A/N: Hey, I got this up pretty quickly. Eh, it would be longer, but . . . I liked the ending. 1300 words or so isn't all that bad, though, I guess. Not all that good, but . . . eh.

And . . .

Oh my. Over one hundred reviews. -faints-

Disclaimer: I do not own Danny Phantom, or any characters/plots associated, and I am not making any money off of this.

Chapter Nine

After that night, I noticed something strange. Starting with me and spreading outward, a ripple of depression worked its way through Mt. Ivory. The usual calm, uncaring, and complacent attitude most everyone had here had almost completely vanished - people were depressed and angry, and I overheard more than a few arguments breaking out.

I realized dully that our recent enlightenment was all because of me. But it wasn't a high priority thought. I was more concerned with my rapid transformation.

My skin was still glowing and rather creepy, and my voice continually switched from echo-y to normal and back again. My appetite was also rapidly deteriorating, for reasons could only guess at.

Then, of course, there was the matter of my sort-of-kind-of memory loss. It disturbed me more than ghostly puberty by a landslide. I could remember clearly that my father was Jack Fenton, my mother was Maddie Fenton, and my sister was Jazz Fenton. I could tell anyone who asked that my father was a bit on the robust side and more than a little obsessed, but I couldn't tell you what I thought about his obsession. I could say that my mother was an incredibly good fighter, but what I actually felt about the fact that she used those skills in a major effort to destroy me, I could only guess. I knew full well that Jazz wanted to be a psychologist and oftentimes used me as her Guinea pig. But the fact that I'd once thought her to be overbearing was lost.

So I managed to fall into a decent sort of stupor. I woke up, I ate, I worked out, I ate, I watched TV, I fell asleep. Toby had, for the umpteenth time, disappeared, and I wasn't altogether disappointed. He'd make me think when I sure as heck didn't want to.

He had an unnatural knack for that.

"Fifty-four, fifty-five . . ." I whispered the number of the sit-up I was on.

"Sixty sit-ups, Danny?" Toby asked. Speak of the devil. I hadn't even noticed that one of the treadmills was running.

"Yeah," I said, not stopping, and keeping the count going on in my head. "Aiming for about a hundred today." Sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four . . .

I could practically hear Toby grinning, though he was currently both invisible and out of my range of vision.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" he said, and I could hear a click as the treadmill turned off.

Seventy-six, seventy-seven, seventy-eight . . .

"For what?" Eighty-one . . .

"Getting you out of that mess."

I sighed. "What mess?"

"The guy who was looking for you. I . . . intervened."

At ninety-one, I rolled over. I still couldn't see him, however. "That was you? You tried to break out?" I asked incredulously.

"No freaking duh," he said, slightly exasperated. A cup from the cooler began to fill itself up. "And at a great personal cost, too."

I stood up, and walked over to the place where his cup was now floating. "Why?"

He became visible right at that moment. I could see quite a few bruises on his face, and one deep cut that hadn't quite healed up properly yet. "Because you didn't seem to remember that you can become invisible, dumb wad." His expression became rather distant. "And I'm the walrus."

"Goo goo g'joob," I said dryly. "But seriously, they didn't, you know, murder you?" It wouldn't surprise me if he was dead. Stranger things had happened.

He raised an eyebrow, and took another sip of water. "They wouldn't do that," he said simply. "So, c'mon, thank me," he whined.

"Thanks," I said, and grinned. "I'd rather be stuck here for the rest of my life than be stuck with Vlad. Particularly as his slave." On an emotional level, I wasn't sure why, but I did remember the terrible things he'd tried to do, and how one of his greater endeavors was to try and get me to join him. "Hey," I said suddenly. "Where are you from?"

"Columbia, South Carolina," he said. "Already told you."

"What was it like?" A rather off-the-wall idea had invaded my mind.

"I have no idea," he said nonchalantly. "You know that." My hopes sank; Toby, even in his strangeness, hadn't not been affected. He paused, and chuckled. "And I guess now everyone else knows that, now, too. Shame, really. The poor guys don't have any idea what hit 'em. But ignorance is misery, and whoever spread the word did them all a favor." He winked at me before fading out again.

"How did you know?" I asked him.

"I am me and you are you and I know what you know and backwards and forwards and every which way," he said uselessly. "You'll find out eventually - and so will everyone else. But I can't say."

His paper cup then crumpled itself up and threw itself in the trash. The door opened and closed, and I lay back down on the mat to finish my sit-ups. Waste of breath, I thought as I began again. Ninety- . . . erm, two, ninety-three, ninety-four . . .

- - -

"This is Tiffany Snow, live from Amity Park Broadcasting. I'm here to bring you footage of proof to the infamous ghost boy Danny Phantom's identity. It has been revealed that the spectral teenager is more than just a ghost. He's been going to school with your children, eating at our restaurants, and even living with our town's most respected ghost hunters . . ."

I woke up, the sound of the morning alarm bringing me out of my nightmare. It wasn't the first time I'd replayed that heart-wrenching newscast in my dreams; and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Somehow the emotions that corresponded with various memories returned to me when I dreamed. That wasn't always a good thing.

I slid drowsily out of bed, fighting my way out of the sheets. I had been toying with an idea since the night before, and the moment my feet touched the floor, I had made my decision. I was going to go back to Ms. Redd. She had, up until I ran out of her office two months previous, been my only semi-decent supplier of information. And boy did I need information.

Briefly I struggled to remember my appointment time. I didn't honestly think she would've kept it open, but what better time to show up? It was nine o'clock, or something. No, ten . . . Right, it was ten.

So I walked over to my dresser, and shuffled through it until I found something I'd remembered to wash in the past month or so (meaning a white t-shirt and jeans). Then I worked my way into the tiny bathroom, and dragged a wet comb through my hair. I was fully planning on letting it grow back out; it was unnerving to have it that short when it had been hanging in my eyes my whole life.

After completing my morning routine, I went off to breakfast unwillingly. I just wasn't hungry in the slightest. But, I reasoned, I have to eat. At least, I prayed to whatever god was currently on duty that I did.

Breakfast was normal - toast and eggs - and I didn't talk to anyone. The general air of depression hadn't lifted.

The clock on the wall in the cafeteria still only read seven when I left. So I just headed down to the gym.

Exercise was something that was surprisingly easy to bury myself in. It wasn't altogether unpleasant, now that I was less wimpy. Significantly less wimpy, really. And it used up just enough of my mind so that I could avoid all those unpleasant thoughts that whirled around in my head when I wasn't doing anything.

So I moseyed over to the treadmill, turned it on, and managed to jog at a steady pace for ten minutes before Lewis walked into the room.

"Danny?" he asked. I switched off the device and stepped off.

"Yeah?"

"You're wanted on level five."

A/N: I just keep piling it on, don't I? Eh, it's all important, and will work out in the end. How it works out . . . well, I'm not saying a word.

Have a nice day.