Disclaimer: Danny Phantom, the world set within it, and the characters in it are not owned by me - that privilege belongs not only to Butch Hartman and Nickelodeon, but also just as importantly to the vast team of co-writers, co-directors, animators and all other staff who laboured over its creation and development. Without their efforts this fanfiction would not exist, and neither would a good portion of what struck me in the first place in one of the most childhood-defining cartoons in my life.

The portrayal of the characters and setting here will almost certainly be different from that portrayed within the show. Admittedly, it has been a long while since I last watched Danny Phantom, and so as a result said portrayals are regrettably likely inaccurate, and are instead stemming mostly from my memory filtered through my personal voice. You may attribute this as an alternate universe, starting 4 years from somewhere in early Season 2 before Reign of Terror, but I do borrow a few elements from late Season 2 and even Season 3. I can only ask for you to bear in mind the berth of artistic freedoms I am taking here as a matter of divergence from that early Season 2 point onwards in terms of characters, situations, etc.

At the beginning of 2021, I had a resolution to finish a fanfiction novel by the end of the year. I wish I could explain to you how daunting such a task is to me, given my inability to do so for my entire life. There had been something very different with this story, however, and somehow I managed to finish said resolution and ink the whole thing out, standing at almost twice the minimum length I had been gunning for.

I simply ask that you keep in mind that it was always my ultimate goal to simply finish this story, a story that I had planned out in short, sporadic bursts over the year, even if it came out less than perfect, and I merely ask for your understanding in this aspect.

One last thing, this story is explicit, but will not have any explicit content until Chapter 10.

Nevertheless, thank you, dear reader, for paying your valued attention to my story and I hope you enjoy this little figment of my imagination.

Credit to kaa05n2 on Twitter for taking my commission for this story's cover art, thank you so much!

Part 1: The Ties That Bind

One of the more vivid memories that I had as a child was watching Disney's The Lion King. As a child, obviously it was more enthralling to sit back, listen to the catchy music, let the visuals captivate me, and laugh heartily at the jokes that came up from time to time.

As an adolescent, paying attention to the story piqued my interest even further. Of course - spoiler alert - the effect of Mufasa's death had to dawn on me on repeated viewings, where the confusion that had been seeded at first had faded away and blossomed into grief. But once the shock had subsided, it was easy to be enraptured by Simba's journey to become the king of the land. Being the only one who was able to wrestle it from evil, and channeling that innate responsibility to save others from the ruin that awaited them under Scar's control.

And then, when I turned 18, I watched it again, and a nagging thought burrowed its way into the deepest recesses of my mind before infesting the rest of my psyche. There was a child-like innocence that carried with Simba, even after his father's death, through the second act of the film. It of course had been a psyche for him to overcome, to take the crown and be the king of Pride Land, but at some point a looming question formed over my head: why? Why was he obligated to? What was so maliciously wrong to stay a nomad, continue to live in his realm of bliss, void of all worries? Was it so wrong to cut all ties with the rest of everybody, if they thought that they didn't want him?

Perhaps that sounds cowardly. Perhaps that just sounds like 'quitter's talk', the less noble or altruistic or kind or benevolent way of approaching life. I would probably agree too, that The Lion King would be leagues less exciting or compelling if Simba had told Nala that Pride Land was eternally lost and moved on. But then again - The Lion King is a Disney-churned PG story about talking animals that surely cannot have a flaccid ending. Without the feel-good feeling at the end, how would people enjoy it? And if people wouldn't enjoy it, how would other people feel justified in paying for it?

In other words - that is fiction. This is real life we're talking about here.

Sure, Simba succeeds in the end, and all is well, the reward has been reaped. But if he had perished? How wasted would such a life be? How completely fruitless were his efforts to fight back the hand of cards fate had dealt him?

What kind of person in real life would put his life on the line, sacrifice everything, just for the slim possibility of being able to serve some innate responsibility thrust upon him, in the same way that a path of misery and thanklessness was also thrust upon him?

