Something Wrong
I sluggishly rise from my bed. I need to get up now if I want to get breakfast going. With my unnaturally slim build and sluggish movements, which are both reminiscent of a zombie, I throw something baggy and comfortable on and slump downstairs, not bothering to touch my crazy black hair. Switching on the lights, I'm promptly blinded before slowly forcing my eyes open and steadily getting used to the brightness. Curse those lights, curse mornings, and curse my family for their lack of knowledge on cooking. Still in autopilot mode, I pull out some bowls and the necessary ingredients to make pancakes. Dad loves my pancakes, so I always make sure to cook a lot of them.
By the time there are movements above me, I am on my last batch, and almost completely awake. I hum to myself as I set the table.
"Danny?" mom asks, her voice still stiff from lack of use. Her short red hair is a mess and she's still in her purple and yellow ghost pajamas. Normally she would be fully-dressed, but she and Dad had been up late last night working on… something ghost hunter/science related. It's hard to keep track of what they're doing sometimes.
"Morning!" I chirp, flipping over the last of the pancakes onto the already-impressive pile. "Is Dad coming down soon?"
"Um-" she murmurs, still confused. "Yes, he should be right down."
"Okay, better get started before he gets here then."
Slowly mom walks to the table and sits down; I quickly follow. "These are really good, Danny," she says, sounding almost surprised. I push it off as still waking up, but accept the praise all the same. Dad lumbers down a bit later. It's hard not to spot the mammoth of a man. If his size doesn't catch your eye then his black hair, strong jaw, booming voice, orange jumpsuit and ever-present smile will. Of course, half of that is not possible at the moment. It's Monday, after all, and (a lot like me) he's sluggish and not all-there. It doesn't stop him from taking seven pancakes right off the bat, however.
I barely pay any attention when Jazz joins us. She's dressed and pressed, ready for school with her long red hair held back with a headband. She's wearing jeans and her black long-sleeved sweater with one of her many psychology or mental-help health books in hand. She actually keeps her nose out of her book in order to eat for once. I finally notice her when she exclaims rather loudly, and very surprised, "These are really good Mom."
"Yes, Danny did an excellent job," Mom says still sounding somewhat confused.
"Wait, you made this, Danny?" Jazz asks incredulously. I look up to see her pointing at her plate with a rather astonished look.
"Yes," I say slowly, not understanding why she's acting this way. I do this every morning.
"Since when do you know how to cook?"
I open my mouth to say something sarcastic, but stop short. Damn, I did it again. I struggled to come up with some way to explain how I had magically learned how to cook, all the while silently praying that the thing that randomly makes me a good liar would activate.
"I found a recipe online and wanted to surprise you?" I speak slowly, the lie falling heavily from my tongue. Thankfully my parents were not too observant even on a good day and promptly went back to their meals. The same could not be said for Jazz.
My overbearing sister spends the rest of breakfast shooting me worried looks. As great as it is that she cares, I don't want her pestering me. I had been keeping this on the down-low for years, for fear of how she would react if she, or anyone figured it out. It wasn't hurting anyone and whatever it was always went away.
I hurry to finish my meal and take my leave before she has a chance to catch me alone. I have a bit of time so I took a scenic route to school before meeting my posse, also known as Tucker and Sam, outside Casper High. It's always good to combine forces before being plunged into battle.
"So where were you last night, man?" My dark-skinned nerd friend Tucker asked after normal greetings and small talk.
"Yeah, and what was with that text?" Sam asked, dressed head-to-toe in black, showing off her plainly feminine figure and her goth subculture.
"What do you mean?" I had texted them to let them know I had finished my nightly patrol for rival and dangerous ghosts and was safely home. It was something we did in case I was ever captured while they were sleeping. It had happened more times then I cared to admit.
"All the emojis. I thought you hated those?" Tucker asks, pulling out his PDA…wait, no…his phone, and shows me the text from me. It was three emojis back-to-back. I narrowed my eyes, worry seeping into my gut.
"I –uh- must have pocket-dialed you or something," I stutter before quickly changing the subject.
Tucker and Sam give me a concerned look but do not press, deciding to give me my space. Instead, they get into one of their petty arguments about Tucker's colorful wardrobe of yellow-and-green versus Sam's monochrome. Tuning them out of my mind, shifting to moments earlier: That text. I remember sending it and it was code. A code Tucker, Sam, and I had made up before I had become part-ghost and began defending my town. Nowadays it was all we used to communicate in our texts.
But, at the same time, I remember how I hate emojis because they became popular right after the accident that gave me my powers. While I had been in the hospital everyone and their mother kept texting me, but they didn't know what to say, so they would just keep sending me emojis.
