In which Danny saves a class in his human form, leaving him him unconscious and not being able to seem as alive as he should.

Some said he was an angel.

Because what else could he be? Phantom was, technically, a ghost; he flew and went intangible and glowed and could shoot ectoplasm and had those eerie green eyes with that creepy echo in his voice - but he, unlike the other ghosts, seemed totally, inexplicably human.

Those that looked for him swore he lived in Amity Park, or at least not in the Ghost Zone. And how could he, when it seemed the ghosts who invade the small town hated him with a burning passion? When he could barely get close to another ectoplasmic entity without being threatened, shot at, or insulted?

Then, of course, was the notion that he was still considered Public Enemy Number One with a majority of people in Amity. The Guys in White and the Fentons seemed to hate him just as much as any other ghost, and many residents believed he was sent by the devil. So, no, he did not live in the Ghost Zone, but he also didn't live in Amity Park.

There was the fact that he glowed with a comforting light, and how his snow-white hair seemed to create a halo around his head; the way his toxic green eyes could look like fresh grass in spring, and how his voice would seep into your mind and tell you everything would be fine; with these things happening, it was no wonder many thought him to be an angel.

He didn't have wings and he still bled green and he could become the most terrifying thing you've ever seen if you made him angry... but, somehow, unlike the others, he never tried to hurt anyone.

There was the time a building collapsed from a ghost fight, and withing seconds, Phantom had detained the monster and flown into the wreckage to look for survivors. One man in his fifties didn't make it.

Everyone recognized him as the vile, rude, ill-mannered man who constantly protested against ghosts - any kind of ghost - and was very vocal about his feelings of resentment towards Danny Phantom.

But when everyone expected the ghost boy to leave the man for the paramedics, or even an inkling on his face about how he felt about the man in his arms, they were even more surprised - and confused - when he dropped to his knees and wept.

Phantom held the man, burying his face in his dress shirt as tears flecked with ectoplasm ran down his cheeks - and his chest did not heave, or move, because he was a ghost and ghosts did not need air to cry.

Those closest to him heard him whisper, "Safe travels," into the man's ear before handing him to the paramedics. Obviously they couldn't do anything, and Phantom knew it, or he wouldn't have cried so much.

Just a boy, everyone thought as they watched him fly away. A dead boy caring for those who hate him.

An angel.

But Danny Fenton was no angel.

Danny Fenton was someone whose moods could change in the blink of an eye, in less than a second, from booming laughter to terrible snarling, from cynical attitudes to finger-gunning his way through jokes.

Danny Fenton was the boy who would limp into school each day with bags under his eyes and hair falling into his face to mask the bruises, with clothes so baggy and thick they soaked up the blood before someone could see it drip down, with an attendance level so low it was a miracle he was still passing his classes.

He was the one with the ghost-hunting parents and double life; he was the ghost who could walk among humans.

He ate and he slept and he laughed and he cried, but the only reason he sucked in air was to blend in. The only reason he moved at all was to keep up the facade of being normal.

And it wasn't like he needed to eat three times a day and get eight hours of sleep every night, but knew he needed something to keep him going and he didn't want to figure out just how much because it would mean him discovering the possibility of being less alive than he thought-

Tucker always told him not to worry too much about what had changed during the accident because he was here now, with a working body and emotions, and he couldn't be completely dead because he'd decompose. And Danny knew he was right, knew Sam was right about her theories, but it didn't make him feel any better. It didn't stop him from lying awake at night, thinking about what it would be like to just exist - not alive, not dead, but somewhere in between, walking the Earth but not really inhabiting it.

Danny was no angel, and he definitely didn't plan on being one any time soon, but he wasn't human either, and that was definitely something.

They were in class, listening to Lancer drone on about the newest piece of literature while Danny dozed off, head resting on the table. His body was tired, even if his mind and soul weren't, and he needed to sleep - due to the ghost attacks, unfortunately, he typically got less than three hours of sleep every night.

Sam was off at some protest and Tucker was home sick, leaving the boy alone in that class with the A-Listers, a few of the lowly nerds, and the teacher, Mr. Lancer. Danny had walked into the class, taken one look at the kids sitting there, and snorted, thinking, Yeah, this'll be fun.

He, of course, said nothing of the matter, preferring to sit in silence and - hopefully - get some sleep in before he was noticed.

It didn't seem to start off as a very eventful day, with Lancer barely acknowledging his arrival and Dash only giving him a half-hearted shove on his shoulder. Danny had high hopes for today, what with the portal sealed and the ghosts taken care of... maybe he'd get some time to go to the Nasty Burger after school and relax for a bit...

