.

“My son has been acting up for months. And our daughter suspected it was an incident with the portal—an offhand comment made by Danny had tipped her off.” Maddie spares a glance to the portal, green light reflecting throughout the room. She wonders what Danny must’ve been through, what he did.

“An offhand comment?” Phantom tilts his head, a strange expression across his face, almost as if he’s trying to recall the event, “What’d he say?”

“Why do you care?” She retorts. 

“I just—well—that would be pretty traumatising, wouldn’t it?” He questions, and for the first time, Maddie finds herself agreeing. Phantom mumbles something incoherent.

“What was that?” Jack hollers before she can ask.

Phantom flushes, ducking his head. Clearly he hadn’t expected them to be so vigilant.

“I can relate, I guess. Death isn’t fun—not that Danny did—just they’re both traumatic incidents.” Phantom looks down and repeats the circling gesture on his palm. It’s familiar, but she doesn’t quite know why.

And then suddenly, she does.

How many times has Danny done that same gesture? Fumbling over his palm, tucking his arm into his chest. Staring longingly at it in regret, as if he wishes he could take something back.

The palm which has the lichtenberg figures all over them. Scars from his portal accident—scars which shouldn’t be humanly possible. His portal accident shouldn’t be possible. None of this should be.

Which is why it isn’t. It’s all a ploy. The cogs are turning in her head now, whirring as she plots theories and possibilities. 

It’d been May when the first major overshadowing incident had happened in Amity. They’d been aware of the possibility of it — but her and Jack’s main focus for the first few months had been constructing new weapons to keep the rising influx of ghosts at bay. And then a mass of civilians had gotten overshadowed by an army of ghosts, thankfully unscathed in the end, but it left them no choice other than to find out everything they could.

Maddie remembers it now, the small green handbook, a study from a relatively unknown ectoscientist documenting finds from decades ago. The one page about the side effects of prolonged overshadowing.

Death scars, if present, will pass from the ghost to a possessed individual. It is unknown how long it may take for a scar to appear. 

Danny has scars — but it doesn’t mean the scars are his.

Without another word, Maddie steps forward. She can feel the excitement of a scientific breakthrough right at her fingertips—literally. But there’s also the leaden weight in her chest, the failure of not noticing her son suffering for months on end.

“Mo—Maddie?” Phantom looks hesitant now, his green eyes blinking up owlishly. She doesn’t care and grabs his left hand without a second though. The way Phantom flinches at the grasp doesn’t go amiss.

In one swift movement, she grabs the glove and tosses it to the floor.

And there, staring back at her, is Danny’s scar. 

It starts as a small starburst before spindling like branches around his palm, some trailing up into his sleeve, obscured from view.

But it’s not Danny’s scar, never has been.

It’s Phantom’s scar.

Bile rises in Maddie’s throat as she feels her legs turn to jelly, recoiling away from Phantom. The ghost gives a cry of alarm — what it has to be concerned for she doesn’t know. 

“Mads!” Jack’s shout emerges from somewhere, but all she can see is the green of the portal harshly burning her vision, the whirring in her ears, small hiccups echoing from someone. 

And then there’s a set of steady hands on her shoulders, pulling away from the mess and the whirring and the crying. How long has Phantom overshadowed Danny? Why did he do it? How? Where’s Danny now?

“You’re alright, Mads.” Jack's gentle murmur in her ear. She opens her eyes.

They’re in the kitchen, the lab door slammed shut. Jack's hands are still on her shoulders, guiding reassuring circles. No more portal.

“I—I don’t know why.” Maddie somehow brings the words through, “I saw the scar and then everything flooded all at once. The portal, the green, the whirring. Danny had the same pattern. How didn’t we see, Jack? How didn’t we?!”

“I don’t know, Maddie. The scar. All we needed to do was take off Phantom’s glove—“ he pauses, shaking his head in despair, “—it would’ve been that easy.”

Her mind is full of possibilities — what would’ve happened if they’d noticed sooner? What if they’d stopped it? What if Phantom had never slipped up at the dinner table?

Questioning what could’ve been is no good, you know that. She scolds herself. Danny is still missing, has been since Tuesday. He should be their main focus right now, trying to find him.

What if he’s staying away deliberately? What if it’s because he’s angry that they never noticed the overshadowing?

”I think we need to take a breather.” Jack says, a voice of reason in the clutter of her thoughts. As if summoned at convenience, Haunt gallops around the corner, her ears pricked up.

”Does someone want to go for a walk?!” Maddie watched as Jack beams down to the dog. Haunt responds by wagging her tail furiously, nothing but a crescent of brown.

”I think that’ll be good.” Maddie gives a small slip of a smile as Jack clips the lead to Haunt and then hands it to her. 

One afternoon, that’s all it is, she reassures. One afternoon where her and Jack can take the dog for a walk and forget about the portal and Phantom and the overshadowing.

At least it’s one seed of confirmation planted down. They now know with certainty that Phantom has overshadowed Danny. They share the same scar.

But then her mind thinks back to practically the only information that Phantom had given during the interrogation.

He was alive when Danny’s accident occurred. Human. Unable to overshadow.

Just like the wavering glow of the silene latifolia, she feels the credibility of their theory begin to falter.

Chapter Text

Saturday, 30th October 2004

Something is very wrong.

There’s an impending doom that erupts inside Jazz as she enters the house, the door snapping shut behind her. No sound of her parents causing destruction in the lab, or as of recent, hovering around the phone to wait for a call from Danny.

Because he’s been missing for four days. It’s now Saturday, and no sign of her parents or brother.

She tries to steady her breathing as it begins to falter, drifting over to the phone to check for any new calls. No missed calls. Whilst there, she also notices the lack of a lead hanging from the hook by the door.

“It’s fine.” Jazz murmurs. “Mom and Dad just took Haunt out. They’ll be fine.”

Clink. Jazz pauses. There’s always noise in the house, especially from the incessant hum of the portal and the bedlam her parents cause. The silence is unsettling, but what’s worse is an unsettling noise in a house she knows is empty.

Her parents don’t have any captures, because they’re out with Haunt, which would imply they’re still looking for ghosts or bodies or whatever’s peaked their interest these days. Anything except Danny, apparently. Her parents can act as emotional as they want towards Danny’s disappearance, but they’ll never actively do anything. It’s been her that’s raised the alarm to teachers, asked around to locals.

No media coverage, unfortunately. Phantom falling off the face of Amity had garnered the attention of panicked Amity citizens instead of Danny. Jazz can understand, he’s their hero, but there’s still an envy that brews within her.  Phantom is a ghost, an enigma. Danny Fenton is a human— well, even that’s doubtful. She doesn’t know what her brother is.

Clink. There’s the sound again. Or…the option passes her mind. If her parents have done something actively to find Danny, they’ll have gone about it in the completely wrong direction.

“Come on Jazz, it’s alright.” She reassures herself, taking a step towards the lab door. There’s another clink followed by a metallic rustle, almost like chains being dragged across the floor. Just what have her parents done?

The teenager edges her way towards the door, which is unlocked. Another bout of her parents' carelessness, even with their attempts to stop her and Danny entering the lab, they still leave it open in states of distress. Just like when the portal didn’t work at first. The door had been unlocked that day. Danny had gone in and nearly died.

Did die. And became a ghost. She still can’t fathom that quite yet.

Gliding down the metal stairs, her view of the lab is obscured, but she can already see the electric glow of the portal cast around the room.

And there, sat in front, is a spindly, glowing figure. It’s hunched over, stark hair obscuring its face. But she doesn’t need to see its visage to know who it is.

A loud creak echoes in the lab as she moves from the last of the staircase, causing the figure to look up.

Look up at her with those piercing neon eyes.

Jazz tries not to falter under the stare, haunted by the familiarity of the green glare. Instead, she presses forward until she’s standing a short distance from him.

