Lancer learns something he wishes he hadn't.
Chapter 6: The Truth, Nearly
Danny once again finds himself waking up in unfamiliar circumstances. The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is the corner of a house through the passenger window. Off-white stucco walls, a mauve garage door—really, who picks mauve for that—and the edge of a brown shingle roof. Shit, he thinks a second later. I fell asleep again. He starts raising his left arm but has to stop when he feels a tug on his stitches. Switching arms, he lifts his hand. The comforting white of his gloves meets his eyes.
"Oh, thank Clockwork," he mutters.
"What's clockwork?
Danny startles. He hadn't noticed Lancer sitting beside him, although he should have expected it. He assumes that they only just arrived at Lancer's house, but when he looks over, he notices that Lancer is flipping through an essay, red pen in hand. There's a small stack on the console already covered in red ink.
"Have we just been sitting in the car while you grade papers?" Danny asks. He pushes himself up on one elbow and strains his neck, trying to catch the name on the essay currently in Lancer's hands.
"I have just been sitting in the car. You've been asleep for almost an hour." Lancer picks his phone up from the cupholder and shows Danny. According to the phone, it's past seven o'clock. Which means Danny has been AWOL for hours now.
When was the last time he messaged Sam or Tucker? Or Jazz? Danny winces. Hopefully, they aren't freaking out right now. It's not like he hasn't gone long periods without talking to any of them before, but he has gotten into the habit of texting them after his fights, so they know he's okay. With any luck, they won't know he got into a fight, and they won't be worried about him. Danny rubs the sleep from his eyes and drags a hand through his hair. What a day.
"So, what's a clockwork? I'm assuming that you weren't thanking the very idea of a clock's internal mechanisms just now, but I don't know much about ghost curses." Lancer lowers the essay to his lap and stares out the window, a distant look in his eyes. "Do ghosts have a language? I'd love to study it."
Right. English teacher.
"Clockwork is a ghost. He's a really powerful one. He hates it when I use his name like that." Danny grins, hoping Clockwork is watching that very moment and huffing in his little tower about disrespectful wards. Danny is a very disrespectful ward, thank you very much, and he takes pride in that. Since the Observants want to make him out to be a problem, he may as well be one. "But yeah. About the language. Ghosts do have one. It doesn't translate well to English, though. It doesn't use words the same way human languages do."
"It doesn't?" Lancer taps his pen on the essay, leaving little red dots all over it. "How does it work?"
That's an excellent question. Danny sucks on his lip while he thinks of how to explain this. "Uh, well, all ghosts have a core and an aura, right? They're unique to every ghost, like fingerprints. That part doesn't have anything to do with the language, though. If you're near another ghost, you can sort of feel their core and see their aura well. Changes in those are how we can communicate. Obviously, we can talk, too, but when you come across inhuman ghosts, that's how you have to speak to them."
"Fascinating. How does a core 'speak'?"
"Oh, it doesn't. Cores are like—they don't change on purpose, okay? If you're hurt, angry, or happy, a ghost's core will reflect that. And then we can use our auras to be more specific. Like, um... Like this." Danny's aura grows brighter, then dims everywhere but around his shoulder. The light fluctuates rapidly, rippling over the limb, then goes dim. He does it twice so Lancer can get a good look.
Lancer reaches out, holding his hand above Danny's aura. "And what did you just say?"
"That my shoulder hurts. It's a general statement; being specific is hard."
"Is it inborn? If cores and auras are a part of you like any physical trait, then I could see how new ghosts would have to learn the language the same as any child. But, you also function so differently from us."
Danny squirms in his seat. "I don't know."
It wasn't inborn for him. For other ghosts, maybe. But halfas? They have to learn. Everything he knows about being a ghost he picked up from watching others, picking apart what came naturally to them until he found out how he could do it, too.
"Maybe we should go inside."
"Oh, you're right." Lancer flips the essay closed and stretches to the backseat, grabbing the rest of his work. "I wasn't sure if I could move you and I didn't want to wake you up. Do you need any help?"
Danny floats off the seat and through the car, taking care not to twist or bend too much. "I'm good."
Lancer's house is nice. Normal. Floating through the doorway is still surreal, though. He's in a teacher's house. He is in Lancer's house. Inside, it's exactly how Danny expected it to be: covered in books. As Lancer guides him down the hall, Danny peers into each room they pass. A bookcase in the dining room. A shelf of cookbooks in the kitchen. Danny only catches a peek of Lancer's bedroom, but he swears he sees books stacked on the floor.
Jazz would have a fit if she ever saw that.
They end up in Lancer's office, which has more books, a desk, and a plush-looking couch.
"You can rest there." Lancer points to the couch. "It's more comfortable than the one in the living room. Feel free to look at any of the books or do whatever ghosts do to waste time. I'll just be working."
Danny nods, floating over to the couch and settling in. Just as he thought. This is the most comfortable couch he has ever lain on. Danny deserves this after being on that hard metal table for so long. He can't stretch out, thanks to his bruises, but he can still get comfortable. Danny closes his eyes. He can show his friends and Jazz that he's fine later tonight, once Lancer goes to sleep and he can slip away unnoticed. Until then, he might as well take advantage and get a proper nap in.
