Chapter 13: Out of the Inferno
Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom or its characters.
Jazz, Sam, Tucker and Danny looked at each other, and then at the Danny-copy and Strike.
The Danny-copy looked back at them. Danny noted with interest that his eyes were green, not red as the fused version's had been. They also looked very, very sad and tired.
The copy stood. "Thank you," he said simply.
"For what?" asked Sam.
"I'm free, finally. You have no idea…" The copy looked away for a moment, closing his eyes as if trying to shut out pain. "You have no idea what it was like. Living every day trapped in a helpless nightmare. Wanting to do the right thing with the vast powers you know you possess, and unable to control yourself when all you did was destroy."
"So you are the manifestation of the good in Danny Phantom," Jazz said with satisfaction.
"And Vlad Plasmius," the other admitted. He reached back and touched his ponytail. "Believe it or not, there was a little scrap of good in him. Many of the evil things he did, he did out of misguided love for Maddie. I have that in me, too. Just like there was a scrap of evil in Danny Phantom that is now in him."
"Why are you old?" Tucker blurted out.
"Old?" the Danny-copy repeated.
"You look like you're about thirty," Sam said bluntly.
"Really?" the copy glanced down at his hands. "Any chance there's a mirror around?"
"If you don't mind a cracked one," Danny said, gesturing.
"Great. Seven years of bad luck. You'd think I've had enough bad luck to last a lifetime already," grumbled the copy, losing his world-weary tone for a moment and sounding more like his younger counterpart.
As he made his way over to the mirror, Danny and Sam exchanged a look that said, Are you finding this really, really weird? Good. So am I.
The copy examined his face in the mirror for a long moment. When he turned back, he looked sad again. "I guess this age is some sort of average between Danny Phantom and Vlad Plasmius. Why this didn't happen when we originally fused, I have no idea." He blinked, and then visibly groped for a new subject. "So that girl who flew in, the other half-ghost…who is she? She can't be your cousin."
"That's Danielle," Danny said. "Dani Phantom. With an 'i,' as she likes to remind us. No, she's not my cousin, though Mom and Dad think she is. She's actually a slightly failed clone Vlad made of me. Which still creeps me out. She's nice enough, though. Definitely has a personality all her own. And occasionally helpful to have around, as you saw."
"I have something about a cloning project being in the works from Vlad's memories before we fused," the other Danny said, massaging one temple. "But it was never successful. All the clones were unstable."
"Stabilizing her took some work," Danny admitted. "She has to come back here for a dose of a serum Dad invented every so often to keep from melting into nothing. The main difference between her and me is that she has a finite amount of power she can use before she starts to destabilize. The cap on that power is pretty high, though, so it doesn't happen often. It means we see her once in a blue moon."
"Major case of wanderlust, that kid," Sam commented.
"I see. How did she happen to be in the area when you needed help?"
"She's good at that," Danny said.
"Also, it's our high school graduation," Sam added. "In case Danny was going to conveniently fail to mention that."
"I wondered if that was it." He eyed all four of them, particularly Danny, who topped him by half a head. "You guys have certainly grown up. I might not have an ounce of humanity left in me," here his smile had a little twist of irony, "but I did miss you. Not a day went by that I didn't blame myself for what happened."
"Don't," said Jazz. "It's in the past."
He sighed. "It's not that simple, Jazz."
"It could be. If you let it." She looked at him steadily, though Danny sensed a hint of the clinical Ghost Psychologist in her stance and tone. They were entering dangerous territory; when in this mood his sister could get carried away relatively easily.
The copy, however, had had thirteen years of no interaction with Jazz and did not pick up on this. "I'm responsible," he insisted.
"You're not. It was an accident," Jazz said gently. "Strike told us how it happened in your reality. You hesitated in making a decision that was way beyond your maturity level. That could happen to anyone. And you've been beating yourself up about it ever since. You'll have to let it go sometime."
"That's impossible, Jazz. Even if I were to somehow agree that I'm not responsible for all of your deaths, thousands of innocent people have died at my hands. You don't just walk away from that."
