AN:

We enter to see a figure quietly humming under his breath;

~ "Don't ever laugh as a hearse goes by…" ~

~ "For you may be the ~ oh!"

Hello, everyone! Glad you're still with this fic.

Gonna be honest, I surprised myself how fast I put this one out. I'm kinda proud of myself for that. Neat.

...

*Trigger warning; body functions and slight body horror. Also, Phantom-Half Danny. From your reactions he deserves a trigger all to himself.


*GUUUURRRRRRRP!*

"Dude! That was awesome!"

"Ugh," Danny groaned, hand on his stomach. Despite Tucker's enthusiasm, the others around the cafeteria weren't as keen on that particularly loud belch. Most looked on in disgust, except for a couple guys at the weird-kid table giving a thumbs-up.

"You want some ginger tea?" Sam offered, holding up her thermos. "It has turmeric in it, so it'll help with… y'know."

"Thanks, Sam, but right now I don't think I could eat a cracker," Danny mumbled, head laying against the coolness of the table. "Is this what being fully-human feels like all the time? I distinctly remember being alive and not feeling this way."

"Dude, you just had your soul ripped in half. Some side effects may be experienced," Tucker quipped.

Sam shook her head. She didn't like the idea of Danny's 'Phantom' half being left on its own. Heck, she didn't like the idea of Danny being separated from his 'Phantom' half in the first place. When Danny showed her and Tucker the Phantom-Half floating around above the house, she almost thought it was another ghostly trick.

But he couldn't fly. Couldn't go intangible or invisible. Couldn't do that white-halo-transform thing.

Her friend was now fully human again. For better or worse.

"GURRRP," Danny hiccuped, face a little green and hand pressing his stomach. "Ugh, I feel like a Macy's parade balloon."

"You know, starving people tend to bloat. Maybe it's your body's way of saying 'feed me, you have not fed me properly in 30 years. Feed me, Seymore'," Tucker said, waggling his sloppy joe bun like a ventriloquist dummy.

"You know, that didn't end up too well for everyone in the end," Danny pointed out, pushing the meat sandwich out of his face. "Well… I dunno, Sam might-"

"Just because I'm ultra-recyclo vegetarian, doesn't mean I think Audrey-2 was a good idea," Sam retorted, spearing her salad.

The other two kept eating their meals quietly when Danny winced. Sam glanced up at him bouncing his jaw up and down like he was trying to force a yawn, a faint 'pop' echoed with each motion.

"What is it now?" She asked.

"I dunno," He admitted. "It's something else since the split. It's like I've got cotton or something in my ears. Everything's a little muffled or something. It's hard to explain. I'm trying to pop my ears, like on a plane? I dunno."

"I have gum, if you want," She offered.

"Nah, it's not going away. I'll pop my jaw off before then," Danny sighed, giving up.

"Well, hopefully we'll get this sorted out soon. You sure you don't need our help sorting through your parents' old stuff?" Tucker asked.

Danny considered it before shaking his head, "Nah, not sure if it's safe for you guys to be down there. I've still got my super-strength so I can handle the climb up and down."

"Well, careful," Sam cautioned. "You're human, too. Now the rules apply to you, same as us."

"Yeah, well," Danny laughed. "I've got some experience with the whole 'being dead thing', so don't worry about me."

"Danny, don't take this the wrong way, but you, our undead friend, have the self-preservation instincts of a drunk werewolf in a silversmith shop," Tucker explained.

"Or a vampire on a garlic farm," Sam joined in.

"Oh! Oh! Frankenstein in a pitchfork-and-torch convention."

"A mummy in a dingy boat."

"A witch in Salem."

"Doctor Jekyll."

"That's it?" Tucker asked.

"He drank an unknown chemical straight from a beaker." Sam monotoned. "Clearly, he had self-destructive behaviors."

"Alright! Fine!" Danny burst out. "I promise, cross my heart, that I won't do something crazy and self-destructive. Deal?"

"Okay."

"Fair enough."

"Good."

At that moment the lunch bell rang. Tucker sighed, "Speaking of crazy and self-destructive, who's ready for gym after a heavy meal?"


Gym today was not fun, Danny decided. Maybe it was his ghostly half always compensating for his oxygen needs. Maybe it was his ghostly strength making things easier. Maybe he was subconsciously 'floating' just a bit to lighten the load as he ran.

