I don't own Danny Phantom. Butch Hartman does. Nor do I own Pearls Before Swine. Stephan Pastis does. I warn you, this is the strangest thing I have EVER written. And that's saying something. Read with caution. This is for my friend, Pii's, new pairing.

Mr. Lancer sighed in relief as he finished grading papers for the night. He placed them inside his briefcase, closing it with a 'clik'.

The outside world was cold, nighttime darkness. No birds sang; for they had retired to their nests for the night. All that was there was the sweet music of the cricket with the hoots of a lone owl. Lancer rubbed his forehead tiredly. He had no one to speak to- no wife, no children. He lived alone. An existence he didn't mind, and kind of enjoyed, but some nights he wished he had someone to talk to. Someone to tell of his misadventures at the high school. Someone to give him sympathy for the disrespect he faces. To be disgusted with some of the antics he had to put up with from students, or certain odd-ball situations.

He glanced down at his briefcase. His favorite object. He couldn't place why, but it was. He even chained it to himself during the C.A.T.. He swore, it was the only thing that understood him at all, despite being an inanimate object used for the purpose of holding papers and whatever else Lancer put in there- maybe a cup of noodles to heat up for lunch, a pencil or pen here and there. His Pearls Before Swine collection book. Sometimes, like in Pearls, he felt he was Zebra, while all the students were the crocs.

He sighed and spoke aloud. "I really wish I had someone to talk to that likes me."

Little did he know of who was outside...

Now, ghosts were a common thing in Amity Park. They had been for a while now. Their defender was Danny Phantom, a ghost who was really Danny Fenton, son of two ghost hunters. He's half-ghost, but...Oh, excuse me. Off topic.

Anyhow, a ghost Danny had to fight on occasion was Desiree, a genie-like ghost who had died of a broken heart and old age. She granted people's wishes, often to see it blow up in their faces, ending with her flying away laughing like a maniac.

Where was she now?

Right above Lancer's house. Flying by innocently, she stopped at hearing him. She smirked and shouted, "So you have wished it, and so it shall be!" This scared the living daylights out of Lancer, who hadn't been ready, and fell off the couch.

"GHOST!" He shouted, covering his head. He didn't see his briefcase start to sparkle a little...

After not hearing anything for a few minutes, he cautiously sat up, looking around carefully.

"Are you alright?" He heard a random, sweet voice ask. He fell back again, and look around after getting up, standing.

"Who-who's there?" He asked shakily.

His briefcase tilted it's zipper in a way that made it appear to frown. "Right here, silly!" It said. Lancer turned to where he heard it, but saw nothing.

"Who? I don't see you..." He muttered, confused. The briefcase would roll it's eyeballs right now if it had any.

"Down here, genius!" It said, annoyed. Lancer looked down-

And saw his briefcase sparkling. He gasped. Briefcase smiled. "Yep, it's me! Who'd else you'd expect?"

Mr. Lancer blinked once. Blinked twice. Blinked thrice. He then rubbed his eyes, and looked at the briefcase again. Still sparkling. Still smiling. He rubbed his head.

"Alright, I am hallucinating. I will go to sleep, and you will not be a talking briefcase." He said nonchalantly, lying down on the couch and closing his eyes. Briefcase sighed.

"Have fun with that. You'll be in for a shock later."

"Hush. You aren't really talking." Mr. Lancer muttered.

Briefy only smirked and waited...