“Phantom.” Jazz finally speaks, her mouth a fine line. Her throat is surprisingly hoarse.

“What? You gonna do the same?” Phantom murmurs, not looking up. Horror douses her. Just what’ve her parents done to him?

Jazz can’t see any visible injuries or trickling ectoplasm, but of all people she knows that injuries aren’t just physical.

“What—what did they do?” 

“Captured me.” Phantom shrugs, arms paltry as toothpicks, splayed out like a bag of bones on the lab floor, “Been here since Wednesday, but I lost count of the days since.”

“It’s Saturday.” She supplies, as if that’ll be helpful. All Jazz can think is how didn’t she notice? Didn’t observe? All this time and she’s missed this?

Phantom must’ve noticed the look on her face, because he moves an arm forward, as if trying to reassure her. “Don’t worry. You’ve found me, haven’t you? And I mean, I guess you were looking for your brother. Your parents seemed to think, uh, that I had something to do with that.”

But he doesn’t seem to notice she’s on a different train of thought completely. This isn’t about her being oblivious to Phantom’s presence in the lab.

“I don’t believe them.” Jazz shakes her head. She’s overheard all the theories her parents have spurred out. Phantom overshadowing Danny.

“You don’t?” Phantom sighs, a small puff of breath leaving his lips. He seems to realise before tightening himself. “Uh. Force of habit, y’know?”

Jazz only watches him, not knowing what to say.

Phantom fumbles in the silence. His restraints jangle as he adjusts his position to something more comfortable. He wraps his arms around his legs. It’s then she notices one of his gloves is missing, strewn further away. His left hand exposed.

It confirms it.

“So…” Phantom gazes at the portal before glancing back at her, “What do you think happened?”

“To Danny?”

“Yeah…to Danny.” He quietens.

Jazz inhales, eyes still fixated on Phantom’s. She tries to steady her breathing, not wanting any tremble in her voice to show. 

First, her eyes trail over to the cupboard near the stairs, then to the control panel, and finally the portal behind them both, green light swamping the entire lab. She realises he’s following her gaze.

“I think…I think my brother got into a lab accident that day, a one that changed everything. It changed him so much that he was terrified of what we’d think. I think he kept a lot of secrets because of it, because he felt he had no choice. But despite all that, he sacrificed everything to do something so selfless.” Jazz stares up at the portal, almost imagining the scenes play in her head like a tape.

“What—what was that?” Phantom’s voice wavers, his green eyes slightly widening, the tiniest twinge of hope in his tone.

“He became the hero of this town.” She stares back. “And I’m so, so proud of you, Danny.”

Without a second thought, Jazz surges forward and embraces her brother, not caring about the ghostly cold that seeps through her skin. He makes a choked up noise of shock, but she can feel his arms on her back, reciprocating.

“How—how do you—what.” Danny splutters, pulling away from her grasp to give the teen a bewildered expression. 

“It was them.” Jazz points to the lichtenbergs on his left hand, which Danny draws to his chest as if to hide it away. After a few seconds, he shakes his head lightly and unfurls his hand, allowing her to see the pale green fronds branching on his hand, disappearing up his sleeve.

“The scars.” He grimaces. “I tried to hide it.”

The air hitches again as her brother seems to consider something, before a bright beacon of light appears around his waist. She flinches at the brightness, but steadies her resolve.

Is this some sort of power? A transformation.

She watches, captivated. Black switches to white, the ghostly glow washing away, electric neon eyes switching to the familiar blue she’s know for years.

And there is Danny, staring at her. There’s a shimmer of green fear in his eyes, seemingly still doubtful of her reaction. He’s probably never done this before.

No one knows. It’s been seven months since whatever happened here and killed Danny. Her parents didn’t notice. Tucker, Sam. She didn’t notice. Only when the scars had become apparent, had she bothered to dig deeper.

“I—“ Danny starts.

“—You don’t have to tell me anything.” Jazz interrupts, splaying her hands out in urgency. Internally she’s the opposite, she can feel the questions bubbling within. How did it happen? Why didn’t he say? How has he coped? Can she do anything?

But she doesn’t want to pressure him before he’s ready.

“No, Jazz.” Danny shakes his head, a cold, reassuring hand on her wrist. “I think I want to tell you. Just this—I’ve never told anyone.” He looks to the portal as if considering, “I got close but didn’t—never mind.”

He nearly told someone? Jazz wonders who it was that he trusted to nearly come clean. Not Tucker or Sam, that’s for certain—given their cold reactions to Danny still, nothing has changed there. Or maybe someone forced him to confess, and he remained stubborn?

“They didn’t force you to confess, did they? This person?” Anger begins to boil in her veins at the thought.

“No! No. The opposite actually. She just offered to be there if I needed.” says Danny, eyes averting to her. “Just like you, I suppose. Except I refused, like I refused you.”

“Good.” She sighs. At least he seemingly had someone, whoever she may be.

”Anyway…” Danny trails off, resting his hand by the nape of his neck. It’s something Phantom does too, after the fights have ended. Another thing Jazz didn’t notice.

”It was after you went to the library. I came down to the lab and put my HAZMAT on.” Danny’s voice is hurried and loud, as if the slightest hesitation might make him shut down. “Then I went in the portal. I thought, what if I could fix it? Find out what was wrong? I went and, my hand, it hit something, and then…”

Danny doesn’t need to finish the sentence for her to know what comes next. He died. 

“When I woke up, I was outside the portal, sprawled on the tile.” Danny gestures to a spot on the floor. “But I was glowing. And my HAZMAT was the wrong colour. There was the scar, maybe glowing a bit more. And that’s when I realised.”

”You realised you were Phantom.” Jazz finalises for him, as he nods in response. A less blunt way of expressing he’s dead, which she still can’t quite fathom. Danny hunches over, threading his hands together, seemingly considering something.

”Yeah.” He trembles, not facing her. Her brother’s blue eyes are instead focused on a spot just left of them, somewhere on the tile. He’s millions of galaxies away in his mind. “But that’s not it.”

“Okay.” Jazz inhales, trying not to show her nerves. She doesn’t know what can be worse than dying.

”Before I saw it I was happy.” A slight smirk paints his face as he hugs his knees. “Yeah…I’d just died, but I could fly. I saw this thing, decided to get a closer look. I looked down—it—it was me. Fuck. I—I was looking at my own corpse.”

What. Jazz can’t fathom words. There’s nothing.

Just the silence and shock.

Her baby brother had died, in this very laboratory, come back as a ghost, and stared his corpse in the face. Right here on this cold, pallid tile. Bile threatens to rise in her throat as she feels the cold rise from the floor, but remains steady.

”What—what did you do?” The words spill out, her past idea of ‘letting him say when he’s ready’ crumbling. Being Phantom is one thing…but a corpse is the final nail in the coffin. Literally.

”I…I took it to the park. Dug a grave with my own hands and tossed it in. I called you because as far as I was aware, I’d just died. But then the rings appeared…and I was just me. The same. Like nothing had happened.”

”So you’re not…you’re not dead?” Jazz feels a headache begin to form. Whether it’s from trying to discern all this mess or just the shock, she can’t tell. Her baby brother dug his own grave. What do the rings mean? If there’s a…corpse, he’s surely dead?

The memories of the phone call come torrenting back. Danny’s voice having an unusual echo, the talking. Him saying he wasn’t ever going to come back. Her screaming down the phone, begging for a response. And then Danny, stumbling in through the doors a couple hours later.

Except her brother didn’t walk through that door. It was someone else. Not her dorky but kind and space-obsessed brother, but instead a traumatised shell of a boy, isolating himself further, refusing to speak of the traumas that fuelled the terror in his eyes.

And now she knows why. And—and she can’t blame him. Had she been in this, she probably would’ve done the same.