Whatever it was, he decided doing cardio-day without it sucked.

The whistle blew and everyone jogged to the meeting place, panting and exhausted. Well, not Danny. His breathing was okay, just-

*crraaaaackle*

He groaned as his back creaked loudly and every joint in his body seemed like it just didn't want to cooperate. Like a rusty door hinge. Take into account how many jostles and joints were involved in running and you had a recipe for misery.

"Dude, you okay? You sound like my grandpa." Tucker asked, concerned.

"Yeah, Tuck, just a little stiff and sore." Danny waved off. "I guess it's another 'wonderful' side effect of being human."

"I mean, maybe, but still-"

"Okay, everyone, pulse check!" Tetslaff barked. The woman had handed out little cardio wrist bracelets to everyone that day, with mandatory tests to see whose been slacking off and who needed improvement.

Danny looked down at his.

[ERROR]

He frowned, shaking the device a little, trying to see if it picked anything up. Dangit. "Coach Tetslaff, my cardio-bracelet's not working."

She walked over, heavy frown on her face as she peered at the device. Seeing the Error sign, she scowled and muttered about 'cheap piece of plastic' and 'gym budget funneling into the football team'.

"Alright, Fenton, come over and let's get another going for you. Everyone else, LAPS! ON THE DOUBLE! HUT-TWO-THREE-FOUR-HUT-TWO-THREE-FOUR!" She barked as the students frantically started sprinting around the football field track.

Danny held out his device and Tetslaff took it-

-before visibly flinching and grimacing. She seemed to rub her fingers on the device and took a quick sniff.

Then shoved it as far away from her as possible, face instantly green. "BLECH! Fenton, I don't know how much in Health Class you paid attention to, but puberty tends to hit like a truck. Sweat gets gross and smells like a compost truck. You got deodorant in your locker?"

Danny, shamefaced, mumbled, "Er, no, I've never really needed it."

Tetslaff sighed, "Alright, you're excused, I want you to hit the showers and sit out today. I'm not gonna have your next couple teachers complaining about you stinking up their rooms. Homework today is to go out and pick up a fresh stick of roll-on deodorant for tomorrow. No Axe, no Febreeze. I don't care if its 'Degree Kelvin' or 'Elderly Spice', just get some real anti-perspirant. And this is mandatory. You don't have it by then, I issue detentions until you do. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Danny shrunk back as the coach nodded and returned her attention to the classmates, barking an order at Tucker for slowing down.

He slunk to the showers, now extremely self-conscious. He should've guessed 'body functions' like sweat were going to be a thing now. Ugh, Tucker was probably right, all this bloating and stuff was probably his gut working through processing food the 'right way'.

He shuddered, thinking about what that would entail later on.

He got undressed, grateful the locker room was entirely empty and stepped into the shower. Instantly, the warm water was like a soothing balm to his joints and muscles. He felt them loosen up and the stiffness and soreness melt away.

"Oh, man, this is definitely worth this whole 'living' stuff." Danny sighed to himself. Finishing a rinse-off (because no way would he use random shampoo or soap left behind in the shower stalls), he grabbed a towel from a shelf the school was nice enough to leave for people to use.

He dried himself off quickly, enjoying the refreshing feeling, he padded his way back to his locker. Stowing his (probably reeking) clothes in his locker. Maybe this weekend, he'd find a laundromat and invest a couple dollars in cleaning his clothes now that they needed it.

He slunk into his shirt and pants and was ready to pull on his socks-

-when he stopped, confused and concerned.

His feet were… bruised-looking. A little like he'd dropped something really heavy on them and now they were starting to turn an unpleasant purple mixed with a raspberry-red.

"Ugh," He grimaced, poking it. It didn't hurt. But… it squished. His bruised foot was slightly swollen now, making wiggling his toes a little stiff.

He heard the doors open and hurriedly pulled socks over… whatever the heck that was. He had to re-lace his shoes a bit to account for his feet swelling.

Ugh, the joys of the 'Living'.

Suppressing another small burp, he reluctantly walked out the door to his next class.


He was Phantom.

He knew that much.

He had drifted slowly around the neighborhood, preferring invisibility since people early in the morning started pointing and waving at him until he vanished.

He didn't know them.

They weren't… hindering him, nor were they… hurting him.

