He became conscious suddenly, with no warning. One moment he wasn't, and the next he was.
He looked around as he came too. Surrounding him on every side was a presumably infinite void of neon green. If it ended eventually he certainly couldn't tell. The green was like a fog, hiding anything more than a mile away. He was laying on a small island, with long purple grass around him. Something told him it shouldn't have been that comfortable to sleep on grass, but he was about half tempted to go back to… whatever state he'd been in. There was a small tree covering the island, and when he looked over the side it looked like it'd been ripped straight out of the ground. There were a few of the tree's roots showing in the greyish dirt, presumably what was keeping the island together.
He sat there for a while. He didn't know where to go next. He knew, somewhere in his mind, that there was no gravity. Whatever he felt holding him down would no longer have any effect when he stepped into the empty space. But it was still scary, looking down at the dark pit beneath his little island. This was all he knew. It was safe if he hadn't been attacked while he was… asleep. Why did he expect he'd be attacked?
He was hit with a sudden sense of loss at the thought, a crushing feeling of despair. His neutral confusion turned to hysterics as quickly as he'd come to. He didn't know why but as the infinite nature of his surroundings hit him he was suddenly bawling his eyes out. Something was missing. He didn't know what he'd lost, but it was important. He had to find- something. It was gone. What was he looking for? He couldn't remember.
That sudden wave of emotion finally had him stepping off, barely thinking about the void now as he pushed forwards. He didn't think about how he did it, he just did. He had to find it. Whatever it was. the tears dried up, eventually, but the heaviness in his chest remained. The pressure was suffocating, like bands wrapped around his chest.
Hours passed. Maybe days. There wasn't really a way to keep track of time. What even was time in this place? The sky shouldn't be green, it should be light blue, then turn almost black at night. This was just all that same shade of eye-burning neon green. Where did he know that from? No idea. For a while he saw more islands, but no residents. When he finally did see other beings they were animals, full of gnashing teeth and crude claws. He avoided them, going in wide arcs so that he wouldn't cross their paths. All of the grass he saw was purple, something that struck him as odd, but when had he seen grass in a different color?
Some of the animals resided in old ruins, torn structures that his mind labeled as "medieval" looking. Soon, however, the ruins became less ruins and more towers, walls, and walkways. Some people started to appear, but he didn't want to approach them either. It seemed the feeling was mutual, because they fled as soon as they saw him. As they turned with wide eyes he saw their true appearances. They were more animalistic, hunched over and with large ears or fangs. They hissed gibberish at him- or maybe he just didn't understand. They were too different than whatever he was used to. Too dangerous.
So, he kept going.
And going.
The islands got larger, but more spread out. The buildings stopped eventually, and so did the animals. Which wasn't as comforting as he thought it'd be. Nothing was familiar, and his chest started to ache again, but different this time. Less of a pressure and more of a pain. Finally he was forced to stop, take a rest. His chest hurt, throbbing dully. He didn't know why it hurt, he just knew it was bad. He found a larger island and sat in a patch of tall grasses.
"Hey!" Shouted a voice. He whipped around, reading to flee until he saw something… familiar. Familiar?
A tall man stumbled out of a hut, shaking his wooden staff at him. He was shouting, but beyond his first word it was indecipherable. At least to his ears. The man certainly meant something behind those sounds.
The guy was wearing a rough green tunic, with an overcoat on top in a darker green. It looked almost moss-like. He didn't wear shoes, and instead had more of that mossy green fabric wrapped around his ankles and the bridges of his feet. What was so familiar was the firey orange nest of hair on top of his head. It was matted and braided messily, while also intertwined with vines and flowers. It looked almost pretty, if there wasn't also straight-up dirt in the mix. But despite the grunge, the sight made him feel happy, made some of the pressure go away. Maybe it was the color? Was that what he recognized? Did he know someone who had the same color hair? Or did he know this man?
It made him aware of his own clothing, and he finally looked down at what he wore. There was an oversized ring on his right thumb, glowing bright blue and with a snowflake embossed in the center. A dark blue cloak was draped over his shoulders, the velvet dotted with white dots like stars. The hood and trim were decked out in white fur. There was an odd clasp that kept each side of his cloak together and actually on his shoulders. Underneath was a plain black dress -tunic?- with short, rough-hewn sleeves and a jagged bottom edge that came down to right below his knees. His white leggings disappeared into a pair of heavy black boots, laced up almost to his knees.
"Hello?" He asked, voice much higher than he expected it to be.