"Mr. Fenton."

Danny's head rose from the table. His tired, icy blue eyes met Lancer's scowling face, and he let out a little groan.

"No sleeping during class," Lancer reprimanded. He must've been feeling as terrible as Danny, because he seemed to have forgotten the detention as he trudged back up to the front. Tuesdays, it seemed, were even worse than Mondays.

Danny repositioned himself on his chair, propping his chin up on his hand as he quickly scribbled down some notes on the board. It turned out to be a chicken scratch, and he had no idea what the board was saying anyway. He felt someone staring at him, and in the back of his mind knew it must be Dash. Danny felt annoyance bubble up in his stomach, knowing that the jock would soon find some way to bully him into submission - not that it ever worked anymore.

And maybe it was the time of day or the fact that he'd gotten about a half hour's sleep last night; maybe he was just getting reckless. But when the feeling of being watched persisted, then grew into a prickling in the back of his neck until he knew, in the pit of his stomach, that something was about to go wrong-

He did nothing.

Because that was it, wasn't it? He was a ghost (half ghost, half alive, mostly dead, freak), and it was his responsibility to take care of ghosts, not humans, so when there came no cold breath from his mouth - these days, the only real breath he let out - he didn't think of it as his problem. He just let himself fade away into the static of his core, hoping that the terrible feeling would go away.

An angel would have noticed.

When the ceiling fell, the cement and the plaster and the rocks tumbling down on the children's heads, Danny froze, staring, muscles tensing and everything telling him to move. And when he did move, pushing everyone out of the way - thank God for intangibility - he must've been tired, because without his reflexes, he never would have made it out alive.

(Dead, alive, what's the difference, it's the same, you're not there yet, you're somewhere in between and you're dead, dead, dead, ghost...)

He wasn't invulnerable, though.

Some cement fell onto his head, clipping him on the side and sending him crashing, legs giving out, and a burning fire seemed to consume his head and mind as he thought, Who in the hell let the ceiling fall?

"Oh my God, is he dead?"

"Look at all that blood... is it supposed to be green, Mr. Lancer-"

"What was he thinking, jumping in front of us like that, like he's some sort of hero..."

"Quick! Check his pulse... Danny, what the-"

"...Must have been some earthquake, did you feel the ground shake? Me neither..."

"He just shoved me..."

"Stay back," Lancer shouted. "Stay back, I need to check him. Lord of the Flies, people..."

The English teacher knelt down next to the boy. Fenton's black hair was dusted with cement and matted with blood, and his sunken eyes were rolled back; the head injury did seem to have flecks of green in it, which was odd, but Lancer was a teacher, not a nurse, so he had no idea what it meant.

"Call 911," he told one of the students. "And someone please figure out what just happened!"

Turning his attention back to Fenton, Lancer tried to remember his (very limited) first-aid training. He... he needed to check if he was responsive first, right?

He had no idea.

Lancer let his eyes sweep over the boy's body, taking in the thin limbs and pale skin and wait his chest wasn't moving oh-

The teacher tapped his shoulder, saying Daniel's name, feeling sweat begin to trickle down his forehead. The students were muttering concernedly, shifting their weight between their feet as they shuffled around, staying together, eyeing what was left of the ceiling above.

Lancer's fingers shook as he pressed them against Danny's neck, first feeling the cold temperature of his skin, then nothing. Not a pulse, if you can call the static humming throughout his veins a pulse. If you could call what he knew wasn't a heartbeat a sign of him being alive.

His breathing got heavier as a stone dropped in his chest, checking Fenton's pulse again and again and again but nothing was there oh God-

"Someone help," Lancer choked out. "Help, someone help."

A blond girl - she liked to go by Star, he remembered - knelt down next to him. She'd been sitting at the back of the room, so she hadn't been in any danger, but she'd seen Danny push the people out of the way. Her face was white as she tipped back Danny's head, leaning down to check for breath, then checking his pulse...

Her eyebrows furrowed as she pressed a finger underneath his thumb. She turned to Lancer, and said in a shaky voice, "He's not breathing, but something is definitely there."

"He's alive?" Lancer asked hopefully.

Star bit her lip. "He... it's not, it's not exactly a pulse, more of a... hum? I guess? there's some sort of beating in there, but it doesn't feel right. It feels... off."

"What do you mean," Lancer demanded, "it feels off?"