It didn't matter. He ignored them.

The night had been quiet. The day was less-so.

It was loud.

With cars. And people. And dogs. And children. And noises.

So, he retreated back into the house. Back into the place he first was.

He liked the way it… sang in him.

Every window, even broken.

Every door, even crooked.

Every piece of furniture, even scarred.

It made something in him… sing.

No, resonate. Was that the word?

It made him think of… feelings.

A chip in the doorframe.

Sadness. Shame. Mommy angry with him running in the house. Now he hurt the door.

A pink room upstairs.

Safe. Jazzy playing board games with him. Lonely. Mommy and Daddy being gone in the lab.

A television set.

Eagerness. It was 6:00, time for his cartoons.

Anger. It was 6:00, Jazz could watch her news stations after cartoons!

A large twisted hunk of metal in the basement.

Sad.

scared

The room upstairs. The bedspread with stars. The rocketship model on his shelf. The desk. The books. The cobwebs.

Safe. Home. Cozy. Comfy. His. Danny's. Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

ALL MINE.

MINE!

He drifted down the stairs. Enjoying the resonance. The singing.

The banister.

Excitement. Joy. Sliding down it like the nanny-lady on TV.

The clock.

Intrigue. Seeing his Mommy pull the face off and fix a gear with him watching.

A chip in the doorframe.

Sadness. Shame. A redhead woman angry with him running in the house. Now he hurt the door.

A redhead woman.

The redhead girl? Ja… Jazzzzz…

No.

No

NONONONONONO

NO!

Forgetting, slipping!

Need to hold onto them. Those things.

Those memories.

Those feelings.

MINE!

Mine.

Something was coming.

Something was coming for what was mine.


Boxy was cautiously optimistic. He, THE BOX GHOST, had managed to enter the human world through his incredible powers over all things cubicle and cardboard (and a natural portal opening up).

He had thus far been in the human realm all of 40 minutes, causing mail to fly out of mailboxes, moving boxes to deposit contents on the street, and controlling a large box for a plasma screen TV left on the curb!

And all without the dreaded Phantom coming to capture him and cease his corrugated reign of horror!

"Hnnn…"

Boxy slumped a little at the sound of a breathy sigh behind him.

Phantom had arrived.

Still, go out with a bang, "It is too late, Phantom! For I, The Box Ghost, have obtained this!" He levitated a moving box beside him, labeled in sharpie as 'Linen Closet'.

He spun around, launching it at the figure-

-and it exploded in green fire. Sheets, pillows, and blankets littering the ground in an emerald inferno.

It was only then that The Box Ghost actually saw who it was. It was not Phantom… or, maybe it was? It was hard to say. The hoodie definitely looked right, just without the usual colors, and the build was right, and the eyes were right-

-well… a little creepier, but still green…

"Hnn…" Phantom sighed.

"Hah! You have come to face me, Phantom! I see you are no match for my cuboidal- wah!" He duked as an ectoblast seared past where his head was. Phantom didn't miss a beat, aiming for his head once more with impassioned disinterest.

"Wait! Stop! AH!" He shouted, dodging repeated blasts. "This isn't how it goes!"

Oh, Ancients, did Phantom finally decide to do away with him? Snuff out his core!? IS THIS END OF THE BOX GHOST?!

"Hah!" He shouted, desperately throwing the TV box at the figure. It struck dead on, the hollow thunk of cardboard bopping him right in the head!

And his hood fell off.

The figure glared back with empty eyes.

"D-Danny?" Boxy gasped. "Danny Phantom?"

"I… Am… Phan-tom," The figure rasped.

"Wh-what are you doing?! We're friends, man!" Boxy retorted, starting to get angry. "What's the deal? Do your parents- Wah!"

He ducked as another green ectoblast flew past his beanie.

"I… AM… PHANTOM," The figure screeched, glowing hands at its sides. Eyes taking on a dark, harsh, greedy stare.

"D-Danny?"

"NOT DAAHHH-NEEEE! I… AM PHANTOM!" The figure roared. "MINE! MINE! STAY AWAY FROM MINE!"

The figure screamed at Boxy-

-and its jaw fell wide. "REEEEEAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGHGHHHHH!"

