AN: A bit long, but I didn't know where to cut it off.


"I see," Mr. Lindermann spoke at last, easing back into his desk.

The three teens had guided Danny halfway across town to the funeral home. Thankfully, the adult was in late that afternoon with Sally at a babysitter's, to let them in with fewer questions.

After Danny's blindness settled in, Sam took charge and directed them to the Home. Grandma Yaga had said the body could be preserved easily enough, so that's what she aimed to do.

Danny, Sam, and Tucker fidgeted in their seats before the man. Tucker cleared his throat, "So... can you help, Mr. L?"

The director sighed, looking away and considering it, "... I'll need to examine the damage before I make any promises. Let's go downstairs."

Sam and Tucker led Danny down the stairs after Mr. Lindermann into the chilly basement area they were just in earlier that week. The director walked them into a room a lot like Clocky's but without the ticking clockwork everywhere.

"Now, then, Danny I'll need you to take off your clothes and lie on the table." He gestured to the embalming station.

"U-umm," If he had any blood left circulating, Danny would've blushed furiously.

"You may keep your underwear on, and I have a towel if you'd like." The man offered.

Danny accepted both and both he and Tucker gave Sam a pointed look until she huffed and turned to face a wall. Mr. Lindermann stepped into a back area as Tucker helped Danny get undressed. Once he was situated on the table, underwear and a towel draped over his groin, he fidgeted.

"Brr, don't you have any heating pads or cushions on these things?" He asked.

"Sorry, you're the first to complain," Mr. Lindermann responded in morbid humor from the back room.

When he came back into the autopsy theater, he was in full scrubs with a surgeon's hairnet, face mask, apron, gloves, and goggles.

"Uhh... just how... intensive is this examination going to be?" Tucker cautioned, looking at the guy who looked like a psycho doctor in the newest DRILL movie.

"Just topical." He promised. "This is just standard PPE. Now you two," He gestured to Sam and Tucker, "I'd like you to grab some face masks, goggles, and gloves at least. And wash your hands well in that sink over there. No offense, Daniel, but it's unsanitary to be handling a rotting corpse in your state."

"Trust me, if it helped, I'd be bathing in disinfectant right now." Danny answered.

The next several minutes were Mr. Lindermann carefully examining Danny's coloration, deterioration, teeth, eyes, and rot patches. Several times, Tucker had to excuse himself to rush to the bathroom, but overall they held it together.

At length, the man sighed, "Well, I'm afraid there's not much I can do to undo everything so far. Recovering a badly decomposed corpse is a time-intensive and rather invasive process. And frankly, I'm not comfortable rooting around your organs to pull rotting gunk out."

Danny shuddered, "Neither am I."

"And the blindness isn't something I can reverse, either. The fact that your eyes are intact at all is rather remarkable. I'm afraid eyes don't last long after death. What we use in the funeral business are cosmetic imitations, like glass or plastic eyes."

"Yeah, not keen on having those jammed in my head," Danny answered honestly.

"So... what do you suggest?" Sam asked.

Mr. Lindermann stared in contemplation at his array of tools around the space. "I suggest we don't do any preservative work at all. No embalming fluids or formaldehyde. They're not exactly healthy..."

"I'm not exactly 'healthy', right now," Danny pointed out, a little sarcastic.

"I mean when you are back together. I don't think you'd want formaldehyde floating around your veins when you're 'alive'."

Danny gulped nervously.

"Instead, what I suggest is we slow the remaining decomposition as much as possible." The director continued. "I have some freezers he can stay in. That should significantly hinder any further rot."

He looked down at Danny, "As for what's happened already, I have some topical creams we can apply that are fungicides and biocides. It will at least kill off most topical agents to slow the development of rot."

"Hey, like I said, I'll bathe in disinfectant right now if it helped." Danny said.

Mr. Lindremann nodded, smiling. "We'll see about that. Now, if you're alright with it, let's move you to one of our refrigerated body chambers."

"Sure thing."

"Oh, and one more thing," The adult said, smirking. "You do know it's going to be colder in there than on this metal slab, right?"

Danny blinked... then shivered, "Fine. What's a little cold going to do? Freeze me to death?"

"Just try sleeping," Mr. Lindermann suggested, gathering some things from around the theater.

"Don't worry, Danny," Sam reassured. "We'll fix this. Trust us."

Danny smiled from his spot in the gurney, "I trust you guys. And don't worry about me, alright?"

The adult returned and leaned Danny back onto the metal gurney before draping a white morgue shroud from his ankles to over his head. Danny's feet wiggled a little as he tied a paper tag to his big toe.