"But—" Jazz hesitated, then stopped, much to the original Danny's surprise. "You're not ready to hear this. We can talk about it another time."
Strike groaned a little from the floor and stirred. Danny noticed her hair was white and there were wrinkles around her eyes. The other Danny went and knelt beside her.
"Will she be all right?" Jazz asked anxiously.
"I don't think he hit her that hard," the copy replied. He put a hand under Strike's head as her eyes blinked open. "How do you feel?" he asked.
Strike focused on him. Immediately she lunged sideways, pushing his helping hands away. "Don't touch me," she snapped.
Hurt, disappointment and then resignation chased across the copy's face so fast Danny almost missed all three emotions. If it hadn't been on someone whose facial expressions were so close to his own he might not have seen them at all. He knew Sam had seen too, however, because she took his hand and squeezed ever so slightly.
Strike and the copy stared at each other, unmoving and expressionless for a moment longer. Then Sam cleared her throat. "Um, how are you feeling, Strike?"
"I'll be back to normal in a minute or two," she replied. Already her hair was rapidly gaining strands of red and the wrinkles at her eyes were gone. "Looks like your cousin arrived in the nick of time."
"How—" Tucker started.
"I see the past and present, Mr. Foley," Strike reminded him. "I already saw the whole fight even though I was out cold. Not a bad job on the whole. And we have the evil half imprisoned in a Fenton Thermos. Not exactly the way I had hoped things would work out, but overall I think my work here is done."
"Wait, you're going?" Jazz asked. "Just like that?"
"Well, you're all safe again, aren't you? My job was to make sure the Plasmius-Phantom hybrid didn't become the only version of Danny Phantom in this time stream. With the evil part of the hybrid neutralized and the Fenton Ghost Catcher destroyed I think the chances of that happening are pretty slim, though I'll need to consult with Da—Clockwork—to confirm it. With one or two loose ends tied up, I'll be on my way."
"Loose ends?" asked Danny, handing her the Thermos with the evil Vlad-copy inside. He was sorry to see Strike go. She could be prickly, but she wasn't entirely unpleasant, and having her around was reassuring. It was certainly easier to catch ghosts with her ability to stop time. But she had said her job was different from theirs and they'd been given different tools. He certainly didn't want to give up Sam, Tucker, Jazz and his parents for the ability to start and stop time.
Strike looked at the copy, her face hard. "Give me your part of the Time Medallion. You should have it on you somewhere."
"And risk popping out of existence?" he demanded. "No, thanks."
"You won't, as long as he has his." Strike shook the Fenton Thermos.
With a roll of his eyes, the copy reached into the front of his white jumpsuit. He frowned, felt around a little bit more, then extracted his hand. "I can't get it."
"Excuse me?" Strike's voice was icy cold.
"It's intangible, and I don't seem to be able to get it back. I think I'd need to be fused with my other half to have enough power."
Strike growled under her breath. "Let me try something." She pushed the button on her staff. The Danny-copy's movements slowed down in to an almost exaggerated degree, like in a movie scene in slow-motion.
"If he were running he'd look like a failed tryout for Chariots of Fire," Tucker chuckled.
"You're the only one that's seen that movie, Tucker," Sam reminded him.
"Oh. Right."
Strike pushed the button again and things returned to normal. "Looks like the split also split the power of the Time Medallion, so my powers can affect you to a degree. I think it's safe enough to leave the Medallion with you. I don't want anyone that's immune to time-manipulation powers floating around." She paused. "Not that I think you'll abuse the privilege."
"Thanks." There was no sarcasm to the Danny-copy's tone.
Strike actually tilted her head as if curious about the copy's lack of emotion. Then she shrugged slightly. "Well, Danny, say goodbye to your parents for me. For human ghost-hunters, they're all right." She spun her staff, and a portal to the Ghost Zone appeared in the air.
"Thank you for everything, Strike," Danny said formally. "You saved our lives." He grinned. " And for a ghost time cop, you're not so bad yourself."