"I don't know!" Star wailed. Her face was pale, blond hair dusted with cement from the ceiling. Her bottom lip quivered. "It's like a heartbeat except it feels like static or something - I don't know!"

Lancer looked at the rest of his students, taking in the terrified faces - some of the kids were trying to move the rocks out of the way of the doorway. Others sat on chunks of concrete, head in their hands. Those who hadn't been in danger were checking over the others who might've been hurt.

Kwan held his phone in his hand. He caught Lancer's eye and said from his spot on his own rock. "There was an explosion, probably a stray ghost ray or something, that hit the library. Pure luck, I guess, that it hit an open part and nowhere with bookshelves."

"Or a classroom," Dash muttered. He stood next to the other boy. To Lancer, he said, "911 is on its way."

Lancer nodded at them. "Thank you," he said. To the others, he called throughout the class, "Help is on the way. Everyone please, stay calm."

"Sir," Star murmured, tapping his shoulder.

The teacher turned his attention back to the boy on the ground. The reality of the situation had started to settle in, and looking at Danny's pale, slightly bluish skin with the blood matted into his raven locks made his breath quicken and his hands start to sweat.

One of his students could be close to death, and he had no idea what to do.

Oh, he'd gotten first aid training. But there was something about saving a dummy that differed greatly from being in a real emergency situation, leaving all of his memory of what to do to leave him until he could do nothing by stare and grasp desperately at the pieces of information that floated away.

Lancer touched the boy's arm. Cold.

"What do I do?" he whispered to himself, a lump beginning to form in his throat. He forced it down, determined not to cry in front of his students. They needed him, and besides, he was an adult. He could handle this.

Hopefully.

Suddenly, Danny began to jerk, blood flying from his mouth. Star shrieked, standing up and backing away, eyes wide and terrified. Lancer's heart leaped up in his throat as he realized that Fenton was choking.

As if his hands moved on their own accord, Lancer put a hand on Danny's hip and another around the side of his neck as he pulled him up against his thigh, then bent one of his legs and tucked his arm underneath the head.

His skin was cold, cold like death, and Lancer wanted nothing more than to pull away and get away from the corpse-

But he didn't pull away, instead making sure Danny's head was supported as he lay in the recovery position. Lancer thanked whatever gods allowed him that piece of information. At least now the kid wouldn't be choking on his own blood, instead letting the liquid fall to the ground.

Danny stopped jerking and the blood stopped flying, leaving him as motionless as before. For a terrifying moment, Lancer thought he had actually died, but when he checked for a pulse, he felt a faint hum.

A hum?

Barely noticeable, but there. Star was right - it wasn't a heartbeat, and that worried Lancer more than anything, but there was something there. And that, he felt, was a good sign.

Lancer tapped Danny's shoulder. "Mr. Fenton," he said loudly. "Daniel, please, I don't know if you can hear me, but help is coming. We'll- agh!" He jerked his hand away, staring in bewilderment at the burn mark it left on his skin.

He'd touched some blood that had soaked into the fabric of Danny's shirt, blood that should've felt sticky and warm but instead was hot, so hot it felt almost cold.

The blood was still green, and now it seemed to be more prominent - was that something bubbling? In his blood?

Lancer tentatively pressed a finger to the blood on the floor, crying out when it fizzed and burned his skin. The green seemed to be spreading, eating away at the red like some virus. And it was unmistakably glowing a bit.

What the hell?

"Ectoplasm?" someone screeched incredulously from a few feet away. Lancer's head shot up to see Dash kneeling on the floor by him, staring at some pf Danny's blood. The athlete looked at the teacher questioningly, but Lancer just shook his head helplessly.

Now that he saw it, it definitely looked like ectoplasm. Same toxic green shine, and if he remembered his research correctly, then ectoplasm was acidic and could burn if it came in contact with humans. But that was pure ectoplasm, not the kind that was given off by ghost rays and put into labs to test in order to make weapons. No, pure ectoplasm was the blood, the very essence of ghosts. The thing that made them up. The Fentons had gotten their hands on a few pints full, announcing the discovery only a few weeks ago.

So what was it doing in Danny's blood?

Maybe he'd been exposed to it somehow? But then how wasn't he already dead, if pure ectoplasm was really toxic like that?

A groan startled the man out of his thoughts. Lancer snapped his head to Danny, who had lifted his body a bit to rub the wound.

"Daniel!" Lancer cried. "You're alright!"

