Candeh- I am dressed in black for the funeral you are about to take part in. Please take a seat, get yourself seated and silence yourselves, even if you feel the need to speak. When you enter these church doors, you will remain silent as the choice of music is played until the end of the service where the young boy will be carried from inside his casket to the big black car. Yes, the one parked outside already, the one with the old man smoking as the driver.

When the casket is open, you can feel free to touch the boy, dressed in the clothes decided by the parents, or drop im a note, something personal. The speakers will finish when the casket will open and I advise to you not to get out of your seats until the funeral host, Mr. Lancer, rises his hands. Yes, he is qualified for this job as well as teaching. It is also a huge precaution that, if you do not wish to view the body, that you don't. Well, I'm sorry for your loss. Our loss, the world's loss. He was indeed, as Ms. Manson has said, a brave young boy.

Okay, hear the music? That's your cue. The church doors open in about 20 seconds. Straighten your ties, your hats, and smoothen out your dresses. Come on, look at your top. Now, go, but walk, and take your seat.

In loving memory of the boy that could have changed the world.

Summary- After the mysterious death of Danny Fenton and the disappearance of Danny Phantom, the whole town is in a precautions uproar. With the youngest Fenton child, presumed to have been murdered, Amity Park is the top most dangerous place. But when Danny wakes up after a peaceful rest to find himself unable to speak to the living, he knows he is dead. But being dead does not mean that your free. It's one thing to be dead, and a whole different thing to be DEATH.

Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom, that belongs to Butch.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to this story line, it is just a coincidence.


Chapter 1

Your Cute When Your Dead

The boy with the blonde hair rested his hands across his muscular lap like he was supposed to. His head was bowed to his chest, touching the thick abs he'd strived so hard to achieve. With his red tie around his neck, Dash Baxter had felt himself losing air, but at the same time, feeling rather handsome. The last time the football star had attended a funeral was when his grandmother had passed in the hospital a few years later. Of course, the funeral had been decorated in a different tone and the church had been dressed in different guests.

The blonde girl in back had come in a daze. Her mental state had been almost a cloned of her friends, who sat in a row in thier bleak black funeral chairs. It had already started, the funeral, when Mr. Lancer, dressed in a overly fitting black over suit had approached the microphone to speak of their loss. The school had been brought almost to a sudden death as the young boy had. Nonetheless, the constant ghost appearances had yet to happen, but the school had seemed somewhat empty. When the overweight schoolteacher took his spot on the stand, the entire church quieted itself.

"We are gathered here today," he started out, not noticing the fact that he was not conducting a wedding, "in memory of a young boy who was taken from us so tragically." The church remained silent; dead as a doornail.

A slight breeze had taken in and though it wasn't raining outside, the fog water had doused the funeral guests as soaking wet. In the background, a tall and loud girl whimpered, her face covered in a black net she could only half see through. "This reminds me of a music video," whispered her blond girl friend next to her, who had been trying to make cheerful comments since the news had spread over the young death. But though Paulina had showed Star the finger, covered in black gloves, she could not help but re-examine the decorations. The picture of the boy lay on top his casket like a flower pot; almost too delicate to touch, but when you douse it with the right picture, it comes right to life. The picture of the boy was, in it's own way, daring and fragile, but it had been one of the most attractive photos of a male that the attractive Hispanic girl had ever seen. His hair had been covering his face like always and his bright eyes shown through his raven locks. He was a fifteen-year-old boy, smiling seductively (or at least to Paulina it had seemed seductive) into the camera lens. With a hard push, she drew her eyes away from the young boy's photo.

Red and black, Paulina had thought as she scanned the funeral wet-eyed, the keys colours of death. To her it had seemed dark. Death is dark, she had settled among herself without realizing how obvious she had sounded, and though she had spent a lot of her time wandering her own thoughts, Paulina's revelation had come to her quickly.

During their school years with him, she had hastily stuck her foot out underneath him, stuffed him in lockers (with his slim body, he still fit with extra room), and made fun of the people he hung out with. Especially Sam.

Sam Manson, Paulina thought to herself briskly as, like the actress she could be, she looked over with her eyes to the goth girl in the front line. The girl rocked, back and forth, completely dried-eyed as she waited for the overweight teacher to finish. Something about the girl had scared Paulina, and wether it was the dark make-up around her eyes or the way she had carried herself like death, Paulina was most frightened of what was under all of it.

But though dried-eyed, Samantha Manson had remained the single most miserable person in the funeral room. She hadn't looked different with her funeral clothes; black and purple, but her normal sarcastic smile had disappeared like a ghost from her face. With a huge gulp, and a rising lump in his throat, Mr. Lancer had finished and walked, down-headed back to his seat in the far back, the girl in black following behind him.

