This is the first chapter of a story I doubt I'll ever get around to actually writing. However, I'm proud of it and I think the potential for a Supernatural / Danny Phantom crossover has yet to be explored, so I'm posting it here. As always, this is adoptable (I have notes!) and I own neither TV show.

Eye of the Beholder

To the casual observer, the man walking into Betty's Family Cafe could have been any of the residents of Wilsonville, Idaho. He had a jean jacket hanging open around a well-built body and a handsome face topped with short dirty blond hair, and he was swinging a set of car keys absent-mindedly in his hand. He pushed the door to the restaurant open and casually picked up a newspaper from the pile left out for customers while the bell was jangling behind him, then slid into a corner booth occupied by a younger man with long, darker hair and a boyish face. The younger man barely looked up to greet him.

"Mornin', Sammy," the newcomer said. "You ordered yet?" He shifted around to make himself comfortable, and opened up the paper so that it blocked his face.

"Just coffee."

"You didn't get me any of that fancy cappu-whatsit, didja?" The man with the newspaper said gruffly but in a teasing manner. He flipped the page with a crackle.

The younger man sighed. "No, Dean. They don't even sell that here."

"Everybody sells that crap, Sam," Dean answered, flipping the page again. A moment later, he grunted. "Hey, take a look at this."

He folded the paper to page five and slid it across the table. Sam looked at it dutifully, but only had time to read the headline, "Ghosts Haunt Oregon City," before the waitress arrived with the coffeepot and filled their cups.

"You guys ready ta order?" she asked, pulling a notepad and a worn pencil out of a pocket.

"Yeah," Dean said, "I'll have the, er," he snuck a glance at the menu, "bacon and egg special."

"And I'll go with a traditional omelet," Sam added, with a soft smile.

"'Kay." The notepad and pencil disappear again. "I'll bring that right out for ya."

The waitress walked off and Sam returned to the newspaper. Dean let him finish the article before asking, "Sounds like our kinda gig, don't it?"

Sam nodded in agreement, brow furrowed in thought.

---

Early that afternoon, Dean's Chevy Impala was cruising along a quiet Oregon highway, Sam riding shotgun and staring out the window as usual. The car was silent except for the heavy metal coming through the speakers. Dean shifted awkwardly and glanced over at his younger brother.

"So, Sammy, uh, Amity Park? Any thoughts?"

"Aren't you supposed to be asking me that after we've done a bit of research?" the younger Winchester teased.

Dean cracked a smile. "Thought we could get ahead this time. Speed things up a bit."

Sam snorted in response. After a few minutes, Dean pressed on again, reluctant to drive in silence.

"C'mon, more than ten regular ghosts, others showing up occasionally, none with fixed haunts, all doing stuff we've never even heard of before? The place is a Hunter's paradise."

"Or his worst nightmare." It was obvious to Sam that Dean was excited about the latest hunt, and Sam grudgingly admitted, after the fairly routine demonic possession they'd dealt with in Idaho and the ghostly prospector in Colorado before that, they probably both needed something interesting. The Amity Park hauntings looked like they'd be perfect. Intriguing, unusual, but nothing overly challenging. Still, Dean also needed to be reminded occasionally that they weren't the best Hunters in America and could very easily be driving into a bad situation.

A road sign flashed by Sam's window, interrupting his musings, and he spoke again, this time in a more bored tone.

"Next exit, Dean. Couple more miles."

---

Sam and Dean drove into Amity Park ("The Best City in the State!") shortly before dinnertime. It seemed normal enough. People were driving home from work, children were playing in the park or their yards, a group of teenagers was hanging around the local burger joint... For a town as haunted as this one was rumoured to be, none of the residents were displaying the characteristic fear that the Winchester brothers expected in these sorts of situations. The men exchanged glances. Perhaps the news article had been a hoax.

Dean had just pulled the Impala into the parking lot of the cheapest looking motel in the city, the Safe House, when there was a crash of masonry and the earth shook. From the feel of it, whatever was going on was only about five blocks away. Anything that strong in this city probably had paranormal roots. It was a reasonable assumption, anyway. Dean quickly killed the engine and both brothers sprang out of the vehicle and ran in the direction of the shakes and screams.

Sam arrived at the scene shortly behind his older brother, only to find him standing stock-still and staring upwards. There was a giant green eagle, with at least a forty-foot wingspan, perched on the top of the Amity Bank. It appeared to be simply loking around with its solid red eyes, not being the least bit harmful if you ignored the gaping pieces of wall where it had anchored its talons and the corresponding pieces of stonework that had flattened several parked cars.