Wait, I hadn't been hospitalized after the accident. Me, Tucker and Sam hid in my room and pretended nothing had happened.
No, I had definitely gone to the hospital after that. Mom had heard me scream and demanded I go.
No wait, no one was home that day. That was how Sam and Tucker had talked me into taking them to the lab to check out the ghost portal which, of course, ended with my getting blasted and becoming part-ghost… or had I invited them?
Briiiiiing!
The bell for class jolts me out of my confusing thoughts. I'm getting concerned now; this is not normal. Well, not normal for me. I'm used to ghosts attacking me, my town, my family and friends; I'm used to getting new powers that can act up in the most awkward and embarrassing moment so I'd have to fight to get them under control and keep them hidden; I'm used to my parents' weapons fixating on me or messing with my parents, which would cause the powers I had only just mastered to start to glitch.
Heck, I was even used to remembering things that had technically never happened. I am not used to being confused by them, however. I have always known what was real and what had never happened. Sometimes when I'm tired or stressed I'd forget, but not when I'm awake and very much present in my mind.
Moving at our own pace, my friends and I make our way to class. We're already late, why start rushing now?
"Danny, are you okay?" Sam asks worriedly, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"Yeah, you look a little pale, man," Tucker joins in.
I bite my lip slightly. I can't tell them, can I? I had never told them about my...confusion, just brushed it off as a prank, joke, or lack of sleep, but they are my friends. I trust them with my ghost powers and superhero identity, along with all the problems that come with it. Why can't I trust them with this? "Did you guys convince me to take you into the lab during the accident or did I offer to show it to you?" I ask, setting on a compromise.
"You offered to show us," Tucker said immediately. "But Sam talked you into going into the portal. So you were inside the machine when it turned on."
That isn't right. I'm fascinated by it… Right? I can't remember. No, I can remember, but I also remember something else. Our conversation ends as we enter the classroom.
The day drags on, like it normally does during school. Tucker and Sam's constant worried glances don't make time travel any faster, but at least they know better than to approach me about it. They know when to give me my space, and I am very space-y today. My mind seems to twirl and shift. I am so distracted that if Tucker and Sam were not guiding me I would have walked into the wrong class at least three times. This, of course, does not lessen their worry for me.
I am an easy target for Dash and the other jocks. I am bulldozed aside as they plow me over six times, tripped three times, and stuffed into my locker once. Oh, how I long to transform and blast them in the face with some scorching hot ectoplasm. Maybe walk into their bodies, overshadow them and make them do something incredibly embarrassing. But I have a secret identity and my partaking in such petty revenge would lead me nowhere good. I know that for a fact. So instead I turn invisible, phase out of my locker like it isn't there before reappearing somewhere neutral and going on my way. One good thing about being unpopular is that no one ever really pays attention to me.
It really is the best when I want to keep something big (like ghost powers) secret. The last thing I need is some government cronies, independent scientists, or other crazies coming after me, which is exactly what would happen if anyone found out about my powers. Thankfully, the few that had figured out my secret so far were also greedy and didn't tell anyone in order to lessen the competition. So, yes, I can take a bit of roughhousing if it means I won't get caught and locked in a cage for the rest of my life.
Not that everyone shared these thoughts. Sam and even Tucker look ready to hit someone if queen bee Paulina so much as insults me, which happens more often than I would like to admit. They keep quiet for the sake of not drawing attention, but that doesn't mean they like it. I know if Sam had her way she would kick them all in the nuts, and if Tucker had his half the school would barricade themselves in their rooms and not come out in sheer embarrassment of the public humiliation that said techno-geek would rain down upon them.
And I would do no less for them. Probably more. It's no secret the three of us are close, too close sometimes. But once again, no one pays attention to the freak trio… Or is it the loser trio? …Troublesome trio?
Great, now I'm back where I started. One more class till lunch, two more classes after that and we're done for the day... if I don't get another detention that is. Sometimes I W-word that the teachers would ignore me more.
Gosh, there was something wrong with me. It's not like our evil genie ghost Desiree could warp versions of my mind wishes… could she? But now that I think about it, she managed to use any sentence Sam so much as mentioned the word 'wish' in as an excuse to wreak havoc I wouldn't put anything past the ghost. So, 'W-wording' in my mind it is.
"MR. FENTON!"
I jump in my seat, "What!" I exclaim. Immediately, everyone turns to look at me. I make eye contact with our bald, potbellied English teacher. "What?" I ask again.
"You just shouted," Mr. Lancer says blandly.
I wrinkle my eyebrows. "Yeah, because you shouted my name."
"No I didn't," he replies shaking his head and looking very unamused.