But then, what prompted him to come down into the lab? Danny and her never showed an interest in their parents inventions, not even when they were so grief stricken by their failure.

Something had to have ignited that change. Jazz trawls through the memories of that day, trying to think of something, anything that could’ve done it.

And then she remembers.

It was her. She told Danny that the portal should be fixed. It’s all her fault.

She motivated the change, caused him to die. Caused him to have to bury his own fucking corpse. Caused him to withdraw from everything and everyone.

All because she suggested fixing that stupid machine.

”I’m sorry!” She spurts out, cheeks dampening as Danny looks on in shock. “I did this.”

Danny blinks, tilting his head. “What the hell are you on about?”

”I told you that the portal needed fixing!”

”What? And so? That wasn’t you, Jazz. I chose to come downstairs! I chose to put my HAZMAT on and go in the portal. Neither of us could’ve guessed it would end up like this.“ He gestures to the litchenberg. “And..no. I’m not dead, not fully. I don’t really have it figured out.“

“But I should’ve—“

“Look, Jazz. It..it’s happened. There’s no taking this back. I’ve tried. It wasn’t you, wasn’t me.” She feels a cold hand on her shoulder, a semblance of reassurance. “So stop thinking it, kay?”

“I guess.” Jazz shrugs. The thought still lingers at the back of her mind, the guilt thick and heavy.

“I don’t know if I have a lot of time left.” Danny starts, “Not—not like that. Just…Mom and Dad have been gone ages. They might come back soon.”

“Oh, right.” The teen tries to steady herself as she watches Danny’s confused glance. Of course he needs to get out. Without a second thought, she releases the restraints on his wrists.

“You better lay low.” Jazz considers, her eyes diverting to the lab door. “They think you’re overshadowing well…you. I don’t doubt Phantom’s top of their hunting list right now.”

“You got that right.” Danny flexes his wrists as he stands up, stretching himself. “I camped out at my grave, y’know, after the kitchen scene. Stayed there till Wednesday. Didn’t even get a word in before they scooped me up and locked me up here.”

“Here.” Jazz fishes into her pocket and reaches out her phone, tossing it to him. A plan’s already formulating in her head, the heavy guilt motivating her to help her baby brother in any way possible. “I doubt you’ve got your phone on you. Don’t go to your grave again, they’ve got Haunt with them so she’ll be on alert for the corpse. Go to that person who you almost confessed to.”

“Re—her?” Danny stutters, looking down at Jazz’s phone before transforming back into Phantom. The transformation sends chills down her spine. “I mean, I guess she did say I was free to seek her out if I needed anything.”

“And right now, if you want to keep this secret secret, you’ve got to go and see her.”

“Right.” Danny sighs. She can feel the reluctance emanating from him. Even if the mysterious stranger seems kindly, he’s hesitant to take refuge. Probably something to do with the social isolation and withdrawal.

Her fault.

“Look at it this way. It’s either you seek her out, or mom and dad find out.”

Danny blanches, “Mhm. I’ll go and see her.”

“Good. Keep me updated. And don’t you dare hang up like last time.”

“No—I won’t.”

He turns and smiles to her, a genuine one.

He’s gone.

And she’s left alone, the cold tile seeping through her bones and portal whirring in the background.

Left alone in the laboratory where her brother died.

Mere weeks ago, Valerie would’ve revelled in Phantom’s disappearance. But now she’s nothing but concerned.

It’s Saturday now, and there’s still no sign of him. The creak of the fire escape interrupts her as Wes changes his position, arms hanging over the rail, green eyes scanning the skyline. Both of them are exhausted from waiting.

Valerie let him stay over the night. She knew that letting Wes go back home would result in him scouring the streets of Amity, potentially getting himself in danger.

At least at her apartment she could guarantee he’d get food, sleep, and wouldn’t be endangered by Phantom’s hypothetical captors.

“If I had my stuff this would be so much easier!” Wes yells in frustration, his hands clinging to the metal. 

Valerie can only silently agree. Of all the times Wes’ observant, borderline stalkerish behaviour with a camera could've come in handy, he got it taken off him. Yet, he knows who Phantom is.

She can see him silently debating, the battle glimmering in his eyes. Does he keep Phantom’s identity a secret from her stil, or sacrifice it to rescue him?

“You suspect who took him.” Valerie starts, as Wes gives her a sideways glance, “I know you can’t tell me—but how bad is it? GIW bad or ‘I’m betrayed you didn’t tell me’ bad?”

“That’s the problem.” He admits, staring over the skyline again, “It could range from ‘heartfelt reunion’ to ‘strapped down on a dissection table’.”

“I’m guessing it’s not the GIW then.” She breathes out a sigh of relief. No chance on hell would there be a heartfelt reunion with those bunch of maniacs.

”No, no.” Wes grimaces. Hesitance is clear in his stare as he adjusts the sleeves of his flannel. “I think I’ve got no choice really, to tell you.”

There’s a bitter taste in Valerie’s mouth as she reluctantly nods. The clock is ticking. If they hold it off any longer then there won’t be any chance at all. Internally she doesn’t want to know, and doesn’t want Wes to tell.

But Phantom’s afterlife is at stake right now.

And a life, dead or not, is more valuable than loyalty.

“He’s—”

“He’s who?” A voice suddenly interrupts, sending shock through Valerie’s bones. Besides her, Wes gasps.

It’s Phantom. The ghost looks worse for wear, his usually lithe figure bony and weak. His hair is disheveled and somehow his pallid skin looks even paler. 

“Nothing.” Wes gulps, scanning Phantom up and down, as if coming to a realisation. Maybe he’s making a mental comparison of Phantom and his secret identity.

“Where the hell have you been?” She demands, as Phantom looks bewildered. Valerie doesn’t mean to be so harsh, but what else can he expect? Somethings clearly happened with the condition he’s in.

”What’s he doing here?” Phantom diverts the question, jabbing a finger towards Wes. “Are you in kahoots or something? You were both at the park.”

”And so what if I’m here?” Wes retorts. “You’re not looking too great. Shouldn’t you focus on that and telling Gra—Valerie where you’ve been? Hell, you’ve been gone since Wednesday!”

”Fine. For now, I’ll let it be.” Phantom folds his arms, a trace of a wince on his face as he clutches his left hand. 

“So? Where the hell were you?” She prompts, awaiting an answer. Something’s changed. Phantom seems more upfront this time, less withdrawn and hesitant in his responses.

”I got captured and was holed up in a lab. I mean, I knew it was gonna happen at one point but…” he trails off, looking over Amity’s skyline, “I think people might be closing in. Someone already found out. I told he-them, and they were the ones to let me go.”

”You mean they found the, the thing.” Valerie gaze averts to Wes. She has to tread carefully. Phantom isn’t aware she told Wes about the corpse and any wrong move could be brutal.

”They didn’t find it, no. They, uh..” Phantom rests a hand on the nape of his neck. “They found out stuff about my human life. And I filled in the blanks for them.”

“Alright.” Valerie nods, trying to come to terms with what he’s said. Someone captured him and held him prisoner. Sure, someone set him free but it doesn’t mean he’s not at risk. “Once they realise you’ve gone they’ll be out there looking for you. You can’t be seen in Amity.”

Phantom shakes his head. “That’s why I came here. I was hoping you could…help me?”

Valerie is stumped. What’s she supposed to do? She might be his only realm of support right now, but she’s not sure how she can help. For God’s sake she lives in a run down apartment with her father, not a place appropriate to refuge a ghost.

“You need somewhere to hideout while it blows over? I know a place. Ghost watching and tracking mysteries does have its benefits.” Wes offers.

Despite the offer, Phantom still regards him with suspicion, floating a little distance away. “You’re only saying that so then you know where I am. Knowing you, you’ll probably have bugged the place to high hell.”