The man's anger seemed to freeze for a moment, and he dropped the staff, exchanging it for a confused expression on his weathered features. He looked older, maybe in his thirties? But maybe that was just because of his facial hair.
"You speak English?" The man asked. There was a glimmer in the man's eyes. One that made him feel… happy? He didn't get long to think up a reply, as the confusion on the man's face faded and was instead replaced by anger.
"Look, I don't care if you're royalty or whatever, you can't take a nap in my garden. So shoo!" The guy waved his arms wildly, trying to get him to leave. He finally looked at where he'd tried to rest, seeing the tilled dirt. Oh. He got up, standing in the short purple grass that he hoped was ok to stand on.
"Do I know you?" He asked the man. Something tickled in the back of his mind, but all he could grasp was red hair. Luckily the guy seemed content that he'd gotten out of the plants and regarded him with a tired look.
"I know very few people, and I'd definetly recognize one that had that." He pointed at his head, or more accurately right above it. He looked up, seeing nothing and eliciting a curt laugh from the man.
"It moves with your head, you gotta reach up dude." The smile made him feel happy and washed away any embarrassment.
He reached above his head and grasped some cold metal. It didn't want to leave his head, but with a tug he got it to relent. The metal object seemed to match his ring, a plain silver-blue metal crown that also glowed light blue. He didn't know where these items came from, but they seemed to be a package deal.
"Did you say king? Do you know me?" He asked, very confused. Was he a king? Maybe that's why he expected to be attacked, does he have enemies? The man just shared his confusion. He could almost taste it, like the emotions were… tangible.
"You got amnesia or something?" The man asked, leaning on his staff. The stick bowed under the weight but miraculously held up.
"Maybe?" He plopped down on the grass, as his legs stopped wanting to hold his weight. He hadn't even used his legs at all, but that throbbing from his chest had spread all over. He felt absolutely exhausted. He wanted to collapse right then and there.
The man sat down with him, sitting criss-cross and setting his staff across his lap. There was quiet for a moment, as the man seemed to be thinking.
"You got a name at least?" He questioned.
"Not that I know of." He said in response. He wracked his brain but nothing really came to mind.
"What's your name?" He asked instead.
"Flynn. Ghosts around here usually just call me 'Human' though." Flynn looked to the side, glaring at the grass. Ghosts?
"Ghosts?" He said, mimicking his thoughts. The man looked at him with wide eyes. He was kind of getting tired of surprising him.
"That explains it then." Flynn sighed, like some burden had suddenly been placed on his shoulders.
"Basically, you died. You used to be human, but you died and now you're a ghost. This is basically the ghost dimension. I fell through a portal here a few years ago, but I'm not a ghost. Also I'm kinda surprised you don't even remember your name, but maybe your death was tragic or something. I dunno." Flynn leant forward, resting his head in his palm. He looked tired, like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Sorry I had to break it to you dude." He looked genuinely apologetic. But that just didn't sound right. He didn't think he'd been human. It just didn't fit. He also didn't feel dead, which was a whole other issue.
"I don't think I was human." He said, fiddling with the white fingerless gloves on his hands.
"Well I've never found a ghost from a planet other than earth but you could be an outlier. Or maybe you just hit your head or something and that screwed you up? You got any injuries?" Without prompting Flynn came closer, grasping at his cloak and lifting it over his head to take it off. He let Flynn do it, curious as he was to find out who -and what- he was.
Flynn got his shirt halfway off before all of the color drained from his face, and he shoved the garment back down.
"I'm so sorry dude- I thought you were a guy." He backpedaled quickly, sitting down not as far as he'd been before.
"I'm not?!" He said, panicked as he ripped his shirt off to see what was underneath. Flynn diverted his gaze. There was a padded tank-top thing underneath. It ended right above his belly button. A binder. His brain supplied unhelpfully. He found a zipper and pulled it down, feeling an utter sense of relief when he saw a flat chest underneath. He deflated, pressing a hand to his exposed flesh.
"It's fine, I'm a guy." Right? Why wouldn't he be?
"Oh thank god. I thought that was a bra." Flynn said, looking back at him. But the color had barely returned to Flynn's face when he suddenly paled yet again. The zipper had been pulled the rest of the way down and revealed a huge scar. It looked almost like a "Y," a single line across his stomach that split in two right below his ribs and extended almost all the way to his collarbone. That looked... painful. The skin was raised, pale green and slightly glowing. It cast a faint white light on his hands, which already had an aura of their own. It made him feel as sick as Flynn looked. But that wasn't all, as he discovered when he fully removed the binder, as well as his gloves.