—
William occasionally glances up from his work to check on Phantom. When Dr. Alejo first told William what his job was today, he can honestly say he was concerned. Ghosts are already dead. They can't die again. So, what exactly is William watching out for? Unless ghosts can die again, and that in itself is a horrifying thought. Dying once is enough. The possibility of dying twice sounds horrible.
Phantom sleeps soundly for a few hours, long enough for William to finish his grading. He is on the final essay when Phantom blinks his eyes open. He starts to stretch, halting suddenly with a noise not unlike a whine, and hugs himself. William sets his pen down, loud enough to draw Phantom's attention, and raises his eyebrows in a silent question.
"Numbing cream wore off," Phantom mutters.
William nods. Instead of going back to the essay, he watches Phantom stretch again; this time, he takes care not to go too far. His mouth opens wide as he yawns, exposing a set of fangs William hadn't noticed before. Once Phantom is stretched and alert, he pulls himself into a proper sitting position.
"Still grading?" Phantom nods toward the paper on William's desk.
"Nearly done. This is the last one."
"That's a big red pen." Phantom eyes the marker laying on top of the essay. "Who's the sucker?"
"This is my favourite student, actually."
Oh, yeah? What's their name?"
"I think you'll like this. His name is Danny, too. Danny Fenton." William expects a laugh. It seems like the kind of thing Phantom would find humorous. Instead, Phantom's eyes go wide. He leans forward, far enough that he is one light nudge away from toppling off the couch.
"Really?"
William nods slowly, confused at the peculiar reaction.
Phantom turns his head, clearly hiding a smile. "I've heard about that Fenton kid. A little weird, that one. His parents aren't big fans of mine."
"He's a good kid." William rises to his student's defense. "He works hard. His sister was my best student, but he's my favourite."
Phantom jumps from the couch. "How did he do? Come on, I want to see what your favourite student is capable of." He floats above William's desk, grinning down at the essay.
"I can't show you my student's grade."
"Come ooon, Mr. L. It's not like he's gonna know. Who would I even tell?" Phantom clasps his hands together. "Please? I'm in so much pain. I need a distraction."
"I now understand why the Fentons call you a pest." Despite his better judgement, William pushes the essay forward.
Phantom whoops and snatches it off the desk, immediately flipping back to the start. "Aw, come on. Immeidately taking a mark off for his opening line? That's a killer line."
William raises an eyebrow. "'Welcome to a list of reasons why I believe Mayor Masters is being controlled by a shadow ghost government'?"
"It's very compelling. Poli-sci, right? The mayor, that's political. Ghosts are scientific. It's perfect!"
William rolls his eyes. Phantom makes more comments as he reads. He apparently has something to say about every mark William has taken off the essay. "Now that's just unfair. You can't take points off just because he calls the mayor 'Vladdy.'"
William should take the essay away, but it's the first time he has seen Phantom give a genuine smile all day. What Danny Fenton doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides, Phantom clearly agrees with boy and finds the essay fascinating. William leans back, folding his hands over his desk, and watches. Phantom looks good. No throwing up ectoplasm. He's moving around, exuberant. Perhaps Dr. Alejo's worries were unfounded. William's attention drifts, Phantom's quips and comments fading into the background. This close, he can easily see the rising and falling of Phantom's chest as he breathes.
It still bothers him. The fact that Phantom sleeps is odd, too. And his injuries. Thanks to the number of ghost attacks at Casper High, William has seen Phantom tackle many a foe. He has shot at them, punched them, and thrown them to the ground. In all that time, William has never seen a ghost bleed. They can look weak and drained, but never injured in the way Phantom is now. It's strange. unbelievable.
A ghost that sleeps. That breathes. That bleeds. It's a puzzle, one that William is almost afraid to find the answer to. He wants to keep his thoughts to himself. Phantom has had a rough day and needs his rest, but William can't help but say: "You're strange for a ghost, aren't you."
Phantom's demeanor changes in an instant. His smile drops and the essay crinkles as his fists tighten. "What do you mean?"
"I couldn't help but notice." William hesitates. He really shouldn't push it. Phantom appears uncomfortable already, no longer able to meet William's gaze, holding himself as still as possible. William shouldn't push. But he does. "Do all ghosts breathe?"
Phantom's breath catches in his throat. It's only a second, but it's a damning second. It's why William needs to ask. Because if Phantom isn't a ghost, is something else, isn't dead, then William is seconds away from having a horrifying realization.
"I– I don't–" Phantom chokes on his words.
Tell me yes, William silently pleads. Tell me it's a reflex. Tell me it's a habit. Tell me you are so newly dead that you forget you don't need to breathe sometimes.
Tell me anything except the truth.
"Danny." William swallows. He rises out of his desk chair. It happens so fast that he can't do anything to stop it. Phantom's eyes widen, just a fraction, and then he is gone. "Danny, wait!" he shouts, but it's no use. Phantom is gone before the essay hits the floor.
The room is cold. William is alone. And Danny Phantom is alive.