“I wouldn’t!” Wes retaliates, sighing heavily. “Look. I know me being at the park made your ectoplasm boil, but I’m not here to cause harm. Surely you know that by now?”

Valerie only watches, intrigued. It sounds like the two have history, the direction the conversation is going in. Maybe Phantom is aware that Wes knows his identity? No. Wes wouldn’t continue with the ruse of not knowing about the corpse, if so. Why didn’t Wes tell her?

“I suppose.” Phantom frowns, folding his arms. “You haven’t posted on that stupid little blog in ages.”

Since when does Wes have a blog? Since when does Phantom keep track of it?

“Exactly. So for once in your afterlife, just trust me?“ Wes turns his head to her. “Valerie, can I have your phone?”

“You better explain what’s happened between you two.” She hisses under her breath.

Wes only nods, taking the phone in his hands. “I’ll explain it later. It’s nothing big, just something from when I started exploring Amity’s anomalies and stuff.”

”I’ll be the judge of that.” She retorts, watching as he presses numbers into the keypad, wondering who he’s calling.

”Why’d you need that?” Phantom tilts his head, watching with concern, “Who are you calling?”

Wes doesn’t respond, simply continuing to talk down the speaker, as if either of them aren’t present. There’s a bit of back and forth but eventually, he presses the hang up button and gives her phone back.

”I just called some who’s a big ghost advocate. She’s willing to have you stay in her house for a while. She lives in a big house so there’s plenty of room for you to haunt without being noticed. I didn’t say who you were or anything like that. Just that a ghost needs some place to stay to not be captured.”

”Alright.” Phantom hesitates. “That sounds alright. I’ve got space to stay out their way and they won’t know who I am. Who is she? Is it still in Amity?”

”Still in Amity.” Wes nods. There’s a tiny glimmer of hesitation in his eyes, but it’s gone so fast Valerie doubts it was there. “And the person is Sam Manson.”

”Sam. Sam Manson.” Phantom blanches. “I can’t stay there.” The ghost presses, almost a little to fast.

”Why not?” Wes retaliates, just as fast. “I mean, I clash with her myself, especially recently, but in your perspective, this should be fine. You’re a ghost. She advocates for ghosts. Surely you’ve seen her support petitions in the Amity forums and such? There’s no reason you should hesitate around her.”

”I have.” The ghost swallows. “I just..don’t think it would be a good idea.”

”Why?” Wes narrows his eyes, a little more forcefully this time. She can’t tell if he’s playing some inside sick joke with Phantom, or by playing on his doubts the ghost will have no choice but to go there.

Although, she does admit that the instant diversion to Sam Manson is strange. Maybe she reminds him of someone in his past life, and the memories are too painful?

”Okay.” Phantom sighs. “I’ll go.”

”We’ll come with you.” Valerie cuts in, take him aback, “—if you want us to.”

”I’d appreciate it.” The ghost smiles at her. However, when he turns to Wes, his eyes are cold with suspicion.

Chills prickle down her spine as Phantom drifts closer, his legs now a smoky pennant. His eyes shine like beacons at Wes, as if by staring at him long enough, he’ll uncover all the thoughts in his mind. 

Wes doesn’t falter, narrowing his own eyes in return.

Phantom gets closer, grabbing Wes’ shoulder as he drags him to the edge of the balcony, away from her earshot. Even so, the whispers still fracture the night’s silence.

I will find out what you’re playing at, Weston. Making me stay at Manson’s. I’ve been on edge enough to know you’re not clueless. 

“What other choice do you have?!” Wes retorts back, his eyes just as fiery with determination. “I don’t want you there either, but your options aren’t looking good. It’s this or the dissection table. Don’t even say you’ll run away. You’re too obsessed with this place!”

”Will you stop!” Frustration gathers in every fibre of her body, and she pulls Phantom’s hand off Wes’ shoulder, creating a physical barrier between them. “What’s the point in fighting? Phantom. Take us to Manson’s.”

“I uh—yes. Will do.” Dumbfounded, he wraps his arms around Wes and Valerie’s shoulders without another word, turning them invisible and launching off the balcony.

Ten minutes later, Valerie finds herself stood in an empty room of Sam Manson’s house—or rather, mansion. It’s exactly like Wes described. Spacious.

Unfortunately, Phantom’s cover had been blown right from the start, as he’d uncharacteristically flipped and decided to meet Sam. And that’s how they end up in a vast room, with Phantom pressed to the wall like a scared cat, and Sam doing double takes once every few minutes.

“So, you’re free to stay here however long you need. Just don’t come face to face with my parents or they will call the Fentons.” Sam finalises her explanation, putting her hands on her hips. A few seconds of tense silence overcast the room as she scrutinises the ghost, scanning him up and down.

”Uh sure. I’ll stay out the way.” Phantom trembles, his upfront facade from earlier with Wes completely diminished. Perhaps it’s because he’s nervous about meeting someone new. Or it’s something to do with Wes’ and his clash from earlier.

“A ghost haunting an attic.” Valerie echoes the irony, trying to alleviate the situation. Wes gives a light smirk and Sam lifts her shoulders, but there’s no response.

”Yeah. Ironic.” Phantom’s hand finds the back of his neck again, rubbing it awkwardly. Sam raises an eyebrow and suddenly Phantom’s eyes widen, and he draws his hand away from his neck, folding his arms together instead.

“Well.” The goth says awkwardly, eyes diverting from the ghost. Valerie didn’t think it was possible to reduce Sam Manson to stunned silence, but Phantom’s clearly achieved it.

And then suddenly, a noise pierces the room, echoing off the walls. She startles, as do Wes and Sam, scanning up the walls for any sign of an intruder. She can feel the urge to summon her ectogun, preparing to ward off Phantom’s capturers. Because logically, that’s who it has to be. They’ve noticed his absence and somehow traced him over Amity to here. 

Except…Phantom doesn’t seem alarmed. He just reaches into his pocket, pulling out a square object. 

The source of the noise. A phone.

”You have a phone?!” Valerie blurts, unable to stop herself.

”After everything, that’s what you’re most suprised about?” Phantom deadpans, some of that old wittiness coming back to light. Maybe it is just secondhand nerves at meeting Sam. She’s sure he’ll settle down soon enough.

”Who is it?” Wes inquires as Phantom glares.

”You probably know already.” The ghost drawls sardonically, flipping the phone open and holding it to his ear.

Valerie’s just as curious as to who he’s talking to. One of his former friends maybe? His family? He’s been missing since Wednesday and still disguises himself as a human. No doubt the people in his human life will be concerned about his absence.

Maybe she doesn’t have the foggiest about who Phantom is calling and what’s happening, but one thing is certain.

It is not good. The way his eyes lose the mischievous sparkle, replaced with an underlying horror, just like the vulnerability he’d shown in the forest when he’d confessed everything.

Raw terror is evident on Phantom’s face. 

There’s more silence as Phantom opens and closes his mouth, trying to comprehend whatever he’s been told. She debates whether to ask.

”What—what’s happened?” Sam Manson finally speaks up, her face aglow with obliviousness. She knows none of this.

”They—they. Oh fuck.” The phone lands on the floor with a clatter as Phantom puts his hands over his face.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally uncovers his hands, trembling all the while. His green eyes glimmer with unsaid traumas, as if he’s reliving moments which Valerie can’t even begin to imagine. 

He intakes a breath, barely able to shove the words through.

“They’ve found my body.”

Chapter Text

Sunday, 31st October 2004

Nothing in her can even begin to comprehend the situation she’s in now. Maddie grips her hands into fists, watching the skin turn pallid. Release. Again. 

Footsteps muffle in her ears from people clamouring by, a combination of police and normal citizens. She takes a swift glance around the room. Glimmers of confusion and slight contempt stare right back.