The Box Ghost fled, abandoning his square spoils of war. Behind him, the figure… 'Phantom' screeched, but abandoned pursuit as soon as Boxy crossed a street. It immediately went docile. Eyes empty and face slack, it flipped its hood back up, drifting back the way it came.

Trembling, Boxy fled to an alleyway, sensing the instability of a natural portal appearing. Quickly zipping inside it, he took a moment to recompose himself.

That… that was not Danny. The ghostly son of his friends.

Nor was that 'Phantom', the protector of the human realm.

That… was something using Phantom's name, using Danny's face.

Something… not natural. Even for a ghost.

He zipped off into the Zone, warning everyone he could.

Something was lurking around the Human Town.


Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

Phantom drifted away as the intruder, the disruptor, left his haunt.

His lair.

His.

Mine.

The figure stopped for a moment, the path to the House of Singing forgotten. A new place.

A new song?

A large brick building.

Dread. Homework and tests.

Anger. Bullies.

Lonely. Loser.

Friends. Sam. Tucker.

Nervousness.

Happy.

Sad.

Angry.

Afraid.

So many songs in him.

For a moment, he stared, before turning back and drifting above the other buildings.

A small shop.

Delight. Cinnamon buns.

Joy. Laughter with friends.

A television store.

Exasperation. BEN.

Dread. Candle Cove.

A cemetery.

Home?

Not Home.

So many places, so many songs.

All his songs.

Cannot forget.

His songs.

All mine.

All mine.

Mine.

Mine.

MINE.

MINE!

It was all his. This town, these people. They were all his. All mine.

And he couldn't let them.

He couldn't let them hurt what was his.

He wouldn't let them take what was 'mine'.

Phantom's face contorted in a grimace, and its jaw fell limply open, hanging off ectoplasming skin and 'sinew' like a lolling pendulum.

With a crackle of ectoplasmic bones, he reached up and locked it back into place.

It had decided. The house of songs was mine.

It must be kept right.

He could not lose those songs. Lose those memories.

But the brown building was mine, too.

And the shops. And the people. And… and…

Green eyes widened in realization.

Danny was wrong. The house was not his lair. This town was. He must watch it all.

He flew away, circling the whole town, his town. Mine.

And it ignored occasional drips of green ectoplasm slowly sliding down its form.


Well, this day was just fan-tastic. Danny bitterly thought, sloughing off the backpack in his room. He felt bloated and gassy, then stiff and sore, and now his legs, up to his knees, were a little puffy and swollen and reddish-purple. And he still felt sick, even if he hadn't eaten anything all day!

"Ugh, maybe I caught something?" He grumbled. Figures, with his luck, first day being human again and he catches the freaking Bubonic plague.

*gurgle*

Speaking of.

He clutched his stomach, grimacing unpleasantly as it bubbled and toiled uncomfortably. "BRAAWWWWHP! Ugh."

He winced as he actually tasted that one. It was like onions with a slimy aftertaste like bad chicken.

"Oh, God," He moaned. "I'm getting mouthwash and deodorant tonight."

He stumbled his way into his bedroom to grab the shoebox under his bed with his limited savings.

Hmm… now that he needed actual food and stuff, he might start finding himself a little short on cash. Better buy generic…

Or…

He made his way to the master bathroom connected to his parents room. It was bigger and had a nice tub in it, but he was interested in the cabinet beside the mirror.

"Ha!" He cried triumphantly. Blowing off the dust, he found a dusty stick of deodorant. New, too! So no grody dad-hair on it yet.

Well… as 'new' as 30-year-old deodorant really could be.

Did deodorant go bad? Would mouthwash?

He popped back under the cabinet, picking up another dusty bottle of 'mouthwash'.

He eyed the cloudy solution, weird black particles drifting around when he shook it.

"Eeghh," He grimaced. "Definitely bad."

His eyes slid over to the mirror beside him. (AN: Trigger warning; brace yourself)

Wow, his face was pale. Even in the fading orange light of the evening, he could tell his face was definitely paler than before. Probably all the blood rushing to his legs for some reason.

It also occurred to him that his hair was looking a little bit longer. His mom used to say his hair grew like a weed, but come to think of it, he hadn't needed a haircut in his entire time in the Land of the Living. Now, all of a sudden, he needs a haircut?

Again, because of the whole 'living body' thing, he supposed.

What else did he have to do often?