"Huh, so they actually use toe tags?" Danny asked from under the sheet.

"Not typically," Mr. Lindermann admitted, wheeling Danny's gurney through the morgue with Sam and Tucker behind. "We'll actually use ankle or wrist bracelets fairly often. The toe tags in this town are typically for corpses in an ongoing crime."

"Woah, like murder victims?" Sam asked, morbidly fascinated.

"Bluntly; yes, but it's very rare," He answered. "It's a way to deter the others from bothering you, Danny. If they see the toe tag they know to contact me before they do anything with the body or risk police charges of tampering with evidence."

"Good to know." Danny said, feeling the gurney jolt as Mr. Lindermann prepped it for a vacant body chamber. The gurney legs collapsed and he felt it roll in with an echoing clang.

"Comfy?" Tucker joked, wincing as Sam smacked him on the arm.

"Yeah, from what I can tell, at least, it's very snug." Danny's muffled voice echoed from inside. "Five stars, definitely."

He closed his eyes and tried hard to think that he was in his bed or a hotel or somewhere other than in a morgue cubby.

"Hey, Danny?" Sam called in.

"Y-yeah?" He croaked, voice tremble betraying his anxiety.

"You got this. Okay? We'll be right back with Phantom and everything will work out."

"And I'll check in with you in the morning, first thing," Mr. Lindermann promised.

"Thanks, guys." Danny sighed. "Alright, sir, let's get this over with."

The chamber's hinges creaked and Danny could tell through the film on his eyes that the entire chamber was completely dark. Like a coffin.

He shut his eyes harsh and slowed his breathing, remembering he wasn't actually using oxygen. There was no heartbeat to focus on, but he heard the whining and whirring of the cooling system.

He settled back quietly onto his gurney and with a darkly ironic thought... slept like the dead.


"I swear his wardrobe is just jeans and that T-shirt." Tucker said, rifling through Danny's old closet. He then coughed roughly, "And dust bunnies."

"Well, he can't exactly ask for a maid service," Sam retorted sarcastically as she rifled through his desk. So far, it was just ancient dried-up pens, pencils with wood that was splintering from how old it was, erasers that were fossilized, and a handwritten essay on Moby Dick.

Tucker gave up as his latest search just showed up an empty sock drawer. "Okay, first thing when Danny's back together, we give his room a makeover. There is nothing in here."

"Let's try downstairs." Sam suggested, already leaving the room.

They searched room by room, but anything that wasn't charred or broken in the explosion didn't seem that important. No family pictures, no teddy bears, no ancient-heirloom-of-significance. Just dust, dated furniture, and some knick-knack artifacts.

Sam grunted in frustration as wiping the dust and grime off another glass frame revealed another useless "modern" art piece.

"C'mon, Danny, there's gotta be something around here we can use." She muttered to herself.

"Maybe his family wasn't the Christmas card type." Tucker huffed, shutting another drawer of silverware.

"No, no, I know I've seen his family before. I just-" She cut herself off, whipping out her phone.

Tucker walked over, "You got something?"

She shoved her search results in his face and he saw an old picture of his friend alongside a massive man, a bob-haircut woman, and a kind-looking older teen.

"Their obituary," Sam said triumphantly.


It was almost completely by stroke of luck that they found him. Sam printed off a larger, better-quality image off of the old obituary page and made extras just in case.

They were walking around less-populated areas together, figuring if Phantom plopped in the middle of downtown there'd be more commotion with his arrival. They focused on older landmarks, like parks or statues, considering things built when Danny was alive would resonate more with his mind.

They struck gold when they wandered through an old playground park. Phantom sat in one of the swings, gently swaying as he stared blankly ahead.

"Phantom?" Sam called out.

The phantasmal echo of their friend looked up at the sound of its name and glided off the swings like a puppet dragged along swings to approach the two. Unblinking, green eyes shone like headlights under the perpetual shadow the Phantom hoodie seemed to provide.

"Do... do you recognize us?" Tucker cautioned.

The eyes drank in the sight of both as the figure tilted its head under the hood.

"S...Sssssaaaammmm..." It hissed, the 's' coming out like a teakettle.

"Tuuuu-tuuuckkkkerrrrrsh," The word ended in a messy mumble. From the bare amount of face visible, Sam almost recoiled to see its lips briefly lose cohesion and melt shut before reforming.

"That's right," She said firmly. "We're Sam and Tucker... We're your friends."

"Frieeeeeeennnnddssssss..." The hissing picked up again as it seemed to brighten. "Haaaappyyyyy."

"Yeah, we're happy to see you, too, man," Tucker grinned uneasily.