They’re probably here for something ghost related. Something that her and Jack should be managing. But instead they’re waiting for news of their discovery. Ironically, her and Jack are probably the only people here for something not ghost related.

“Mads—I can’t—it doesn’t feel real.” Jack sputters, taking in a heaving breath, clenching his hands together.

“I—neither.” Maddie blanches, thinking back to how excited they’d been to start their exploration with Haunt around Amity Park. It’d be doomed since the day she first set eyes on those stupid glowing flowers.

What had she been thinking? She can still remember holding up the packet of flowers excitedly after discovering the ghostly connection. Her going up to the police station, proposing the plan to try and locate bodies in Amity Park. 

“No wonder they all looked at me like that.” She voices aloud, slumping back on the chair. The poor receptionist had been taken aback, her eyes wide with shock as she simply nodded along. And then the other officers, who’d held their resolve, trying not to express their disbelief.

“A body, Jack. A real corpse.” She says, “I know we’ve got a…reputation. But this…what were we thinking?”

“Have we ever?” Jack mutters, tone lowered. “Have we ever stopped to think about what we’re doing? Taking Haunt out, we knew there’d be bodies. But what about the families? About the procedure with the bodies? The emotions? Maybe even the ghost itself?”

Maddie’s brought back to reality by a gentle thump on her thigh, Haunt’s swooping tail gently swaying back and forth. The cadaver dog sits in between them, head drawn between her paws, as if she too knows the gravity of the situation.

“We haven’t.” Her voice is lowered as she swipes a hand affectionately over Haunt’s ears. “But it’s not even just the families, nor the ghosts, Jack. What about—the body itself? Who are they? What happened?”

It shouldn’t be her and Jack sitting here in place of another family. Waiting for an inevitable outcome, for an officer to walk through the door to give closure about their loved one.

She'd give anything to have closure about Danny.

Then, their waiting is over. Maddie watches as the metal door slams, sending a tremor through the walls. Olivia emerges, her eyes scanning through the small waiting room. From first glance, Maddie thinks her friend doesn’t look too jarred, if anything, a little flustered at the whole ruckus of yesterday afternoon.

Who is she kidding? The last time Maddie had seen Olivia was at the footpath, just at the start of the glade. The way Olivia bounded over, eyes flicking between Haunt, Maddie and Jack. The way her mouth quirked up into a little grin, ready to ease the tension. Because deep down even she didn’t believe Maddie and Jack’s lucrative idea of ghost flowers and corpses.

Until now.  

Olivia had been the first person Maddie had called. Because when Haunt had started sniffing the floor, barking like mad, it was just an anomaly. She’d sniffed something else, an animal bone, perhaps. Maybe she was out of practice. Maybe a lack of routine had thrown her training out of equilibrium. 

But Olivia’s smile had fallen quickly as soon as she’d noticed Haunt. Years of experience, and even with Amity’s large lack of cold cases meaning there was no need for Olivia’s one-woman and corpse-dog companion, she saw it right away.

The grim expression on her face had said enough to dissolve the denial right there. 

And then a flash of blue lights later, swarms of forensics dressed in white, trampling over the grasses, over the tiny white flowers which twinged a spark of familiarity deep within. The shovels hadn’t even touched the ground before they were escorted out, an officer telling them to go home and that they’d want her and Jack at the station in the morning.  

Jazz was sat at the dinner table when they got back, face stricken white. She didn’t say anything, and neither did they. Only when they trailed up the stairs had Maddie turned and dolefully announced the grim discovery. She swore she’d seen Jazz’s face turn paler — paler than a corpse.

And now they’re loitering in a police station, Olivia approaching, folder in hand. 

“So?” Jack prompts, probably internally imploding. “Who is it?”

”We…we don’t know.” Olivia hesitates, clenching the file in her hand. “Uh..it’s male. About five-one. They’re being testy with this case, can’t blame ‘em.” Her eyes divert to the metal door. “They’re only letting me know about this because I were there.”

”Because of the amount of crime?” Maddie questions.

”Aye. There’s not many cases flyin’ about here, and if they was to give out details it’d jeopardise it.” 

It makes sense, Maddie supposes. But the secrecy of it makes her spine prickle. Something must be very bad if the authorities are keeping it silent.

“Do we get…context?” Maddie asks, as Olivia fusses with the corner of the folder, her gaze averted. Haunt watches them both, dark eyes focused.

“They reckon it’s recent, six months or so? But the stuff about it...it’s odd.”

”Odd? How?”

”Maddie, y’know I can’t…although some Fenton expertise would be helpful.”

”Ghosts!” Jack nearly yells, whole posture unfurling like a coiled spring. 

“Aye, Jack. Ghosts.” Olivia sighs, her whole posture deflated as she rubs a hand to her face. “I can’t…”

But her friend doesn’t need to explain. Maddie already knows the reason for her hesitance—they’re the Fentons. The trigger friendly, too keen-with-a-scalpel duo of Amity Park with scientific knowledge of ghosts that advances the average citizen. Or at least, used to. Maddie’s not sure where the accuracy of their research lies now.

Don’t think like that. Think with what you know. 

“You think a ghost murdered this person?” says Maddie. And for some reason, her mind traipses back to Phantom.

Briefly, she locks eyes with Jack, his mouth drawn in a grimace. Phantom still locked and captured in their basement. Danny missing. It’s been much longer than that, though.

Danny’s been ‘missing’ for months. He might’ve been physically present, but has he ever really been there? Her sweet boy, full of laughter and promises of being an astronaut. And now? Ever since the portal he’s been treading lightly, his presence cold and foreboding, absent more times than not.

And the table incident, because Maddie refuses to call it anything else, had been the realisation. He’s not the same. He’s not the same because of Phantom.

What if Phantom killed Danny? What if Phantom accidentally exposing itself made it kill Danny, knowing its disguise was now useless?

“Olivia.” Her mouth is dry. She can’t think. “Is the body, is that my Danny?”

”Mads!” Jack yelps, his eyes wide with horror, “It can’t be him. You know it isn’t.  It’s been there six months.”

Oh. She shakes her head. Not Danny. It isn’t. Danny went missing Wednesday, not months ago.

”You sure you don’t want me to make a report?” Olivia asks, turning her head to watch some officers walk across the reception and attend to other people. 

“Not yet, Liv.” Jack clarifies, and Maddie’s grateful. Her stomach is filled with dread, her heart pounding. There’s no words.

”’Ads, I promise you. It ain’t your boy. The body, they think it belongs to a ghost—a human who became one. It’s got ectoplasm in it. Nothing of it makes sense.”

“Ectoplasm?!” The incredulity is enough to take Maddie out of her stupor. She stands up, pacing. “So that’s why you can’t let us help? You think we’re responsible.”

”You know I don’t think that.” Olivia pales, stepping towards them as Haunt whines. “You’re my friends. But it’s protocol.”

“Couldn’t it just be ectocontamination from before they died?” Maddie tries, before pausing. “No. Six months, that’s before the ghosts. Not the GIW, then.” 

Olivia flicks through the folder, coming to a stop on a page. Maddie desperately wishes she could read it. 

“Before the ghosts…” Jack echoes, fingers still sifting through Haunt’s fur. “Someone had access to ectoplasm before the portal was even opened.”

”The body has a at least fifty-percent concentration of ectoplasm within.” Olivia traces the page whilst reading aloud. 

“Fifty percent?” Maddie whispers, her stomach filling with dread again. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

“Olivia!” The yell that reverberates off the small waiting room walls is stern, cold. Maddie watches as her friend turns, the paper folder curling under her grip. 

“Shit.” 

“You better not be spilling any of our new case to the Fenton’s, even if they were the ones who found that poor soul in the park.” The detective says, narrowing his eyes at Olivia.