I blink mutely as everyone continues to stare at me. "Sorry, go right ahead then," I say awkwardly.
Mr. Lancer waits a beat before turning back to the board. The rest of the class slowly follows suit. Dash and Paulina snicker at me while Tucker and Sam give me even more worried looks, but I ignore them all.
Okay, that has never ever happened before. There is no way I confused a shout. It was not like I was thinking about Mr. Lancer shouting at me. Something is definitely up, something outside of my level of weird-normal. Does this have something to do with my ghost-half? Is it just stress? The last time I had trouble with my memory was when Freakshow was trying to mind-control me while I was in human form. Oh, I hoped nothing like that was happening this time. I don't remember any weird flashes of color, which usually signify pretty much all attacks of the ghostly variety or attacks that affect ghosts. Maybe I should avoid my ghost-half until all of this blows over.
Once again, the bell jerks me from my thoughts. Tucker and Sam are both keeping an eye on me. If this weariness continued it's going to take a miracle for me to get out of this without someone thinking I'm insane.
"Mr. Fenton," I hear Lancer call again. This time I ignore it. I'm almost to the door when a hand drops on my shoulder. "Mr. Fenton, can I have a word with you?"
Oh, apparently he is actually talking to me this time. "I'm sorry about shouting, sir," I say immediately, fidgeting. I really just want to get out of here. "It won't happen again."
"While I am glad to hear that, that is not why I want to talk to you," the potbelly teacher says as he sits behind his desk.
"Oh. What is it, then?"
Shifting through his papers, Mr. Lancer pulls one out from the rest. "You seem to have handed in the wrong assignment yesterday," he says blandly.
"Oh sorry, which one did you want again?" I ask, pulling off my backpack and digging out my planner (Tucker's idea) so I can write down the right assignment.
"You gave me the assignment that I gave you just now." I look up at the teacher, who is giving me a pointed look. "You handed in an assignment two days before I assigned it." I blanch. His voice becomes distant. I had done that homework last week, I had dug the answers out of my book. I remember thinking back, trying to figure out which chapter a certain scene had happened in. A chapter I only now realized, I had never actually read.
"Mr. Fenton are you alright?" I came out of my daze to Mr. Lancer's concerned gaze.
I open my mouth then close it again, trying to come up with some explanation. "Sorry, I work ahead when I have the time." I'm not sure where the lie came from, it looks like my body is deciding it's an excellent liar again.
My teacher eyed me suspiciously. I probably looked suspicious. We both knew that he decided on the questions depending on the class, there was no way I could know what questions he was going to have us answer.
Finally Mr. Lancer sighed, collapsing in on himself. "Danny, if you are in trouble, or having issues you can come to me." His face softened the worry that had been hidden behind his teaching mask. "I know you probably think that you are the only person that has ever gone through whatever you are, but I promise you, whatever it is, you are not alone. You can ask for help."
Yeah, I know I'm not the only person who was ever given ghost powers from a crazy accident. But, sadly, the other one had decided to go insane and use his powers for evil alongside wooing my mom and attempting to Darth-Vader me into following in his footsteps…in order to become evil, not to woo my mom.
I look at Mr. Lancer for a long time; he just wants to help. He knows something is going on in my life. Something I'm not talking about, something that a teenager should not be dealing with. The kind people are the hardest to lie to. Taking a deep breath to brace myself, I say, "If my problems are so mainstream then why haven't you figured them out?"
The teacher looks caught off-guard and I am too. Since when do I trust Mr. Lancer with even this clue? Nonetheless, he answers with sad eyes: "Because you won't talk to me about it."
I lower my head, hanging it so I can't meet his eyes. "And I can't Mr. Lancer. I can't tell you, or anyone." I pause for a beat and murmur, "And even if I did, you couldn't fix this."
I feel a hand on my shoulder and the voice I hear during lectures speak softly, "But I could help you through it." He sighs, "There is nothing wrong with asking for help. Just-" Mr. Lancer's voice trails off. "You don't have to talk to me if you don't feel comfortable with that but-" his voice falters for a minute. "Go to someone. When you need help, ask for it. Ask someone that will."
This teacher that always pushed me to do better, who always expected the best from me, who believed in me when all the others long since gave up. The only one who, outside of those that already knew, understood that I was dealing with something no one my age should deal with.
I give a weak smile and nod. "I will keep that in mind."
Coming out of the room, Tucker and Sam all but jump me.
"What was that about, man?"
"Was Youngblood playing a trick on you?"
"Guys, guys I'm fine," I say automatically. "I just dozed off and dreamt of Lancer shouting my name."