It just makes sense, that the right choice sometimes is to just walk away. How could you not, when you face such an oppressive pressure against you for even making one step forward? You have your whole life ahead of you - why waste it on a whim? It obviously just sounds unromantic, completely void of thrill, but at the same time, it most likely is just the only thing you can do at some point, to cast away your troubles, gain some gratification while you can, and rid yourself of your worries.

Hakuna Matata.

I had an entire night to prepare myself for today. An entire night to just find the peace of mind, to quickly duck out of the house to escape the indignant, conspiratorial ramblings of my parents, to ignore the sympathetic stares from Jazz, Sam and Tucker, and to tune out the heated commotion buzzing around like swarms of angry bees around the school halls. It was all they talked about, anyway, how they saw the streets were turned to rubble in the wake of paranormal terrorism. And… that girl.

But when all your mind can do at night is replay the horrific screams of excruciation - how can you sleep at night? The silver lining is that people are too caught up in the news to notice your eyebags, but to choose between being bullied for basically no reason at all or mobbed down for a twisted reason is truly picking your own poison.

At least Tucker knows better than to continually prod the bear. He should know exactly what my feelings are and what he'd want a friend to do if he was in my position. Sam galvanized all of my anger and injustice, not stopping her rant even once assembly had started, getting into petty fights along the way just to defend my honour. Which I would normally feel appreciative of, except a girl's life is literally on tethers. Comatose, all because of me, all because of one careless mistake. The last thing I want to do is feel angry for people who thought - and frankly, thought correctly - this was a catastrophe.

But then, nothing was going to prepare me for… this.

When the principal spoke my parents' names, it was like the cycle of grief constantly repeating itself, never quite landing on acceptance and going back to denial all over again. I had my entire visual senses in disbelief when I saw them walk onto the assembly stage, a podium and audience privy for their own preaching against the menace that was Danny Phantom, their own son trying to keep this city together. Preaching their propaganda about the despicable acts that their own creation - human or otherwise - had been committing. Preaching about the need for safety against ghosts of all kinds and that any enmity against the supernatural should never hesitate to turn violent, and if possible, fatal. It's nothing new that I haven't heard before. But with yesterday being purely incendiary to their agenda, and with every word that they declared, it was like envenomed dagger after envenomed dagger raining down on me. And what more to think that they would only say this here, for the sole reason that this was where Jazz and I studied. Thinking that their words would only protect me, when in fact…

I don't remember at what point I bolted out of the door. Not a single person even gave me a second glance, and I didn't even fully hear Sam exclaim my name until I was basically out of the auditorium. When I ducked into the laboratory and vanished, I had assumed, and assumed correctly, that no one was in there, but this time I couldn't give less of a damn to look behind me as I did. I phased through the walls, floating about invisible from human eyes, existent in my own isolated world where I was always fated to inhabit.

If I truly wanted to be alone, of course, I would've stayed here. I would've just floated off into oblivion, where no one could find me. But for some strange reason, I floated straight up to the roof of the school, as if an emotional anchor had weighed me down. The sun glowered over the city like a vengeant ball of fire, offering its gift of life like a curse upon the wretched earth.

I slumped to the floor, sitting cross-legged, and looked down at my open palms. Ever since that day 4 years ago - getting framed into holding the mayor hostage - I've had to reconcile with the fact that this entire deal was going to be a thankless job. Any time that getting stuck into, at superficial glance, compromising situations was going to just be my own misfortune. But then again, at some point, you have to stop chalking everything up to bad luck. Maybe it was just a fate that I was doomed with for all eternity.

I shut my eyes, and pathetically whimpered with my head lowered. Honestly, why was I even feeling sorry for myself? There's someone almost dead purely because of me. If people had connected me to my human identity I would be arrested awaiting a guilty verdict by now. Hell, there was even a hostile ghost, probably terrorizing another part of the state or even city by now. I'd failed as a hero - and of course, there was a part of me that was agonizing over that too. But at the same time… what was the point of it all? If I was going to fail anyway, what was even the point of putting my neck out there, and getting vilified by the very people I want to help? What was I even doing this for, if people were going to die anyway?

