(A/N)
I'm terribly sorry about not updating sooner! See, first I sprained my other ankle (playing DDR), and then my sister found this fun new game, so I was playing that, and then my English teacher assigned this essay, so I was all side-tracked, and then I lost the notebook I kept all my notes on the fic in…
Er…
You don't really care, do you?
Yeah, I know, "excuses are like assholes, everybody has one and they all stink."
I think my dad picked that saying up in the Marine Corps.
I still do not own Danny Phantom…if I did, there would be more episodes out by now.
Phantom Nightmare
Chapter the Eleventh
Phantom Nightmare
Danny sighed and rolled over in his bed. The covers were soft and comfortable and warm, and to judge by the angle of the sunbeams hitting his face, it was around noon. Lazily, he opened his eyes and watched the dust motes drift and glow in the rays of light coming in through the window. Sighing, the young ghost hunter closed his eyes again.
"It's a school day," he said. "It's supposed to be a school day today. As I was going to bed last night, I was thinking about how awful Lancer's class would be in the morning if I had another nightmare." 'I might as well get it over with…'
Blue eyes opened to observe the youngest Fenton's bedroom. The floor was clean and the carpet had been vacuumed; his ghost hunting equipment was neatly arranged on the top of the dresser; all of the weaponry that had been randomly hidden about the room was now in plain sight and within easy reach in case he wanted to grab it in a hurry.
"Yup. I knew it. Guess I'll just have to be careful this time and not get hurt."
Danny slowly got out of bed and stretched. He was in the middle of limbering up his sides in case he had to dodge in a weird way fast without transforming when his father kicked the door in.
"Hey, Danny!" the man boomed, "how do you like what I've done with your room? You were sleeping so soundly, I just decided to clean your room up for you! Who would have thought that you'd have so much ghost hunting equipment around here? Though I did take some of it down to the lab to be recalibrated. Why did you have the Ghost Gabber and the Fenton Finder under your bed? They don't work! They always activate around you! And you're not a ghost, right son? Right!"
"Actually, Dad, I am a ghost." 'It's worth a shot. It's worth a shot, and this is just some stupid fear my subconscious is tossing up…besides, I'd rather not get another mouthful of soggy ashes pretending to be fudge, and it's better to get it over with fast, anyway.'
"Ha! That's really funny, Danny! Of course you're not a ghost! A ghost would lie and say that I was right, because ghosts always lie! Now, let's go downstairs and eat breakfast. I've got fudge! Lots and lots of fudge!"
"About breakfast," Danny said, thinking fast and dodging past his father and out the bedroom door, "I think I'll just have oatmeal. I'll make it myself. I mean, I am a growing boy, and I'm not used to fudge for breakfast, and I don't want it weighing heavily on my stomach if a ghost attacks."
"Oh, that's all right, Danny! If a ghost attacks, I'll protect you!"
"Er…" the boy paled slightly, trying to think his way out of this mess, "but if I have indigestion and you take care of the ghost, you won't get to see me fight!"
Jack thought about this as he walked into the kitchen to retrieve the fudge, apparently not noticing the ankle-deep green mist that swirled as he walked through it, moving away from his feet and clumping around his son's. Danny, intent on avoiding another disgusting mouthful of imaginary fudge, also failed to notice the mist.
"So…you do fight ghosts, then?" The orange-clad man asked as he got out a large container of homemade fudge.
"Only when you and Mom are somewhere else. Like if you were chasing the ghost kid at the mall and something attacked near home. And before you ask, I didn't tell you because I was trying to avoid a lecture and a well-intentioned but thoroughly embarrassing gift."
"I guess that makes sense. Are you sure you won't have any fudge?"
"Positive," the half ghost answered, focusing on not making a face or gagging on the damp ash smell wafting from the brown dessert. "I think fudge should be a once in a while treat, like for after a huge victory over the forces of the dead."
"You mean the forces of the undead, Danny."
"Ah, yeah. Forces of the undead. Silly of me to get those two mixed up," the undead teen stammered while getting out the oatmeal. It looked OK, it smelled OK, and a brief taste-test of one of the uncooked flakes while his father was not looking proved that it tasted OK, so the odds were that the oatmeal had not been tampered with.
"So, Danny, how come all of your ghost hunting equipment was in such inaccessible locations?"
