Someone explain to me why everything I write sounds like I churned it out while on crack.
Oh, and Cuckoo's Clocky. Nickname belongs to... someone else, can't remember the exact fic, but it came from Jazz at any rate. Whoever wrote it, I credit you, so yeah.
Disclaimer: I'm sorry, but I think you mistook me for Butch Hartman.
When he finally stopped twitching from the electricity that had coursed through his body, he found himself face to hood with what looked remarkably like the Grim Reaper.
Naturally, he screamed.
The head tilted, as though curious. "Halfa." The voice was plaintive, and nothing like the sibilant hiss he had expected.
"...Wha?"
The figure tsked and leaned away from his face, giving him a full view of black cloak, silver scythe and green energy swirling around them both. "You're not very bright, are you? Such a variety of questions you could have asked, and the first one has to be 'Wha?'."
The boy just blinked dumbly.
The Reaper blew out a long sigh, pinching what looked like the bridge of his nose. "Must I do everything for you? You know that electric shock?" A nod.
"Well, it killed you. You're dead. As in, kicked the bucket, pulled the plug, heard the chorus of angels and seen the pearly gates, traveled down the tunnel with the bright light at the end-"
Danny didn't know what disturbed him more; that he was oh my god freaking dead (and evidently not in heaven, seeing how this Reaper seemed to be taking great delight in tormenting him), or that he was hyperventilating, but not drawing in any air, and not feeling any the worse for it.
"Hey, hey, calm down." A hand was placed on his shoulder, but instead of the cold, clammy claws he expected, the touch was warm and comforting- almost an embrace. As he reflected that so far, nothing about death seemed to be going the way he had expected, he unknowingly stopped hyperventilating.
"Are you afraid of Death?"
"No shit, Sherlock." He retorted, shaken.
"Why?"
The question threw him for a loop. "What why? It's death, you're dead, of course I'd be afraid."
"...Fine, so you aren't ready for that question yet. Why are you afraid when your parents study its effects for a living, then?"
Danny was evidently recovered enough to snort, loudly. "I'm not a little kid listening to Mom's fairytales anymore. What they study don't exist."
"Then why did you fix the Fenton Portal and die?"
"Woah, wait. Since when did we start playing Spanish Inquisition? If anything, I should be the one asking questions here!" Unknown to the newly born (or dead) halfa, his eyes were glowing green in fury.
Of course, it didn't help that the cloaked figure just threw his head back and laughed.
"What?" he demanded.
"Well, you can't blame me! It's a cosmic joke- the half-ghost who doesn't believe in ghosts, even though his parents study them and their college mate is of his kin! Well, at least I know I didn't get the wrong kid- you're finally showing that spitfire I saw in Cuckoo's clock. Keep it up, Phantom, it'll serve you well."
"...Phantom?"
He smacked his head, muttering, "Back to square one. Look, why don't you go back to life for awhile, get a little smarter first? Then we talk."
"Now wait, what d'you- guh!" The tingle of electricity had started up again, rising to the pain of the electrocution he had endured earlier, clear and present. The cloaked figure, on the other hand, seemed to fade away, until it was as though Danny was seeing him through a heavy downpour of rain. "You never told me who you are! And what d'you mean half-ghost? I thought I was dead!"
As the torture coursing through his nerves reached a crescendo, he could hear a faint reply. "I'm Death, you slow-witted nimrod! As for the rest... I'll let you figure it out. I'll be seeing you, Phantom!"
It was the last thing Danny heard before he was expelled forcefully from the Portal and into his new half-life.