“We’re right here.” Maddie counters, folding her arms. “We were not responsible. Why would we ask for a grand to help fund our research? Why would we ask for a corpse dog if it would be directly incriminating?”

”We may be incompetent but we aren’t murderers!” Jack adds at the end. 

“I don’t think they was capable, either.” Olivia steels herself. “You know that, James.”

As much as Maddie feels honoured by Olivia defending them, she can’t help but think this puts her career in jeopardy.

”Perhaps not. Too…ridiculous to pull off such a crime.” The supposed James responds, pushing his glasses up his nose. He’s stocky with mousy hair, dressed in official uniform. A far cry from Maddie and Jack in their neon jumpsuits.

No wonder no one takes us seriously. Well, perhaps the outfits weren’t the issue, rather the research. They hadn’t taken any of it seriously. The silene latfolia were nothing more than a fun theory for them, she realised. And now?

Now Danny was missing, Phantom in their basement and a body in Amity’s morgue.

”Come with me, please. I’m Detective James Reid. We’ll need an interview given the circumstances.” James beckons both her and Jack, gesturing down the corridor of the waiting room. 

Hesitantly, Maddie follows, Jack grabbing Haunt’s leash and trailing behind. She can feel the people watching them as they walk, surveillance on their backs.

The office is small but welcoming, sunlight streaming through frosted glass windows. Three seats are circled around a table, a flower of white flowers placed on the table. She wonders briefly if they’re the corpse flowers.

James shuts the door before taking a seat opposite of the other two. Maddie obliges as Jack does the same, releasing his hold on the dog lead.

She watches as Haunt saunters up to James, nuzzling against his hand as if familiar.

“I know, Haunt. I’m very proud of you for your discovery. You did well.” The detective murmurs to the German Shepherd before clearing his throat, straightening up. “I take it Olivia filled you in with the details?”

”Yes.” Maddie responds, “But she only did because we asked her. She isn’t in trouble, is she?”

”Well, usually, she would be. But given everything about this case is quite frankly, ludicrous, I think the department would’ve resorted to your theories anyway. But if you are involved, we will find out. Poor kid deserves that much.”

“A child?” 

Again, to the point she’s lost count, Maddie feels numb. The corpse they found was a child. A child dumped in a shallow grave on the edge of a park. Unmarked. Unseen. 

“Yes. We believe the remains are that of a male teenager between the ages of thirteen to fifteen. He was wrapped in a tarp.” James’ voice is formal, but there’s a shaky edge to it.

”Do you know who he is?” Jack barely utters, dumbfounded. Both of them are.

They shouldn’t be receiving this news. It should be the real parents of the poor boy in the park. Then again, what does that say about the parents? Their teenage son buried, forgotten. Walked by—possibly even on top of—on the daily, but never noticed.

What if one day, her and Jack receive this news about Danny? He’s still missing. She should file a report. She should.

Admit that Phantom’s in their lab and that he’s somehow connected to her son and that Danny’s been acting up and how his eyes went green and it was so so cold, he couldn’t be that thing. And now he’s missing and she doesn’t know if he’s alive or if he’s dead or if that evil monster Phantom did something—

“We believe the remains found in the park belong to Phantom.”

Everything shifts. Maddie can’t believe what she’s hearing. It can’t be. 

Phantom is a victim. He’s a victim. A child, wrapped in a tarp and buried in the park. The child she has locked up in her laboratory.

But he’s still the ghost. The monster that overshadowed her son, made him into that evil, venomous eyed thing. No, Phantom isn’t the victim. Ghosts are just echoes — echoes of a traumatic death.

The boy he once was is the victim in this.

Chapter Text

Monday, 1st November 2004

Twenty years she’s been a police dog handler for Amity Park. It’s never been the most…invigorating of jobs, with a dead body being as common as the number of ghost believers six months prior.

But now, Olivia doesn’t even know where to begin.

She sits at her kitchen table, musing over a notebook of very brief scribbles about Phantom, and known facts about the corpse so far. It’s only speculation that the body belongs to Phantom (or once did), but Reid had informed her that it wouldn’t take long for forensics to muster something up.

Body discovered by Haunt (DG#5) at approximately 3:45pm on 30th October, a Saturday. It was located twenty yards north-west of the park entrance, bordered by a glade of trees to the west. Soil shows some recent signs of disturbance, scratch marks and previous overturning of turf. White flowers were observed dotted around the scene (see “Silene Latfolia”) of possible ectoplasmic origin.

Body is that of a deceased male, approximately 12-15 years old, predicted to have died four months to a year ago. Initial measurements show his height at five-one and a weight of 60lb. Decomposition started to occur, with the stomach cavity significantly deteriorated. Signs of burning to the left arm up to the chest and neck. Dressed in some sort of lab attire, white with black trim; gloves, belt and boots.

And even then, what they know of Phantom is very little.

She’s interrupted by a harsh whine and scratching against the tile, and looks down to see Tilda peering at her, ears pricked.

“You’re hungry, ain’t you?” Olivia asks her retired police dog.

Tilda whines, nudging her hand. Of course. She probably misses Haunt, too.

“What am I gonna do, huh?” She echoes, taking the box of dog food from the cupboard before pouring it into the bowl. Tilda makes a dash for it. Amity’s never experienced such a serious case as this. It’s already over mainstream media, television, everything.

Yet, Phantom’s absence had been alerted days before the body was found. Olivia would understand if he’d gone into hiding now, unwilling to be interrogated, but for it to be days prior? Unless he’s a mind reader, something doesn’t sit right.

She flicks over from the corpse notes to the small list of tasks needing completion. By no means is Olivia a detective, but Reid had allowed some leverage for involvement in the case. 

Getting into the daily life, overhearing the gossip and habits at the park. Had anyone ever encountered Phantom, what was the local gossip about his circumstances? The like.

Luckily, she’s already sorted in that department.

“Mom, am I staying at dad’s tomorrow?” Amy enters the room, backpack lugged over her shoulder, phone in the other. “He’s asking if he needs to get food.”

“Aye, you are. But he should have food already…” Olivia sighs, exhausted, watching Tilda wolf down her bowl. The joys of co-parenting.

Amy begins typing on the tiny buttons, probably arranging a sleepover in a matter of moments.

“Amy—“

“Come on, I haven’t slept over in ages!”

“No, I need you to do something.” Olivia prompts. She doesn’t usually allow frequent sleepovers, but it could be beneficial…

“Like what?”

“That Phantom kid, y’know him?”

“Yeah! Super popular. Everyone thinks he’s cool. There’s this girl called Paulina, I think she’s obsessed.”

Well. She never thought her career would turn out this way, but here she is. Measly teenage gossip about a dead child.

“Well, sounds good. See if you can get anything else ‘bout him?”

“Is this because of the…?” Amy points to the newspaper on the dining room table, not even saying the word. 

“Maybe.” Olivia’s never had enough cases to discuss with her daughter, let alone even had the want too. Yet this…blows everything out of the water. 

“Oh so, like, investigating stuff?” Amy’s eyes brighten, she bounces on her toes. “Can I do a job like yours?”

“Ease it up, sweet.” She puts her palms out. “Just some info I need about the kid. It builds me a better picture of how he’s seen, all the rumours you can get.”

The second she enters Amity Morgue, Olivia wishes she could walk right back out. She’s only ever been in twice beforehand; the first for her induction day all those years ago, and a body Tilda had found nearly a decade prior.

Sure there’s all the usual cases here, but never one unearthed from the fucking park.

Reid’s stood in the lobby when she enters, and for that’s she’s glad. One familiar face, at least. 

One thing Olivia’s come to learn about James Reid in the seven years he’s been in Amity is he’s always unreadable. Yet, now she notices the falter in the small smile he greets her with.

”Charlton.” Reid nods, quick.

