A/N: Wow, 4 reviews (those made us laugh, by the way) for one chapter! Cool. Anyway, Rocket2014 and I are completely winging it on this story, so we'd absolutely go into hysterics if you guys give us ideas. Plus, it'll mean faster updates . . . hint hint XD. However, as you are not here to just hear me babble on, here's your fic! And yes, now we enter Danny's POV. This'll be fun . . .

DANNY'S POV:

Beeeep beeeep beeeep beeeep beeeep beeeep beeWHAM

I groaned, lowering my arm from where I'd blasted the annoying alarm-clock-of-doom into oblivion. Rolling over to go back to sleep, my only thought was that with my luck, there's gonna be an Alarm Clock Ghost somewhere that's very offended with how I treat my alarm clocks . . . I wouldn't mind fighting him.

Waitaminnut . . . .

Alarm clock of doom . . . . that sounds awful familiar . . . .

Aw, DAMMIT! I sound like the Box Ghost!

That thought woke me up, and just in time. Jazz pounded on my space-decorated door before opening it anyway.

"Danny! Time to get up and go to . . ." she trailed off, staring at me. " . . . you're awake?"

"Uh, yeah?" Isn't it obvious? You'd be awake too if you sounded like the Box Ghost.

"Why didn't I have to wake you up again? You always need me to force you awake . . ."

"I blasted my alarm clock and thought I sounded like the Box Ghost."

" . . . you really need to go see a shrink if you're thinking that." Jazz raised an eyebrow. She's my sister, but we don't really look very much alike. I've (thankfully) got Mom's body and Dad's black hair. Jazz, or really Jasmine, has long bright red hair to her hips, and also the same body as Mom. She's always wearing a teal-ish quarter-sleeve shirt thingy, and black capris with wierd little black slide-y shoe things. Yeah.

Oh, and she wants to be a psychologist.

And, of course, with me being a teenager plus scrawny plus easily bullied plus under the 'stress' of being a ghost-hunting hero who everyone thinks is a villain . . . I get to be her test subject.

Joy.

Honestly, she analizes almost everything I do. For example: just this morning, she said I needed to see a shrink because I thought I sounded like the Box Ghost, remember that? Isn't that an analization? She probably thinks I have some really wierd mental problem with a really really long hard-to-remember name just because I woke up without her help.

"Yeah, yeah." I grumbled. "I'm taking a shower."

Jazz nodded and left as I hunted for a towel. She, Sam and Tucker are the only three full humans who know my secret about being Phantom. Why do I say three full humans?

. . . . . . . . ya know, I'm too tired to be discussing this with you. I'm gonna tell you later . . . when I'm not brain-dead.

After my shower, I got dressed (uh, duh), did the whole brush-your-teeth-and-hair routine, then went downstairs. Mom and Dad were sitting at the table in the kitchen; Mom working on some new invention, and Dad eating . . . fudge.

"Hi honey." Mom looked up breifly, then back to her invention. I did the smart thing and hovered near the doorway as I munched on some toast Jazz handed me. Her inventions always pointed to me, and almost always hurt when they point at me. They're made that way.

Maddie Fenton isn't very tall, like me. She's got short red hair, in a sorta chin-length pixie cut. Not that I'm trying to be mean or anything, but her hips are pretty big compared to the rest of her body. Otherwise, she looks pretty normal . . . if you subtract the bright blue hazmat suit and the fact that she's often toting a formidible-looking gun. Which, just so you know, is almost always pointed at Phantom. Fun, eh? It kinda suck though, because she's got really good aim . . .

And then there's Dad. He sticks out like a sore thumb no matter where he is. Jack Fenton is a giant . . . literally. He's waaaaay tall: somewhere around 6 foot 5, I think. And no one knows if he's muscular or fat . . . his sides are vertical and in general his whole body is huge. In contrast, his legs and feet are tiny. I often wonder how he manages to stay standing . . . anyway, I'm pretty sure Dad's getting old. His hair is black, but only on the top of his head (which is shaped a lot like a giant rectangle). All the rest of his hair is white. While Mom is a little more nonconspicuous, Dad . . . scares people. He runs around in bright orange hazmat, just like Mom except without the gun. Add this to his sheer size . . .

We never trust him with anything. Especially a gun.

"Hi Mom . . . whatcha workin' on now?" I asked, a little hesitantly.

"It's called the Fenton Tazer!" Dad announced. He has a scary obsession with naming everything in our house after us. Fenton RV, Fenton Ghost Gabber, Fenton Fisher . . . even the tv. Fenton TV. He also has another obsession: putting his face on everything we own as well. There's a picture everywhere . . . including the food.

Which no person in their right mind would even look at, anyway, so I guess we're safe there.

"W-what's it do?" I stammered. Don't the police use tazers to---

"It stuns ghosts!" Dad exclaimed loudly.

"Oh . . ." Mental note: avoid anything that looks vaguely like a tazer for the rest of my life. Addition to mental note: borrow tazer to wrack revenge upon the Box Ghost for annoying me enough to make me sound like him. Addition to addition to mental note: taze the Box Ghost . . . repeatedly.

"Why do you want to know?" Mom asked, eyes glinting hopefully. She's alway's trying to get me and Jazz interested in the family buisness . . . if only she knew how involved I really am . . .

"So I can avoid it." Whoa! Where did that come from? I was gonna say because I was curious!

"Why on earth would you want to avoid this?" Dad boomed. "It's not like you're a ghost!"

"Um . . . oh, look at the time!" I shouted, then tried to bolt for the door.

Didn't make it. Damn.

"Danny dear, the Fenton Tazer won't hurt a human; there's no reason to be afraid of it." Mom frowned slightly, tightening her hold on the back of my collar. Thank god I'm already half dead . . . but if she doesn't let go, I'll be full and gone . . . air . . . I need air . . .

"C'mon Danny, just hold it!" Dad thrust the invention into my hands, mistaking my flailing for eagerness instead of need to breathe. "Why you wanna avoid it?"

"'Cuz it'll stun me." I blurted, then tried to cover my mouth but failed as the tazer-thing was still in my hands and I was still having troubles breathing.

"Why's it gonna stun you?!" Mom gasped.

"'Cuz I'm Danny Pha--" No no no no no! Stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop! STUPID MOUTH! WHY WON'T YOU OBEY ME?!?!

I must rephraze an earlier statement. Thank every god out there for Jazz being there. She slapped a hand over my mouth and shouted t mom "MOM! You're strangling him!"

She automatically let go of my collar. Wonderful, blessed air . . . oh, how I missed thee . . . Mom checked the time after (finally) releasing her death-hold and gasped. "Danny, don't you have school?"

"Yeah."

"Well, hurry! You're gonna be late!"

I calmly sighed and walked out the door, shrugging so my purple backpack fit better between my shoulders. Just another typical morning in the Fenton household . . . minus my mouth not obeying my brain, and my Box-Ghost-mentality problem.

Waitaminnut . . .

AW, DAMMIT!

Oh, that Box Ghost will get tazered so very, very many times . . .

Axion wasn't going into the candy buisness after all.