She had it in her hands the second the funeral started, the bleak poem she wrote for him, crumbled in a piece of notebook paper from her favourite diary. It had been written after she had heard of his passing, when Tucker had scrambled into her bedroom as she was painting her toe nails with a permeant Sharpe pen. There will always be a black stain running across her bed sheets as a reminder.

But she couldn't read it; the eyes of her living peers staring back at her like hawks. Tucker, who had sat in the front column, couldn't look at her over his glasses. With his head in his mother's chest, he had buried himself away from the church's outside world. If I can't see them, Tucker thought, as he once had when he was a child, then they can't see me. It'll all just go away. Half expecting to wake up, Tucker buried himself deeper as Samantha cleared her throat and turned to the open casket lying before her. After the speakers had their time to speak, after the prayers were said and the "Im sorry for your loss" had been said, the casket would open, revealing the pale face of the young boy, his hand delicately crossed over his chest.

"...A great friend," She had found herself saying as she stood up on the stand, looking through her floppy black sunhat, "The best, and I am here today," she stopped herself, looking around at the deprived, the miserable, the crying, "to tell you about the best friend I have ever had. He was kind," she said, finding Paulina, Dash and the others in their seats, "even to the others that had lacked to show kindness back to him, to save themselves from becoming an outcast." The teenagers embarrassed looks had pleased her, " But to all of you that didn't know my friend, he was braver than any of you could ever know." She looked at the now wet paper in her hands, "I have to go," She said as she had dashed her way from the funeral stand and darted her way out the church doors. No one moved, they didn't even follow her with their eyes as she left; just another miserable girl who lost another misunderstood friend.

"I don't know if I can do it!" Paulina said, wiping her tears and leaning on Tucker's shoulder. She hadn't meant to choose him as he host, but at the moment she had cared about nothing less. The funeral guests that stood in a line in front of them had seemed so calm, approaching the boy like a sleeping child, careful, not to wake him up.

The clothes were picked by the parents, but it is hard to tell. Like a funeral goer, Danny is draped in a oversized black tuxedo, the sleeves broadening his shoulders a little bit. A red clip-on tie rests on his chest, as if the dressers were afraid to use a regular one in fear of losing the young boy's head. There is a red rose in the breast pocket, fake, so it will stay looking real. His pants are made for boy's with a skinny figure and tall legs, and although te pant legs are too big for him, it has been done on purpose; to hide the messy cuts along his ankles alone. His shoes are polished and black and when the young girl peers over to stare into the casket, she can see herself in the reflection it gives off. There is a glove on each hand, the hands with the biggest cuts and bruises from where he'd clung for his life. The hands in which, as the town CSI thinks, had cost him his life. Danny looks handsome, everyone thinks as they pass up, and he always had.

"I think I'm going to hurl," the miserable football player clutched his stomach quickly, his eyes darting from Paulina's body to the floor. They had stood behind the long list of guests, even behind Mr. Lancer, who had stepped up to the casket smoothly.

"You were a good kid," He'd said, laying his hand on the cold body. It wasn't something he had planned, to touch the boy, but at first look, he had seemed impossible to touch. When the cold shrill of his body temperature touched his hands, Mr. Lancer tossed his palm off his and rubbed it quietly, "Rest in peace, son."

Sam's POV:

I peek through the colourful church painted windows, the longest one being the less painted one, I can see his face like I did when he was alive: beauty. Raven hair swoops over his forehead like it had always had, and despite the large cut across his forehead, bruise on his shoulder, torn up lip, black eye, and open wounds, the doctors had done an excellent job at cleaning him up. Paulina approaches the casket like a nervous bride walking up her isle; I can see her. With a fierce open of her eyes, she stares into the open casket where he lays, almost peaceful... almost, but not quite. He had always liked her. Was it the way she carried herself? The way she dressed? It surely, I think as I stare her down through the window, wasn't her cheerful attitude.

Danny liked her because he was supposed too. Every boy in Casper Highschool swooned over the fifteen-year-old freshman like bait, but as I stare at Danny laying there in front of her, I can even see right through him; even not alive, I can see right through him. Paulina leaves with a huge heave of her throat. She deserves this; this pain, suffering. But why couldn't she have died? Why did it have to be him?

Star pats her on the back like the actress that she is and takes one glance at him. She smiles, a sorrowful smile and lets her taller friend lean on her as they make their way back to their seats. Dash is up next, "You are a brave kid," I read his lips like a war general, "I'm sorry." And with a tint of green on his face, Dash bends over and is sick all over the floor in front of the casket.

I leave from my place on the wet soil just as the church doors open and the five teens have his casket hoisted above their heads. They were chosen, no, we were chosen, to hoist his casket into the black car that leads him to the cemetery. They will burry him tomorrow, without a service.

I take my place in the line holding the casket and walk with them as they push, lightly, him into the back of the car and close the doors as their final goodbye. Before it takes off, I cannot help but run after it.