Sensing his brother's presence, Dean spoke in low awe, keeping his eyes trained on the eagle. "Sammy, that look like any ghost you've seen?"

"No."

"You ever heard of a ghost that colour before?"

"No."

"Right. Now what?"

"Either we watch it and take notes for later, or..." Sam held out a rifle that he'd taken from the trunk of the car. "Here. It's already loaded."

"Sounds good," Dean acknowledged, taking the gun. "Let's see if rock salt can hurt this sucker." He began to walk slowly forward, making sure he avoided the ghost's line of sight. He'd made it only about three or four feet when a black and white blur flew past him, with enough speed to spin him a few degrees to the right.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, tensing into his full Hunter stance. "What the hell was that?"

"I'm betting it was him," Sam said, pointing to a figure dressed in black who was hovering near the top of the building a cautious distance back from the eagle. The figure's fists were crackling with green energy, and he seemed to be speaking angrily at the eagle. The bird cocked its head in response, then opened its beak and sent a blast of what looked like green flame straight at the boy in front of it, who dodged to the side just in time. The flames ignited a building instead, but the ghost in black didn't even pause before released the energy in his hands in two beams straight at the eagle's chest. It screeched, leapt off the bank, and launched itself at him, claws first. The boy dove, circled, and hit it with another beam, leading his adversary above the buildings.

The two Hunters standing a ways off exchanged glances. Both ghosts were displaying characteristics that were unheard of in the Hunting community. Still, a ghost had caused property damage and people were scared, and the brothers were the only trained professionals on the scene. Sam and Dean started running, cautiously, towards the ghosts.

The battle was still raging by the time the brothers had climbed up the fire escape of a nearby apartment block. As Dean did his best to get a clear shot at the eagle, because it was causing the most damage of the two ghosts, Sam managed to get a better look at the boy, who looked similar to and completely different from the other ghosts the Winchesters had encountered. He started listing features mentally so they'd have something to start their research with tomorrow.

White hair. Black jumpsuit, white highlights. D logo, might have an embedded P. Looks to be about fourteen, fifteen. Can go intangible and invisible. Flies, fast. Green energy blasts he's able to control. Seems good at fighting, like he does this a lot. Smart, seems to have rudimentary grasp at strategy. Some sort of metal container on his back.

CRACK!

Dean was standing at the other end of the fire escape, finger still pressing down on the trigger. The salt didn't seem to have much effect on either ghost, apart from creating a hole in the eagle's side that already seemed to be healing. Sam watched the ghosts in puzzlement as Dean aimed again and fired, this time having the bullet shoot towards the eagle's head. It missed, but barely, as the aerial battle moved downwards a foot or so. The humanoid ghost bent backwards to avoid it in a move that reminded Sam strongly of the Matrix, on a smaller scale.

Rising back up, the boy clipped the eagle on the head with a martial arts kick that moved his torso low enough to avoid the wing that the bird had moved forward to get him. Pulling out of the kick, he turned towards the Hunters with a livid expression, eyes blazing a brighter green than the energy still whipping around his hands.

"What do you think you're doing?!" he shouted. "You could hurt somebody with that thing!"

"That was kinda the point," Dean muttered. He cocked the gun again, but Sam pulled his arm down to stop him from firing.

"Salt's not working, Dean," he said quietly. His brother remained glaring out at the fight.

"Can you think of anything better?" he asked beligerantly.

"No, but–" The rest of Sam's sentence was cut off by a shriek from the eagle and both men turned their attention back to the business at hand. The teenaged ghost had lured the creature up above the buildings and was blasting its chest and wings with a glittering white substance that looked suspiciously like ice. Just as the bird-ghost lost the ability to stay aloft, the boy slung the metal canister Sam had noticed earlier off his back, popped the top off, and aimed it at the paralyzed eagle. A white-blue beam of light shot out of it and encompassed the bird, which screeched again as it was distorted and sucked into the cylinder. The second ghost returned his weapon to its original position, gave a pointed glare in the direction of a slack-jawed Sam and Dean, then literally disappeared.

"Dude… did he just catch a giant eagle in a thermos?" Sam asked after a moment.

"Looks like." Dean pushed past his brother. "C'mon, let's get back to the motel. We have work to do, research boy."

---

Halfway across town, a white-haired boy pulled out a phone in mid-flight and thumbed in a number without looking.

"Tuck? Hey, can you see what you can find about shooting ghosts with salt? … Yeah, salt. … Someone just shot at me, that's why. … Great. Thanks! I'll call you later, 'kay? I'm late for dinner."