Starting from the palm of his left hand was a network of faint scars, almost like a bolt of lightning. It wasn't as clear, but still noticeable. Wow, he got really screwed up, didn't he? He didn't even know what could cause either of these.
"Yeah I have no idea how these happened." He laughed uneasily, poking at the mess of scars in the palm of his left hand. It didn't really hurt, surprisingly.
"You look like a dissected frog." Flynn responded. He surprisingly didn't sound disgusted, just... detached. That was how he felt, too. Kinda detached, dissociated. Like these marks weren't really his, they'd happened to someone else and he just bore the evidence.
"I kinda feel like one." He said as he looked down, seeing various other bumps and bruises that he must have gathered. They were faded and dull, healing perhaps? There was quiet for a moment as he just examined himself, finding more little things. Like a mole above his belly button, and freckles on his arms. Finally he broke the silence, minutes later.
"Well, I don't really know what to do now." He sighed.
"You're kinda familiar and I don't know why." He scratched his head, half-surprised when he felt something like water instead of strands of hair. But it solidified as soon as he noticed, long hair hanging heavily on his head. It came down to almost his belly button, tied behind his head with a navy blue ribbon that was somehow still in place. It distracted him, for a moment, from the subject at hand.
"Really? Huh. That's a new one. Most people just say I look like a hobo. Not my fault I don't exactly have a razor." That made them both laugh.
"Well, I guess I could use some extra hands around here. And maybe you'll keep the other ghosts from messing with my island. I want something in return though." Flynn grinned, expression underlined by the mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Really? And yeah, whatever you want!" He really wanted to make Flynn happy again, and if he stuck around he could do that! This could be his home, with Flynn! And nobody was gonna touch Flynn while he was around either. He didn't know how to fight, but if he really was a king maybe just his appearance would be enough? Doesn't a king need a kingdom, though? Hm.
"Let me give you a name. Oh, and I want your gloves."
He mock gasped in shock, holding his previously discarded gloves close to his chest. But the act dissolved into laughter almost immediately, and he chucked the gloves Flynn's way, They stayed solid, and soon Flynn slid them over his weathered hands. They fit pretty well, surprisingly.
"You have a deal, what name you thinking?"
"Well I saw the letter D on your cloak's clasp, so I was thinking something that starts with that." Pretty sound logic there.
"Dylan? Diego? David? Nah, those are too… fancy."
"Maybe… Dennis, Damian, Daniel-" Flynn thought out loud for a minute before he was suddenly interrupted.
"Daniel!" He interjected, halfway to standing up without even realizing. His aura flared at the familiar name, and the same happiness he got when he saw Flynn's red hair came back with a vengeance. He felt so light, he couldn't help the bright grin on his face.
"Are you sure? It's kinda a mouthful. How about Danny? That's what my cousin used to go by." A wistful smile formed on Flynn's face like he was reminiscing.
"Yeah!" He- Danny beamed. He had a name! It was perfect.
"Well alright Danny, mind helping me fix the garden you sat in the middle of?" Flynn got to his feet, bones cracking as he stretched. Danny nodded shyly, but the bashfulness faded when Flynn laughed a full-belly laugh. The sound was music to his ears. He'd do anything to keep hearing it.
Anything.
AN: Basically, things I wanted to say in the story but couldn't because Danny lost his memories lol. Also, clarification.
Danny's parents killed him (as Phantom.) His obsession is still protection because his only thoughts as he died were that he couldn't save his parents from having to find out what he was after he died. He had also been driven half-mad because he couldn't protect people while his parents had him, and he wasn't able to save them from the hordes of ghosts he was sure had taken over the town while he was MIA. (Hence, his sudden devotion to Flynn)
He recognized Flynn because his hair is like Jazz's, not Flynn himself. They were prob like 7 the last time they saw each other lol. I imagine Flynn is in his early-to-mid twenties, maybe 4 or 5 years older than Danny?
The idea of a binder was so ingrained in Danny's head that he formed with one even if he didn't need it bc his ghost is male. I headcanon that for his normal ghost form too, or he at least has a flat chest as Phantom.
As for the crown (of fire) and ring (of rage), he naturally claimed the title of Ghost King when he died. Someone -or maybe something?- brought the ring and crown to him as he formed. Why didn't they stick around? Maybe everything is just as it should be.