Brush his teeth. Floss. Generally prevent his teeth from falling out. Yep.

Nails?

He glanced down at his hands. Sure enough, for the first time since coming there, his nails were longer and… what?

His pinky nail had some weird black stuff around the nail bed. Seriously, could this day get any grosser?!

He rummaged through his dad's drawer and found a little nail clipper. Folding it around, he angled it under his nail, ready to clip whatever that stuff was back-

*click*

*click*

*scleck*

Danny's hand trembled.

He couldn't tear his eyes off of the hand illuminated in the dying evening light. He clipped his fingernail.

The rot was gone.

… and the nail…

He lurched, as the wave of shock finally dissipated enough for him to realize he'd clipped off his own nail. He clipped off his fingernail!

He found the little chip on the ground looking like a scale and wanted to vomit whatever the hell was in his gut right now!

"Holy shit, holy shit," He mumbled, world swimming. His heart was pounding a mile a minute-

-wait.

He stuck a finger against his neck.

His wrist.

He jammed his palm against his chest.

Nothing.

The steady, unyielding miracle since he first got here. Since all of this happened in the first place… was gone.

No heartbeat.

And his body was literally rotting on him.

Too numb to do much, he murmured to himself.

"That's… not good…"


AN:

~ "And the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out~

~ "The worms play pinochle on your snout~

~ "They eat your eyes, they eat your nose~

~ "As you begin to decompose" ~

…Let's hope Danny can figure this out before it gets that far…

To people who were horrified by the nail scene; so was I. My gut was squeamish the entire time. Nails, eyes, and needles are my immediate cringe-factors. Anytime I hear about nails popping off or eye surgery or that needle-trap in SAW, I start folding in on myself fetal-position.

Still, I'm excited to see everyone's reactions to this arc. It's been a long time coming and I've been eager to get to this point in the storyline.

This arc was actually partially inspired by a scene I vaguely remember from a show called 'Being Human' that aired on the SciFi channel when I was growing up. It had a ghost character suddenly brought back to life and slowly rotting as she went through her day-to-day activities.

I also ended up getting a little insight/inspiration from The Edgar Suit from Men in Black. You could see the decay of the 'skin suit' over time through the movie and that was along the lines of what I'm going for… maybe a little less gross towards the end, though. Certainly without the giant cockroach.

I won't go crazy graphic with all of this (I did in-depth research that probably has the internet folks concerned), but I will incorporate a little body horror aspects. Cleaner than the "Hearse Song" lyrics, but not exactly rated G.

Anatomical grossness ahead, if you don't want to read; skip to the next dot-dot-dot.

If you're curious, the gas (as most of you probably guessed) is bloating. Really common early in decomp.

The stiffness he felt was rigor mortis (also probably widespread knowledge) where the body's muscles stiffen and contract, keeping the body 'stuck' in a position for a while as anaerobic chemistry kicks in muscle cells. Exercise before death (or 'during' death in this case) can cause it to set in a lot faster. It lasts a while until enzymes just break down the cell stiffness, but warm temperatures can 'loosen' things up and speed along reactions and enzymes, like the shower.

The 'bruise' is actually two-fold. After death, blood isn't circulated in the body anymore, so red blood cells and heavier elements of blood sink down through capillaries and 'settle', causing red splotchy spots on the lowest parts of the body called Livor Mortis. In murder-mysteries it can indicate how long the body's been there and what position it may have been in if it's been moved. (another source of inspiration, I had a Detective Conan phase in high school)

The second part of the bruise was realized as I was writing it. A body doesn't 'repair' itself anymore so running and physical exercise probably breaks a lot of decomposing capillaries, causing bruising around the area, namely points of impact like the feet.

Sorry if you're disturbed by this, but personally I find things like this scientifically fascinating.

Then again, I'm the nephew of an active mortician/funeral-home-director so we have higher tolerance for morbid stuff.

Well, that's about it for this AN-

*Crow tunes his brother's guitar (because I'm actually a pianist, cellist, and organist) *

Until next time, take care.

~0-0~

~ "A slimy beetle with rolling eyes" ~

~ "Crawls in your stomach and out your sides" ~

~ "Your stomach turns a rancid green" ~

~ "And pus pours out like whipping cream" ~

~ "You spread it on a slice of bread" ~

~ "And that's what you'll eat when you're DEAD!" ~