"Duh," Danny muttered. He sat up, wincing a bit as he prodded his head. His eyes were closed, and when he opened them, they widened a considerable amount as they took everything in - the cement blocks, the hole in the ceiling, the class not yet noticing that he had woken up. "Woah. What happened here..." He turned to the teacher, frowning. "You okay, Mr. Lancer?"

Lancer couldn't breathe.

He felt chills travel up his spine, staring openly at the kid with the wound in his head and the bloody shirt and ectoplasm in his blood, the boy who had just saved half a class by simply pushing them all at once out of the way. The kid without a pulse who, currently, was staring at him with toxic green eyes.

Ghost, was his immediate thought. Then, No, he's a child. I've known him for years. He isn't dead.

But those eyes.

"Mr. Lancer," Danny repeated, blinking. His eyes returned to their normal icy blue.

"Uh." Lancer brought a hand to his head. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. You gave us quite a scare there, Mr. Fenton. Little Women. We thought you were seriously hurt. What were you thinking putting yourself in danger like that? You're not invincible."

Danny cracked a wry grin. His teeth were bloody. Green. "If you die, I need to attend your funeral, and I have enough of a schedule as it is."

A trick of the light. That's what it must have been.

Daniel Fenton wasn't a ghost. He couldn't be.

Danny stood outside the school, watching as adults ran in and out to evaluate the damage done and get other kids out. His head was bandaged and his mouth washed, wearing his gym clothes since his old ones were all bloody. Police officers stood scattered around, making sure nothing went wrong.

The boy sighed (just for the sake of it because he still couldn't breathe but at least he could pretend), dragging a hand across his face. He was exhausted, and hungry, and his head still hurt.

First chance I get, he thought, I'm changing into Phantom to speed up the healing process.

The ectoplasm must've restarted his body - or something. One second everything was black, then burning acid seemed to be flowing through his being and forcing him up. Danny rubbed his arms and winced at the memory.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lancer approach him. Danny spun around on his heal and looked at the teacher expectantly, only to frown in confusion when Lancer flinched a bit at the movement. "Something wrong?" Danny asked.

"Ah. Um." Lancer looked at him peculiarly, almost like he was trying to read him, and Danny averted his eyes. The teacher's stare was one look he wasn't immune to.

Lancer, meanwhile, was trying to find something - something on his appearance, his stance, the way the light hit his eyes - anything that would give away his ghostly nature. Because something must've happened. Something that gave him green blood and green eyes and the ability to move half the class to the other side of the room in a split second-

"Mr. Lancer?"

Lancer slowly forced himself out of his thoughts, bringing his eyes to Danny's icy blue ones. They stared at him curiously, unmoving, like dull icicles that seemed almost dead. He forced a smile on his face, then reached out hesitantly to grab Danny's wrist. "Everything's alright, Mr. Fenton. Thank you for, uh, pushing those students out of the way. You saved many lives."

Danny looked surprised, mumbling, "No problem." He glanced down at the hand still at his wrist, wiggling his hand around a bit t get lose. Lancer took the hint and let go, then nodded to him again as he moved past.

The half-dead boy watched his English teacher go, subconsciously rubbing at the spot he'd been grabbed. He felt the cold absence of his pulse, only a faint hum from his core evident. Danny sucked in some air, looking down, hoping his chest would rise in time with the action.

It didn't.

Later that day, Lancer sat in his living room with a glass of whiskey, tapping his fingers on his knees as he tried to wrap his mind around what he'd found out.

So, Danny had no pulse. Or he had a pulse, but it wasn't a heartbeat. A hum. A static.

His eyes turned a toxic green. His blood was flecked with a green acid, most likely ectoplasm

Lancer remembered the times he'd watch the boy in class. When he was awake, he'd sit completely still - like a statue.

And when he slept, it was like he was dead.

"Oh my God," Lancer said aloud. "I have a ghost as one of my students."

They said Phantom was an angel, but if Fenton was Phantom, what did that make him?

Not an angel, because angels saved people and pulsed with light and energy and Danny Fenton was just a husk of a skinny boy with no heartbeat.

But he'd saved half a class, so that should bring him closer, right?

He was so preoccupied, though, with how much of a freak he was as Fenton without a heartbeat that he forgot one thing:

Angels don't have heartbeats, either.

This was originally published in April. As you can see, I really loved italics. Phew.

Third part hasn't been written yet, but I'm having a knee surgery this November and will be bedridden for a good two weeks, so hopefully that'll get put up soon.

Let me know what you think so far! As always, you can find my other works on ao3, where my username is everythingspiteful as well. I have the link in my bio.

Have a lovely day!