"Phantom, look, we need you to come with us." Sam said patiently. The ghost's head tilted, as she enunciated. "Follow. Us. Kay?"

"C-c-c-c-'kay." It came out more 'clicky' than she'd like, but she'd take it.

Sam started walking backwards, beckoning him, "Okay, now just... follow us, okay? And no running off..."

"Hnnn," The figure dragged itself along after her, seeming content to do just that.

"This is awesome!" Tucker gushed. "We'll have Danny back together in no time flat!"

"Tucker, don't jinx this," Sam growled, still glancing back at the vacant-eyed phantasm behind them.

"Sorry, but you can't say you didn't think it would be this easy."

"We're not out of the woods, yet," Sam countered. "We've still got to get him back to the house and he has to stay in the house long enough for us to get Danny back."

"Daaahhhhneeee." The figure rasped.

Tucker shuddered, "Jeez, it's creepy when he does that- wait! Hey!"

They turned around to see the figure distracted by an old teeter-totter. Sam walked up and brushed its shoulder tentatively.

The figure whipped around quickly to stare her down. Was it just her, or did the glow in its eyes seem... dimmer?

"Phantom, are you okay?" She asked, meeting the eyes dead-on.

"..."

"Phantom?"

"Ssssaaaaaammmmmm..."

"That's right, I'm Sam." She nodded.

The figure turned to look at the other. "Tuu-tuuuuuu..."

"It's 'Tucker'. C'mon, Phantom, you can do it, right? Say 'Tucker'. Tuuuu-ck-errrrrr," He enunciated.

Sam rolled her eyes, "Tucker, he's not a baby. It's not like that's his first word."

But Phantom didn't respond, just staring vacantly at Tucker, before its eyes dragged across the field emptily.

"Phantom?" Tucker asked.

The eyes went right back to him, glowing green... and hostile.

"Mine..."

"Woah, man," Tucker said backing up, "It's me; your friend? Tucker?"

"Mine!" It rasped, gliding forward.

"Phantom, stop this," Sam said, putting herself between the phantasm and the teen. The specter looked at her, the familiarity in its eyes waning by the second. "Uh-oh."

"Saaaa- saaaaaa..." He hissed.

"Sam." She enunciated, sweat beading her forehead.

"Sammm..." It rumbled, eyes gazing off to the side for a moment until it snapped back to them.

Sam's neck hairs stood on-end when they glowed an unnatural green... and with no recognition.

Its hand lit up with a green ball of-

"DUCK!" She screamed, pulling Tucker down with her just as an ectoblast sailed passed them. The Phantom screeched forlornly, neck lolling like a rubber hose.

"Phantom! Look at this!" Sam shouted, taking the printed off obituary and holding it out. "Remember them? They're your family, and we're your friends."

The figure stared at the page, seeming to grow frustrated. Then, it snatched it from her roughly, not giving her a second glance, but focusing its entire attention on that piece of paper.

The page crinkled and crumpled under his tight grip, him staring at it like it would fade into ash any second. But the longer it looked, the more agitated and frustrated it became.

"No, no, no, mine, mine, taking it away, Mine!" It hissed, still boring its eyes into the paper. "Mine. Mine! MINE!"

In anger, the piece of paper erupted in blue-green flames and the figure tossed its head back in an eerie wail.

"It's fine! It's fine! We brought more," Sam shouted, pulling out several more printouts of the family portrait from her bag.

The figure refocused on her. Specifically her, not looking at the papers she held out in her hand. Its eyes glowed a toxic green as bright as the ectoblast in his-

It recoiled and wailed as a searing, green bolt of ecto-weaponry hit its arm. It turned to look at a shaking Tucker, still holding his smoking lipstick blaster out.

"Uh..." He drew out, blank-minded.

The figure wailed and flew after the boy. "AHHH! Sam! Plan B! Plan B!"

Sam nodded and raised her wrist as the small bracelet blaster shot out of the tiny crystal in the surface. Her aim was solid and before Phantom even diverted his attention off of Tucker, he was already collapsing on the ground, smoking from where he was hit.

Tucker stopped his running and turned around, the Fenton Thermos in his hands. "Sorry, man, but his is for you own good."

He opened the top and the bright, blue beam spread out on Phantom like a spotlight. The ghostly half of their friend writhed under it, resisting the pull with ferocity.

Sam watched, a little triumphantly. They had Phantom, now all they had to do was-

Wait.

"Tucker, stop!" She gasped, rushing up to him and capping the thermos. The beam shut off immediately and Phantom flopped limply on the ground.

"Sam?! What the heck did you do that for?" Tucker exclaimed. She wordlessly pointed to Phantom.