I opened my eyes, and I wiped my cheeks. I had no idea what I preferred - to sit here and weep and look like the loser my peers had branded me as, or to live in this reality where my cheeks were dry and I had nothing to cry. I still felt crushed by my own guilt and sadness, desperate for a catharsis that would never arrive. I pulled at the edges of my hairline, my breathing now accelerated and much heavier in my distraught state of mind. The entire field of vision around me started to swirl and distort, and I felt giddy. Maybe this was where I black out and faint.

I was snapped back into reality, as I heard a door open. If my state of being wasn't so smothered breathless by misery, it would've been jolted into stymie as I locked eyes with hers, of whose face sported all the bewilderment that I would have assumed to be necessary. As she shut the door behind her, her dilated eyes still fixated onto mine, the silence between us ballooned uncomfortably, like an eminent Hindenburg ticking down its last seconds. I had wished that the silence between us would have remained, but I suppose her disdain for me got the better of her.

"...Fenton?" Paulina scowled, making no effort in restraining the disgust from marring her expression. She placed a hand on her hip, resting her weight on her right leg as she stared at me. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I could honestly have asked her the same, but the thought never managed to be verbalized. "I… I… I thought I would be alone here, sorry..."

"That would be my line," she insisted. Was it really worth it to stand there, trying to keep her distance from a pariah like me, when she had to raise her voice like she was talking to a deaf grandparent? Was it worth the strain on her vocal cords? "Except the sorry. You're in my space."

"But… this roof's access is forbidden," I stated matter-of-factly, sniffling and keeping my expression at least partially obscured from her now. If I was truly sobbing there was no need for her to be privy to that. "This isn't anyone's space."

"Okay, then do you speak English? Do you know what the word 'forbidden' means? As in, 'you are literally not allowed to be here'?"

"W-well, that would also be my line, too. Then." I answered back. "You shouldn't be here either. We both know the key to the access is the school's Ark of the Covenant, how'd you even get it?"

She blinked rapidly, opening her mouth briefly before shutting it. Somewhere within her, she admitted defeat, but didn't verbalize it.

"It doesn't matter. Besides, it's not my parents having a career rally downstairs. Shouldn't a good son be there to at least humour them?"

"I'm not going down there," I retorted with a sour finality. I tucked my knees in and rested my chin on my kneecaps. "I don't need to re-hear what they've rehearsed. Besides, you should be there too, not like assembly is - well, optional, or whatever."

"No. Fuck that." This time the shock registered in me - I raised my eyebrows and glanced her way again. She was walking away from the door towards me now, stopping about ten feet away from me and staring into the horizon with a vexation that I suspected didn't stem from my presence anymore. "My time's too precious to be wasted ignoring their false slander."

I peered into the distance. Casper High has to be one of the most dreary places on Earth - not even surrounded by that much pasture or forestry to speak of, just gray pavement as far as the eye can see. "It's terrible," I muttered softly, trying to not betray my emotions or attachment to - well, myself.

She blew a short raspberry in response. "That's quite the understatement. The girl's still alive, and they're already branding him a serial killer who is a menace that has to be put on a- what was that, again, a 'phantasmic guillotine'? And they said they're being charitable? They don't even know ANYTHING! God what a load of shit. They didn't see the ghost flee and what the ghost boy was aiming at. They have the wrong idea of which ghost is actually on the loose."

"Wait, you saw that?"

Her eyes widened again, and she turned towards me. "Wait, you saw that too? There's literally nobody else who-... how?"

I steeled myself and tried to give the most normal expression I could muster. "I just thought it made sense. You'd think when somebody's efforts are wholly invested in preserving lives, he wouldn't have had the time to formulate a martyr. But it's been the same, hasn't it? A menace ravages the town, he comes in to stop them, and then he gets the blame as a co-conspirator. It's the same for this time as well."