”Reid.” She acknowledges back, both of them walking through the main corridor into the mortuary. “What’s happenin’ today?”

”No autopsy yet, by the looks of it.” He provides, pushing the door open, hesitating slightly.

Olivia notices that, too. And then her stomach drops as they enter the autopsy room.

There’s a singular, cold, metal bed in the centre of the room, covered in a white sheet. The clearly defined shape of a body underneath. Cabinets border the walls, stuffed with files and paper. 

A small sink stuffed in the corner, a metal trolley parked besides. Surgical instruments laid upon a tray like a charcuterie board. Olivia feels her legs go numb.

”We’ll need to wait until the rest get here.” Reid gestures to the doors. “Another ghost fight blocked the roads.”

Of course. No Phantom, no ability to stop the infrastructural damage or ghosts themselves. She doesn’t doubt Maddie and Jack are ran off their feet right now, trying to stop every aggressive entity in Amity whilst also worrying about their missing son. 

How long has he been missing for? Olivia’s sure it’s since Wednesday. Of course, it’s not really her business, rather a topic that Maddie vents down the phone to her. Understandable, given the anecdotes she’s heard of Danny.

Constantly skipping school and never on time for any assignments. Always appearing ragged and worn down, as if he’s never able to catch a break. But when actually implemented into one-on-one support, Maddie said he’d flourished.

It’s worrying. Olivia thinks, spine prickling. The whole police department up in arms about Phantom’s alleged body, a potential missing kid none of them know about. 

File a report. Olivia stores that in her mental storage to do for later. She knows Maddie and Jack are reluctant, but Olivia can’t stand the thought of not doing anything.

…why haven’t they reported Danny missing in the first place?

"Charlton, Reid! Good to see you both!" A prim voice cuts right through Olivia's concerns as Isabel Marshall, the pathologist, rounds the corner of the shiny metal table, a large grin on her face.

Far too enthusiastic, Olivia thinks, considering there's the lump of a body smuggled under a blanket not even a foot behind her. 

Then again, it’s not the happiest of jobs.

"How's the...case coming along?" Olivia tilts her head as Reid shuffles awkwardly to her left. He's fixated on the glint of the metal table, eyes never left the shape. 

For a second, Marshall pauses, twisting around to look at Reid's line of sight. Perhaps she can't say anything until the rest of the team are here? Olivia doesn't know the protocol in the morgue. All her experience is Tilda and Haunt.

"It's...interesting." Marshall bites her lip. "I’ve tried to do the autopsy, yet…”

Olivia blinks. She looks to the pristine white blanket, cleanly folded with no sign of disturbance. The tray of instruments are arranged in neat rows, no sign of blood.

“What do you mean, tried?” Reid finally comes out of his trance, just as flabbergasted as Olivia.

What has Marshall been doing the past day? Staring into space?

”Well.” Marshall walks to the top of the table, placing her hands on the edge where Olivia approximates the shoulders to be. “It seems our body here has some…regenerative abilities.”

“Like a zombie?” Reid looks seven shades paler than usual.

“Not quite. More like a healing factor. I’d started an incision at the sternum, turned to get equipment from the tray. And then it’d started healing up straight away. So I don’t doubt there’s some ghostly connection occurring here.”

”That explains the ectoplasm.” Reid mumbles, folding his arms.

”And the HAZMAT material.” Isabel grimaces, her mouth a thin line. “The actual material comes from a company in Minnesota—on the label. I asked them if they’d seen a design for it before, but it wasn’t their work.”

”So, someone ordered in bulk and handmade?” Olivia responds.

”It would appear that way, yes.” The pathologist nods, fingers gripping the edge of the material covering the body.

”We should wait for the rest of the team.” Reid mumbles, head turning towards the frosted glass doors. A way of deflecting the big reveal, Olivia supposes. She doesn’t really want to see what’s under that blanket either.

Of course she’d seen it on the day it got unburied from the park, but not splayed out on a metal table. Rather a glimpse of white and black shrouded in a muddy tarpaulin.

”What about the tarp?” Olivia asks, looking around the room. She half expects it to be crammed into one of the various cabinets.

”Still away for tests.” Marshall responds. “I’d rather explain it now to you both, and then explain it again later to the rest. It’s just…ridiculous.”

“I think that’s one of the only things we definitely know.” Reid grumbles besides her, his eyes scanning down the length of the table, “Just best to get it over with, Marshall.”

”Fine.” The pathologist flicks her hand and saunters to the side where the tray of tools are. “When I managed to make an incision—before it healed itself, that is—all organs seem to be in the right place, except there’s an…orb? Next to the heart, in the centre of his chest.”

”An…orb?” Olivia can’t help the underwhelming tone that cuts through her voice. Surely a body allegedly healing itself is more baffling?

“What, like a pacemaker?” Reid quirks a brow, “Not impossible, but he’s a bit young.”

“No.” Marshall responds. “Not that. But I’ve no clue what it is.”

A round object in the boys chest that not even Isabel, years more experienced than her, can figure out. It’s not a medical implement, not any type of large bullet or the like.

(It’s Amity Park, large spherical bullets could definitely exist).

After half the weapons she’s seen Jack and Maddie conjure up, Olivia can’t dismiss it. The debrief had mentioned a HAZMAT suit.

“That material…lab stuff. You reckon he could’ve been experimented on?” Olivia folds her arms, trying to suppressing the horror simmering within. “You did say it had ectoplasm in it?”

“That too.” Marshall frowns, glancing down at the blanket. “Usually I wouldn’t expect any blood, definitely not at this stage. But he’s…very well preserved, except for the stomach area, obviously.”

Olivia doesn’t think it’s very obvious considering there’s no reason for that part to be decomposed if the rest of him is preserved, but pushes it aside. No skeleton then, not like the last case in ‘93.

The body of a man in the undergrowth, there for years. By the time Tilda had alerted her, there was nothing but measly bones, ragged clothing dirty and torn. Hollow eye sockets staring at her. Teeth like tiny rows of yellowed pearls. A gaping hole fractured at the base of the skull.

Forensics had swept in, all striped tape and police lights with their shovels and millions of plastic bags. She’d asked Smith, leading the case at that time, for updates.

Last she’d heard, progress was still a cardboard box in the damp basement.

Not this time. Olivia swallows. This boy is, what, twelve? Thirteen? Similar to her Amy.

If this was Amy…no. She doesn’t let herself finish that line of thought.

Nothing about him is right. The lab attire he’s wearing, the alleged ectoplasm concentration, how well preserved it is for being in the ground with nothing but a tarp. The fucking orb .

Olivia knows the possible range it—he’s— been in the ground for bypasses the formation of the GIW by months. The ghosts started coming out in droves by April.

“How long did you say it were there for, again?” Olivia rubs the bridge of her nose, trying to recall the case file given to her.

“Well the debrief says four months, but now I’ve… attempted a more thorough look, I’d put it at a minimum of seven months.”

Seven months. Shit. Before Maddie and Jack’s portal, then. Definitely before any ghosts.

More like around the time of it.

“Before the ghosts.” Reid sighs, slumping, “Ectoplasm in a body that was buried before the ghosts even got here.”

“Or maybe—“ Marshall hesitates, which is the first time Olivia’s ever seen her reluctant, “—maybe it was the same time as the ghosts coming to Amity.”

”Experimentation, surely.” Reid backtracks to Olivia’s earlier theory. “It just…fits.”

Her stomach drops like a stone, legs numb as anaesthetic. It’s one of those theories always thrown around in the movies and stupid sci-fi stuff Olivia’s never bothered with. But this?

This is potentially a boy being experimented on in relation to the ecology field. A boy who’s been concealed in their public park for months, with no clue of the perpetrator. 

A perpetrator who could still be out there, instigating other experiments.

And then it clicks. The orb.