Two days later; The Fenton Household:

They are alone, all of them, huddled in their friend's bedroom like statues around the bed. Paulina, who still is dressed in black, leans over the bed and miserably stirs her tea with her finger, "Do we have to wait for Manson?" Her glazed eyes look over at the lone adult in the room, the Fenton's lawyer, who stands at the door and simply nods.

"Everything in here is the stuff that the Fenton's have not stored. Everything in here belongs to the boy," he starts, picking up a teddy bear that had been destroyed over the past years, "You can have what you wish." It is after he explains the rules when the door to the boy's room is swung open and a girl, drenched in the rain, stands before the guests.

"I'm late." She says, fiddling around with her pocket when she notices the teddy bear in the man's large hands. With sharp fingernails, the goth girl rushes to snatch the bear out of his hands and stuff it in her backpack. The lawyer remains still.

"Ms. Manson," he addresses her formally, "I guess that' everyone." The room shudders with the sudden chill of the owner's absence, "I guess you can..." Go crazy? Pick? Grab? Go? The more he stalls, the more the poor man feels as if he is hosting a race about to begin. "I guess you can," He had went through training for this, but the words he had been taught had been so heartless and after all he had cared for the Fenton child ever since he'd first seen him. Yes, he had been a bit...quirky, the lawyer had thought to himself has he sat in the room, ignoring the looks of the small group around him, A little suspicious, but who in the family wasn't?

And it was true. Jack Fenton, founder of the Fenton Works business had always been dressed in orange, the jumpsuit too tight for his body weight, but he had managed to squeeze himself in. Though getting older, and graying hair, the buff man had seemed to grow with his kindness too. Though he was jumpy, the man had found a way to enjoy being in his presence. With a pleasant attitude and friendly style, he hadn't helped but be able to like, and if nothing, envy him.

Like most men in Amity Park, the Fenton's lawyer had found himself involved in a little crush with the woman of the house. With short red hair and an elegant figure, Maddie Fenton stood tall and lean. Although, dressed in a teal jumpsuit much like her childish husband's, Maddie Fenton had remain very attractive, and although the cooking had ben known to come to life constantly, he had developed a certain admiring for the woman.

The eldest of the children had been almost like the parent watching out for the three others in the house. She had the long red hair like her mother's and her mother's petite figure, but Mr. Callahan, the lawyer, had not been the type to fall for younger women. He had found her attractive, yes, and astonished, at most, that she had only been involved in one relationship, evolving an older boy named Johnny 13. Though both the Fenton parent's have refused to talk about him, Mr. Callahan had heard his name mentioned a couple times in the house by the youngest Fenton child.

"Go?" Paulina says, raising an eyebrow, saying the rest of the sentence for him. Mr. Callahan nodded, waving his hands around as he tried to continue his thoughts.

"Go wild."

Through his bulky black and square glasses, the man could not help finding a picture of the youngest Fenton child stored away neatly in a baby book. Mr. and Mrs. Fenton must have forgotten this one, the young lawyer thought to himself has he snatched the fabric covered book off the shelf before the other's could claim it; it was the law. With quick fingers, he opened the book staring down at the messy handwriting filling the pages. Jack Fenton had begun to fill in the books pages, writing with a orange crayon as he went:

Baby's first year:

Baby's first word: well, it had been more of a scream.

Baby's favourite toy: The Fenton Finder, until MADDIE took it away from him.

Baby's favourite show: Sesame Street.

Baby's best friend: DADDY!

The remaining pages had been written in with black pen, by Maddie, who had taken over the job of filling in the book. This page, unlike all the others, had been stuffed in between the pages neatly. Mr. Callahan had smiled, being able to read the writing with out squinting:

Other Names for Baby: StanleyChase, Jacob

Baby's name: Daniel Jack Fenton

Person who named Baby: First name by myself, middle by Jack

Birth date: December 31, 1990

Siblings: Jazz Fenton

He couldn't help it. Like a rose, Mr. Callahan put the book under his arm and wiped a tear from his eyes. So young. When he looked up, the room was empty. How long have I been standing here? He thought to himself, an hour?

But with the baby book under his arm, the young lawyer descended down the stairs to meet the group, seated on the couch downstair's with the boy's belongings. Just like everyone else, the lawyer bowed his head dismissing them with a final, "I'm sorry for your loss."


Candeh- Read and review. The next chapter will hopefully be as long as this one and you'll find out what's going to happen to Danny. Remember, not enough reviews, not enough chapters. Hah. If you don't like it: Deal with it, because frankly, if you'd like to bitch about it, you can go ahead.

If you want to remind yourself what the fiction is about, or reassure yourself that Danny will come back, re-read the summary. It's there for a reason, my loves.

Candeh.