"... I saw it. Con mis dos ojos. One giant fireball heading my way, the next, being in his arms and swiftly moved out of danger. He… he saved my life. As usual."

I resisted the urge to smile. How many times have I had to save Paulina's life, how many times was I going to be her benefactor? Maybe her regular pilgrimages to get in the line of battle had its fair share of rewards for her, too. "As is his job."

She sighed in defeat. "So… you think the ghost boy is innocent too?"

"Of course."

Paulina considered this further, wrapping her head around this fact. Of course, the only other people who knew this were Jazz, Sam and Tucker, but all of them had the benefit of knowing my secret and being close to me. Paulina hated my guts, but still recognized the work I did, and even lauded it to the point of a borderline hero worship. It was a prospect that I was always afraid to confront - an abusable position for people with worse judgment than I did - but it was nevertheless… tempting.

She took a seat next to me - immediately I could smell vanilla and orange perfumes waft in the air between us.

"You know, Fenton…"

"Danny," I corrected. "Danny Fenton."

"Whatever. God, you know, I don't understand. How could this be?"

"...I'm sorry?"

"You said it yourself." Her eyebrows knitted together closer, and she shook her head ever so slightly. "They all think he's the source of all their problems. Isn't that just ridiculous? How could they treat him like a villain, when he's the one protecting us - all of us - and he's…"

"He's the hero?" I finished.

She beamed momentarily, before laying her feet comfortably, cross legged beneath her and leaning back, her weight resting on her palms. "I… I think we're the only ones who think that way," she muttered softly.

I opened my mouth, about to interrupt that Sam and Tucker, even Jazz are on my side too. But, then I took a look at her, in this moment of vulnerability so rarely shown around my human self, with the forlorn expression that she donned and, for the first time, having someone around to share the grief that I did. And when I saw her face, I immediately shut my mouth.

"Yeah," I concurred. "I think so too."

"I mean, I'm pretty sure you know," she remarked off-handedly, and correctly, "that I like the ghost boy."

"Didn't you say… you were in love with him, at some point?" I questioned. This was probably pushing it; she had only proclaimed as such when I was my now-villainous alter-ego, but for some reason, she made no effort to deny it.

"Something to that extent. I love the things he does, and I… yes, I love him, in that sense. He's my hero, after all. But what about you?"

I inhaled deeply, mustering whatever strength was within me to repress the emotions from flooding in again. What could I even say, when I knew the pain more than she thought she ever could, even more than she could know herself?

"I just… I think I just feel bad for him," I whispered.

"Well… that's reasonable, I suppose." she sighed in concurrence. "God, I hate that he is just… treated, like that. Like what is up with all the fuss with… with that girl? That girl over, what, a dozen families that could've just died, and she's not even dead herself? What's up with that?"

"No," I interjected, shaking my head. "They have all the right to be angry… it's just, you know, it's not really his fault… and yet, it actually really is."

"I don't get it," she frowned, furrowing her brow.

"Of course you don't."

"Excuse me?"

"But it's not your fault. It's really no one's fault. It's just… fate."

"Sounds like a real awful fate."

"I… I don't disagree."

"But there's nothing he can do about it? Nothing anyone else can do about it?"

"I don't know," I lied, pursing my lips together briefly. "Maybe."

She exhaled sharply through her nostrils. "It makes no sense. How can someone trap themselves like that? Put themselves as a martyr and magnet for hatred, while being the savior of the entire city? I can't let him get crucified like that. Someone has to stick up for him for the public. I won't take this… this awfulness lying down. And honestly, neither should he."

I ran my hands through my hair. "Why are you so invested, anyway?" I asked, incredulously. "Do you even know him?"

Was there just no way to make her see this fate that I was confined to? The words that came out of her mouth just sounded near-delusional. Two parts of me - one to ride along in the wave's path of destruction and continue agreeing with her unfounded vindication, and the other to rationalize it out - warred within me, and it made me sick to my stomach.