As stated, he was literally flopped limply on the ground.

The ghostly echo was half-melted and stretched like taffy in three-foot long tendrils and deformities towards where the Thermos's light was pulling. Phantom's droopy face sagged like a cheap ice cream truck Popsicle, one eye already sliding down its face.

Now freed from the pull, its limbs and body slowly mushed itself back together, any globs that didn't make it back to the main body sitting there on the ground, slowly melting into a vaporizing puddle of green ooze.

"I don't think it'll survive the thermos," She said grimly.

Phantom gave another wail, before it flew away, its deformed, half-arm waggling in the wind beside it.


Natalie sighed, sliding the folder shut and taking off her gloves. It was a long work day and she had a huge backlog of paperwork she had to get through, so she stayed behind. Glancing at one of her few actually-correct-time clocks, she winced realizing it was almost 10 at night.

Maybe that Wendy's was still open? That or she'd just make a whatever's-in-the-fridge sandwich tonight.

She sloughed off her lab coat and washed up before grabbing her purse and heading out. She was about to make her way out when she heard a low voice down the hall.

Curiosity spurred her over, wondering who else was here at this time of night. Silently, she rounded a corner and saw an open door with a fluorescent light still spilling into the dark hallways.

"Now, this antifungal cream should help slow the rot." Clocky blinked, recognizing her employer's voice speaking lowly. No one replied, so she warily peeked inside.

Mr. Lindermann, in full scrubs and PPE, stood above a corpse on the table. She was dismayed, seeing a teenager probably not even old enough to drive laying on the morgue table, but she was also alarmed at the advanced decomposition of the body.

Normally, at their location, if a body came in that badly it would be a team-effort to put in the overtime or it would be closed-casket after cleanup. This body was clearly very advanced and (from a slight whiff permeating through the sterile atmosphere of disinfectant) still very much not ready for a funeral.

But she hadn't heard anything about it. How long had it been in the Home?

Her employer held a bottle of antifungal cream they use on the bodies and was dabbing it across the teen's upper chest, quietly murmuring the entire time. "I know it's cold. Everything here tends to be, but it'll help, trust me."

But to who? There was no one else in there, except-

Her shoulders tensed. There was no way. That sort of shit only happened on TV. Right?

But her employer, the nice guy who took her in and helped her off her feet after escaping the abusive household she grew up in... he was talking to a corpse. Acting like a beauty treatment specialist yammering to someone as they touch up their hair or something.

The corpse was bad enough, but it was also a teen's corpse. That set off thousands of red flags. Mr. Lindermann was not that kind of guy. He was a single father for cripe's sake! She'd met Sally.

No, it wasn't like that, more like... a fatherly tone?

This was just too creepy to get into.

She knew the job could get quiet and some morticians would talk casually while they worked, but... this was like Mr. Lindermann was genuinely acting like the corpse could still hear him. To the point that it set her arms erupting in goosebumps.

She didn't know what to think of all of this. Should she call the police?

She backed away slowly-

*crash-clatter!*

Three things happened.

She backed up and hit a tray of medical tools that clattered onto the floor in a loud, metallic echo.

Her hands clamped to her mouth to silence a scream.

...

And the corpse sat up.


Mr. Lindermann looked away for only a moment, before turning his attention back to Danny, who jolted upright at the sound, "Easy, Danny, it's fine. Some tools just fell over."

The undead boy's blank, milky eyes gazed sightlessly around before he settled in a quiet nod. The director helped lower him back on the table with a sigh.

Danny's vocal chords had started deteriorating, startling him this morning when his voice came out hoarse and croaking. Since then, they'd tried preserving his voice as much as possible with Mr. Lindermann trying to fill the silence.

"Just stay there, I'll go clean it up," He said to the teen. He got up slowly and walked over to the hallway door. He hadn't mentioned to Danny that the clatter occurred outside their room, not wanting to worry him.

There was a tray of scalpels, forceps, and miscellaneous on the floor that he would need to autoclave again, but nobody around to have had a hand in it.

It settled uneasily in his mind, but he turned back to Danny, closing the door behind him.

In the darkness of the hallway, hidden under the draped cloth of a gurney, Natalie stifled her terrified breathing.


Phantom.

He was Phantom.

He knew that. He remembered that.

But despite that memory, he couldn't help but be attracted to the graveyard and found himself called to the sad singing of these headstones in front of him. Voices called to him.

Names.

Names...

What did he call them...?

"Well, aren't you the troublesome one?"