"I didn't want any ghosts to find it. And it wasn't all that hard to get at." 'Especially since I can reach through my bed, not that I'm going to tell you that.' "Where's Mom and Jazz? They're not going to be happy that you kicked my bedroom door down."
"Oh, they went shopping. They're not going to be back for an hour or so. I know! After breakfast, we can fix your door! That way, your mother won't get mad at me, and we can do some father slash son bonding!"
"Yeah, sounds good," Danny sighed as the oatmeal cooked. 'Well, at least he hasn't figured me out and attacked me yet. I suppose this won't be such a bad dream after all…and maybe I can talk Dad into going fishing or something this weekend.'
Phantom Nightmare
An hour later, Danny found himself helping his father put the door back on its hinges.
"Good thing these Fenton Doors ™ are designed to pop right off at the hinges and not break, in case of government raids and overexcited ghost hunters."
"Yeah, that is a good thing," the teenager smiled at his father before muttering, "man, how long is this stupid dream going to last?"
"What was that, son?"
"Nothing, nothing!"
Any further dangerous conversation was cut off when the door to Fenton Works opened, and a woman's voice called out "I'm home!"
"Maddie!" Jack shouted, dropping his screwdriver and rushing down the stairs to greet his wife.
"Mom," Danny whispered, blanching and trailing after his father to meet one of the most competent ghost hunters to ever shoot at him.
"How was your shopping trip, and where's Jazz? I've got something to tell her! Well, I'll tell you first, but it would be better if she were here, too."
"It was great, dear. We got a new microwave, and Jazz bought herself a new hair dryer. She's not here because she went with Sam and Tucker to do something or other. What did you want to tell me? Did you make a new invention?"
"No, better! I cleaned Danny's room!"
"Jack, dear, Danny is supposed to clean his own room. Aren't you, Danny?" the woman in blue directed a stern look to her son.
"I didn't ask him to, Mom! He did it while I was sleeping!"
"Yeah, and I found all sorts of ghost hunting equipment! Turns out that Danny's been hunting ghosts while we were busy!"
"Danny, why didn't you tell us? Don't you know that ghost hunting is dangerous? What if you'd underestimated your enemy and gotten hurt?"
"Mom! I'm fine! And I didn't want a four hour safety lecture."
"Well, I suppose I can't be too angry if you're following the family tradition after all. Now, if only we could get Jazz to hunt ghosts, too, we'd be a ghost hunting family! It sounds wonderful!" Maddie smiled. "Oh, and before I forget, the Guys in White gave me this ghost finding device. They said that it's been extensively tested, but it's too expensive to make and small-ranged to practically mass produce."
She pulled a hand-held tracking device out of her purse. It had a single button on it, and a three-inch by four-inch screen.
"All I have to do is push the on button, and it will scan the room for ghosts. It shows a picture of the ghost it finds on the screen, along with power level readouts. Look!" and before Danny could do anything to stop her, his mother pressed the button.
The machine beeped before the screen brightened. All three Fentons looked at it, two with excitement all over their faces, and one feeling sick to his stomach. The looks of child-like glee faded to confusion while the look of trepidation faded to grim expectation as a rotating image of Daniel Fenton appeared on the screen, along with the number 3.20 in bright red beside it.
Jack and Maddie slowly turned to look at their son.
Jack broke the silence first. "Danny, you're a ghost?"
"I did tell you," came the reply.
"Well, yeah, but I thought you were joking!"
"Why would I joke about something like that? I'm a ghost."
"You're a ghost," Maddie whispered, disbelief coloring her voice.
"Yeah," her son replied.
The unfortunate teen took a step back, unnoticed mist pooling around his feet as he did so, as his mother's face twisted itself into a mask of hatred.
"What have you done with my son?" she demanded.
"I am your son!" he cried desperately as the ghost hunters in front of him produced deceptively small ecto guns out of seemingly nowhere.
"You can't be my son, because MY SON IS NOT DEAD!" Jack thundered, taking aim.
The following fight was incredibly short and one sided, as all Danny did was dodge and try to make it to the door, while Jack took wild shots at him. Thirty seconds in, Maddie found an opening, and a burning blast struck the boy in the small of the back, causing him to crash to the floor, stunned.
Phantom Nightmare
(A/N)
I think you all know what is coming next, and if you don't, then you're not very good at pattern recognition, are you?