She shot me a look of white-hot fury. "You're making assumptions about my relationships? Do you even know me? Or him? I bet that I know him better than you do."

"You don't understand… in the slightest," I stated, matter-of-factly.

"I find that hard to believe," she retorted, puckering her lips. "You know what, that settles it. Are you going to help me, or not?"

"With what?" I queried, puzzled.

"With doing something about this. There has to be a way to clear his name. Don't you also think this injustice needs to be fixed?"

I squirmed in my place. Of course I agreed with her. But what on earth was I supposed to do about it? What was she even planning to do?

"I don't see what you're going to do about it," I muttered.

"Oh come on, you think nothing can be done? Reach out to that girl's family? Spread messages on social media? Surely there has to be something. And I want you to help me."

I don't think I had a choice when I answered. Perhaps it was some selfish part of me gravitating my being towards this impossible situation. And it was Paulina Sanchez, of all people, asking me to… interact with her. How could I turn that down?

"How can I help?" I sighed.

"I'll think about that," she said. "But in the meantime… it might be good to talk some sense into the people you know about him. Changing your parents' minds would be a start."

I rolled my eyes. "You'd have better a chance at changing the season than changing their minds. They hate ghosts and they'll probably hate them until their dying breath. Like it would be their 18-year-old son's business to lecture them about what a wanted criminal in their eyes should think… like a total ignoramus lecturing subject-matter experts about what the hell they're doing…"

She shook her head, defiant. "People are fickle, Fenton. They come around and flicker back and forth more often than you think."

I raised my hands in defense. "You haven't met my parents."

She groaned in response. Before she could reply, the quiet around began to break with commotion - slowly at first, and then rushing in all at once - with students emerging from the auditorium now bustling about downstairs, some of them having gone out to the courtyard outside.

She rose to her feet, dusting herself off and shaking her head. "No, I haven't, fine. Whatever. But are you in this?"

I grit my teeth together. "Yes," I reluctantly assented, and immediately a shiver travelled down my spine. Why was I even uncomfortable about this, anyway? I should be elated to even have Paulina on my side here. Trying to do something for me. It boggled my mind.

"Good," she said. She stuck out her hand at me, palm facing upwards. "Hand it over."

"You know," I said, clumsily standing up as well. "You need to be more specific than just cryptically instructing me to do things…"

"Your phone. Over."

"... you're taking my phone?"

The icy look she shot me sent a jolt through me, and my brain clicked into place. "Oh! Oh. Hold on."

She navigated to my Contacts and added her number faster than it took me to fish my phone out of my pocket to hand it to her. "Here," she said, handing it back to me. "Call it, if you don't believe it."

"I don't have any reason to not believe it," I muttered, unsure if that came off as a gesture of faith or of indifference. If I had to be honest, it felt like a quantum state that I was constantly residing in - constantly flickering back and forth between two binary positions. Or even just being in both positions at once. Maybe both.

"Whatever you say," she shrugged. "Just think about what I said, yeah?"

I nodded, walking with her towards the door. As she slotted the keys into the keyhole, she frowned. She shot me a suspicious eye. "Wait… how did you even get up here, anyway? If I have the key, and this is the only way up here…"

I shrugged, nonchalantly. "That's an explanation you'll have to come up with yourself."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're not going to relent on this, are you." It wasn't a question; I shook my head. She sighed in exasperation. It's amazingly quick how fast she had come to the conclusion that it was an impasse, and admittedly a relief as well. But nevertheless, she turned the key, and swung the door open.

"By the way, just to be clear," she warned, as we descended down the steps back into society. "I will get it out of you. Just because you're not going to answer now doesn't mean you won't ever in the future."

I could feel a sweatdrop forming at the back of my neck. "Whatever you say," I shot back, not entirely sure if my tone had revealed anything.

I honestly had no idea what would even come from this. There was probably nothing I could do - nothing she could do - to assuage my fears or improve my reputation. It was like seeing the boulder, coming down again from the hill for me to roll it back up again.

Only this time, someone else was going to get crushed.