Phantom turned around, wary. A ghost hovered behind him, its crimson cape drifting slowly in a nonexistent wind, starkly contrasting a fine white suit. Fangs protruded from his mouth, his skin was a pale, clammy green, and his black hair was done up like two horns with a stripe of pale gray down the center.

Phantom didn't fight the ghost. Its limbs were still droopy-feeling from that scary light earlier. He sighed at the figure, "Hnnnn."

The other ghost quirked an eyebrow over a blood-red eye. "Well, you've been the only ghost in some time, but I hear you've been causing a ruckus wherever you go these days."

"... Hnnn..." it quietly moaned.

"... Perhaps we should start slowly. My name, is Plasmius," The ghost grinned with a mouthful of fangs. "May I ask who you are?"

"... I am Phannnntooomm," It hissed.

"That's interesting," Plasmius hummed. "Because I seem to recall 'Phantom' stalking around much differently than yourself. A copycat perhaps?"

He shook his head, "I... am... Phhhaaaaaannnntommmm." It wheezed, head lolling loosely to the side before achingly righting itself.

The vampiric ghost was silent, staring the other impassively.

"You are dying, my boy." Plasmius remarked. "I recognize it when I see a failed Core. You're losing a battle like an ice cube on a summer's day."

"Hnnn..." Phantom sighed, ignoring the other.

The intruding ghost peered at the headstones, but seeing the names its eyes glowed a harsher red. "Any... relations, I suppose."

"... mom..."

"I beg your pardon?" The ghost asked, zipping close beside Phantom to peer over his shoulder intensely.

Phantom's hand rose to point at the grave, "Mom..."

"Madeline," Plasmius whispered reverently. "You're saying... you are her son?"

Silence stretched as Phantom didn't respond, just staring with a weary droop at the faded headstones. Plasmius, frustrated, gripped his shoulder and winced at the soft, slimy feeling of contact. "You are falling apart, my boy.

"Come with me," He offered, holding out a hand wreathed in blue flames. "I can ensure your continued survival and existence. I can amplify your strength and show you true power. Just take my hand."

Phantom looked down at the hand, but then just let his head drift slowly back towards the grave, with a soft murmur, "Mom..."

"Yes, my boy. I'm sure your mother wouldn't want you to die like this," He nodded. Moments passed, but the little ghost didn't so much as twitch. He grit his teeth, the blue flames in his hand flaring more wildly, "My boy, you are making a foolish decision. I am offering a chance for you to continue. I can reunite you with your mother if you wish. I can teach you to be one of the most powerful ghosts in the world. We can get anything we want, do as we please. All you have to do is take. My. Hand."

Phantom finally broke away from the grave, took one look at the hand in front of it, and spoke.

"No."

Plasmius snarled, the fire erupting out like a cold, inferno surrounding them. The flames deepened from their blue-white to purple-black. It was cold, empty, but from it didn't come light, but rather darkness visible.

"I offer you the only chance you have to continue your wretched existence," The vampiric entity growled, its voice resonating with rage and echoing in the darkening twilight. "I offer you salvation and you reject it. Do you want to cease to exist? To suffer a fate worse than death itself?! I see your promise and see you waste it on that which you've done. If you are her son, I cannot let you simply Fade.

"So why. Won't. You. Take. The. DEAL?!I"

Phantom's mouth twisted in a snarl that grew into a loud wail. Plasmius leapt forward to grab his leg, but the flexible, squishy nature of ectoplasm meant it was more successful trying to grab hold of an eel.

The leg snapped out of his grip before Phantom flew off into the sky, the appendage wiggling into a phantasmal tail, but definitely fading at the edges.


Plasmius glowered in the direction the ghostly boy went. In an instant, the hellish flames vanished, leaving no scorch marks anywhere, but the brambles and vegetation around him flaked away in the wind as blackened ash.

The meeting proved useful, yet fruitless.

If Phantom, or this Phantom lookalike truly was her son... how could he let them simply die a second death? How could he face her, knowing he'd not done what he could?

He stepped forward towards the graves, a small plume of blackened flame reducing the moss and brambles obscuring her name to cinders.

"Oh, Madeline," He whispered reverently, tenderly caressing the headstone. "Soon."

Gliding through the night, Plasmius arrived at City Hall and phased through the walls invisibly until he came to the mayoral office.

In front of him, Mayor Masters sat in his desk, paperwork strewn in front of him. The mayor's head was slumped against the side of his chair, eyes closed.

To a visitor, he'd appear to be napping.

Plasmius phased with the body. Only then, did the man's eyes open and the heart beat again.


AN: Hoo-boy! Lots to unpack in this chapter!

I'm heading things off on this arc next chapter, so stay tuned!