”I ever tell you about that ectobiology course I did back in Madison? How I met Maddie n’ Jack, actually.”

“You what?” Reid twists to face her, “I thought you did forensics?”

“Aye. But before that it was ectobiology. Then I switched halfway through first semester.” 

As much as Olivia was intrigued by the thought of ghosts at the time, her parents were adamant that there was no viable career in something that didn’t exist. So they’d insisted she change to a course which would “give her a future”.

Now thinking about Maddie and Jack’s large townhouse and their infinite governmental funding, Olivia isn’t so sure that was the right decision.

“The theories wasn’t as developed back then but the basic stuff, that was the “structure” of a ghost. And even then they was talking about the idea of a…control? Something central in a ghost that makes ‘em act the way they do. Maddie n’ Jack published a paper about it recently. A core, of sorts.”

“A core, that controls a ghost. A central part.” Marshall echoes, looking down at the body. “Our human body here has a ghost…organ?”

”Experimentation.” Reid says in a tone that Olivia’s usually heard reserved on television conferences. A finality. 

It all points to that. Olivia folds her arms, the bench cutting into her back. It’s the most logical option, what, with Amity Park always seen as a hotspot before the ghost issues. They’ve got not-so-secret cults naive to being under police watch, a government agency that publicly broadcasts its experiments on ghosts. A backyard experiment is no different.

Yet, Marshall’s furrowed brow and pursed lips tells that she’s not the only one in doubt.

Without warning, the pathologist tugs the sheet up and off the body, folding it around the waist. 

Olivia can’t help how her body recoils, eyes clenching shut as a bitter sharp scent infuses the air. It might’ve been far and few between the deaths she’s experienced, but the stench of decay never leaves.

This is different. It’s bitter, yet sweet, like the aftermath of the janitor and five rounds of cleaning solution in her old high school locker room. And…familiar.

Somewhere to her left, Reid sputters a noise like an old car engine.

“That’s ectoplasm, right?” She says, gaze still averted.

“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner!” Marshall drawls. “I can’t show you anything if you don’t look.”

So Olivia finally dares herself to, and immediately regrets it. She understands Reid’s noise now.

It really is just a kid. A small slight kid, the skin sallow and shrivelled against bone. Really, he mustn’t have weighed much in life.

She has memories of being young, her and her father at the kitchen table, plucking and cutting up the chickens for a meal. Pale flesh, the crunch of skinny bones.

His black hair, Olivia once assumes fluffy like raven feathers, is nothing but withered and dry like a leftover harvest crop. And the smell.

Unmistakably ectoplasm. Just like the sickeningly sweetened air of Jack and Maddie’s lab. 

“So…cause of death? Could you get that without the autopsy?” Reid finally musters. These last minutes are the most emotional Olivia’s ever seen him.

“What do you take me for?” Marshall quirks a brow as she snaps on gloves, but her grimace betrays her horror. 

Olivia watches as the pathologist carefully peels back a spindly arm—the left one—from where it’s been rested by his side. It’s skinny and gaunt like the rest of him, but a black glove reaches just below the elbow. The fingers , are clenched together.

“It’s…tough,” Marshall’s shoulders tense, trying to pry the fingers apart as if there’s something precious hidden within, “But I managed to find it.”

“The jumpsuit ain’t the same colour there.” Olivia points, gesturing to where the glove cuts off and the white fabric runs up the shoulder. 

“Exactly what got me suspicious.” Marshall looks up mid-pry, “The rest of it’s pretty clean since it was wrapped in a tarp, but his left arm being…sootier…Aha!”

In the midst of the palm, Olivia expects to see the rest of the glove, maybe some sort of wire or weird contraption.

”Why’s it silver?” Reid glances up at Marshall.

Marshall only shakes her head, carefully lifting the dead weight of an arm up, facing the palm in their line of sight. 

Or what was his palm. There’s a hole blasted right through his hand, that Olivia can make out the blue of Marshall’s plastic gloves on the other side. 

”And there’s this.” Marshall starts rolling the sleeve down, which reveals a significant lightning-like pattern branching upwards, Olivia presumes up his shoulder and to the chest.

“Lichtenberg. Electrocution.” Olivia fills in for the pathologist. 

She’s shocked by how much that confirmation doesn’t surprise her. At least, it opens the opportunity for misadventure to be considered.

”Phantom’s always avoided lightning.” Reid utters, as if he’s still trying to come to terms, “Remember that storm a few months back? One of the juniors found him under a car in the parking lot.”

”Aye.” Olivia nods. That’d been staff room gossip for weeks.

She knows it’s stupid to reason the body ‘being Phantom’ on an aversion to lightning, but there’s plenty other evidence that begins to pile up. The matching outfits, his age, the lack of records.

Not to forget—Olivia sneaks a look at the boy’s face—the resemblance is haunting. As if someone had taken the body and inverted the colours to create Phantom.

”Is that it done, then?” Reid questions Marshall, bringing Olivia out of her thoughts.

”For now, yes.” Marshall confirms, pulling the sheet back over the body, “But I’ll probably be at this for a while.”

As soon as they’re out of the morgue and into the narrow, cold corridor, Olivia lets out a heavy sigh. Reid brings a hand to his face, resting against the wall.

”I need a coffee.” Is his only remark. “You coming?”

“Nah.” Olivia waves him off, “There’s somethin’ else that needs doing.”

”Oh?”

”Aye.” Olivia doesn’t elaborate any further, finding the floor much more interesting. She’d rather send her suspicions about Danny Fenton through the official channels than spread office gossip.

”Alright.” Reid seems to garner to implications. He lifts hands and nods. “I’ll see you later then.”

Olivia shoves her hands into her pockets, walking down the corridor in the direction of the front desk. She can feel Reid’s confused stare on her back.

It’s always been part of her usual routine to saunter up to the desk and chat to the receptionists. Freya and Karl are always good company.

But deep down she knows it’s nothing like normal. 

The reception is exactly as she saw it last week, a large wooden counter spread the length of one wall, surrounded by frosted glass. Only Freya is on duty, typing on the computer, shoulder balancing a phone.

Olivia lets her gaze drift to the corkboard fitted to the left of the desk. Mainly advertisements for dog walking, a few of the “Caspar Cheer Group” that Amy attends. A poster for the new cafe they still need to try out.

A laminated poster fixed with push pins. Olivia blanches, thinking of Danny.

MISSING

An image of a woman from Elmerton, the usual details of appearance and contacts. She sighs when noticing the small “found” banner beneath it.

Maddie’s always talked on their phone calls about how concerned she is about Danny. Ever since midway through his freshman year, something made him recoil back and shut down. Now he’s barely around and always flunks his lessons.

Maddie’s concern had always seemed genuine, so Olivia can’t understand it. Why haven’t they reported him missing? Especially with prior concerns?

If that was Amy, she’d not only report it, but she’d be out there on the field herself. Searching every corner of Amity, no stone unturned.

And that’s the implication really, isn’t it? It makes her stomach turn. Olivia’s known Maddie and Jack for years. 

They wouldn’t hurt their son. Would they?

”Hey Liv. Need any help?” She doesn’t even realise that Freya’s finished with her task and off the phone, blinking up at her expectantly.

”Uh.” She states, dumbfounded. “I think so.”

”Well? I’m free to anything after that call. If I have to hear anything about another damn ghost attack—“

”—I need to report a missing person!”

Now it’s Freya’s turn to look dumbfounded. Certainly, the large swathes of ghost related incidents have been her career for the last six months. This is new. Unexpected.

”A missing person? Who?”

Olivia swallows. She’s dropping Maddie and Jack right in it. Especially with suspicions surrounding them right now, what with the poor kid in the park.

But their son is missing. And it could be them responsible. 

She looks at Freya again. Hesitates. No doubt everything changes from this moment on.

”I think Danny Fenton in missing.”