Both my friends give me skeptical looks. I realize a little late that they are in charge of keeping me awake and that they keep regular tabs on me… that, or they just let me sleep as much as I want because they know how little I had gotten. I can't remember which was right. It seems that my posse has decided to no longer sit idle. Tucker and Sam gang up, trying to subtly weasel the truth out of me; half way through lunch, I can't take it.
"Will you guys stop it!" I all but shout at them. "If I am not going to tell you, then I'm not telling you. That is it!"
"We are just worried man," Tucker said quietly
Sam sighs, "You carry so much and are under so much stress. We want to help you but you bottle it all in."
I freeze at her words: 'we want to help'. I bite my lip in thought. If I do need help with what's going on, I would tell them first. They know my secret and I know I can trust them, I just... don't know how they will react. So the real question is, do I need help?
Glancing up I see both Tucker and Sam looking more gloomy since my outburst. I sigh and whisper, "I'll tell you after school." Both perk up and give me matching smiles. I can't help giving a small smile back. They are either really worried about me or just really want to help, probably both.
Of course, our small moment is just begging to be ruined. I groan aloud as the blue vapory mist bellows out of my lips as my ice core alerts me that a ghost is nearby. Not a second later the bell rings signaling that lunch is over.
"I've got to take care of this." My friends nod, all three of us get up as if nothing is up. "With any luck I will be back before class starts. If not… meet you at my place for an explanation."
Tucker and Sam nod.
"Is Jazz invited?" asked Tucker
It's still weird having my older sister in on my secret. There are some things that, even now, I could not tell her. As the oldest full human that I trust and who knows my secret, she has once again taken the mantle of 'adult'. But no matter how mature she tries to be, she's always my lovable, overbearing big sister. So, yeah, there are some things that she is better off not knowing. The question is, is this one of those times?
"Yeah, bring her. She will probably nag it out of me eventually," I say, thinking back to her reaction to my weirdness this morning.
The two nod, wishing me luck as I duck out of sight to transform into my superhero identity. I never get tired of that, being a superhero and transforming. It feels incredible. I can feel when the blinding white ring erupts around my waist. Then the ring becomes two, one going up and the other one down. As they go I can feel the very structure of my cells changing. It feels like every single molecule has simply rolled over to get comfortable. Everything is now exactly where it is supposed to be; nothing has left, everything has just turned so now a new side was showing.
The change was very noticeable. No matter what I was wearing, my clothes would vanish and suddenly I would be in the same outfit I had on back when I got my powers (which just so happened to have been a black and white hazmat suit that fit my superhero theme quite well). Everything else stayed virtually the same: same height, same build, same face, same voice but-like I said-it all had turned over. In this form my black hair is pure pure white, my eyes burn an unnatural radioactive green and my skin is a slightly burnt tan. My voice sounds like there are several voices speaking at once, not enough to make it hard to understand what I'm saying but enough to fool any equipment.
But the biggest change is one that cannot be seen. No one can see the power that is released and now waits to be used, humming just under my skin. I always have access to my abilities but it's harder to use in human form. It's as if my human body dampens the effects and the energy just doesn't flow as easily. In ghost form there is no problem; it's like switching on a light or turning on a faucet from a sprinkle to full blast. Having so much energy, so much potential, gliding freely through me I can't help but smile, I can't help but hold myself high. In this form, as this identity, I can do anything.
My smile flees into a grimace, I have a job to do. Triggering the ability to pass through walls I phase through the ceiling and a classroom and the roof before hovering just above Casper High School. Most ghosts that came to Casper High come looking for me, so staying here should be enough persuade them to make their presence known rather quic-
The sound of crackling, sizzling energy being hurtled toward me is unmistakeable. No time to move or morph my energy into a shield, I turn intangible once again. The ghost blast still stings as it passes through my back and chest, but it's nothing compared to how it would feel if it hit me. The sting confirms that it is ghostly in origin and thus is on the same level of existence as my new form. But right now my mind is on one fact; the blast was pink.
-)(-
It's here!
Sorry it took so long to get this up here. This story is getting more complicated than I originally thought and I keep changing my mind. I am sure my editors are more than a little annoyed at this point. On the upside I have like 10 chapters written as rough drafts. Wale on the subject of my wonderful editors, they just had a baby, so wish them well.
Sadly for all of us this will no doubt affect my updating. Taking care of a newborn is a very big job. I want to keep a chapter a week schedule but I cannot guarantee anything but that is the goal.
For those that don't know, I wrote a three-shot crossover that foreshadowed this story called 'Kronos'. Don't worry, you don't need to read it to understand this one. I just thought I would mention it incase anyone was interested
I do not own 'Danny Phantom'