Strike's mouth quirked. "Keep doing your job, Phantom. You and your team. You're good at it. With luck, you won't see me again." She saluted Sam, Tucker and Jazz, managed a reluctant nod to Danny's older copy, and went through the portal.
"I hope she takes some time to recover at Clockwork's tower," remarked the copy. "She's really drained; she just hides it well."
"You like her, don't you?" Sam said, crossing her arms.
"I—no!" The copy looked uncomfortable. "I respect her, that's all. She's a good…opponent. She's smart, and resourceful, and—"
"And you don't have a crush on her. Riiiight." Sam grinned, raising an eyebrow. "Don't try to lie—we know all the signs." She and Danny smiled at each other.
"All right, fine. I…I like her. But it would never work. You saw." The copy's worldly-weariness had returned. "She wants nothing to do with me. This part of me, the good part, has liked her ever since we first met—well, fought—years ago. But there was no way for me to show it. All she saw was the other side, the side that wanted to destroy anything that reminded him of being happy. You saw him earlier—he went for her and not anyone that would help him get back into the timeline."
Danny nodded. The hints that his other self had a history with Strike had finally been confirmed. It was odd that an older version of him would have a crush on the imperturbable time cop, though he had just admitted to himself she had likeable qualities. Even more odd that the crush would be buried for years in his cruel and violent hybrid.
"And I certainly don't blame her. After all these years…" The copy closed his eyes. "I gave her that scar on her face. I remember doing it. And she remembers everything—she can't forget. I doubt she'll forgive me for that."
Jazz looked like she wanted to say something but thought better of it.
"Look, we're all exhausted," Sam said suddenly. "It's been a…really weird day to say the least, even by our usual standards. Why don't we all go downstairs and have some lunch? There's no point in talking about anything serious when none of us can think straight."
"Thanks, Sam, but I'm full-ghost. I don't eat," the other Danny reminded her.
"You can still hang out with us for a little while in the kitchen," Sam retorted. "What else are you going to do?"
She had him there, it was obvious. The white-haired ghost looked taken aback for a moment. Then he actually grinned. "You always win, don't you?"
"Always," Sam said just as Danny said, "Not always." Tucker and Jazz both snorted. The tension in the room broke a little. Somehow, like Danielle and Strike, the Danny-copy was tentatively a member of the group for as long as he chose to stay.
"So…one thing before we go down," Tucker put in tentatively. "What should we call you? We can't exactly call you 'Danny.' Things are bad enough with Dani-with-an-i downstairs."
"Good point, Tucker," Jazz agreed. "We have to have a way of distinguishing you now that you have a personality of your own."
Everyone in the room frantically wracked their brains, if their expressions were any indication. The copy seemed the most stumped.
"What did they call you during the ten years you were fused with Vlad?" Jazz asked curiously.
"Phantom, if they called me anything," the other responded. His mouth twisted grimly. "Mostly they just screamed and ran. Or stood to fight."
"What did you call yourself?" Jazz continued.
"Huh?" She'd startled him.
"What did you think your name was? Hypothetically, if somebody had gotten close enough to ask what your name was and you had actually answered, what would you have said?"
The copy scratched his head. "I have no idea. The thought never crossed my mind."
Danny could see Jazz taking mental notes. She was probably already preparing some psychological profile of the ghost in her mind.
"Dante," said Sam suddenly.
"What?" Everyone turned to look at her.
"Dante," she repeated. "That's what we should call you."
"Why Dante?" Jazz wanted to know. The copy himself did not say anything, but he looked thoughtful.
Sam ticked her points off on her fingers. "First of all, it sounds close enough to 'Danny' that the connection's still there. Second, it's like, you know, Dante's Inferno."
"Huh?" Danny and Tucker said.
To Jazz the reference seemed to make sense. She nodded approvingly.
"Either of you care to explain?" Danny wanted to know.
"Dante. The Italian Renaissance writer," Sam said.
"Is this something else I should have picked up in school and slept through?" Danny asked.
"Probably, though for me this is a Goth thing," Sam said smugly. "Darkness and damnation and stuff. Dante's Inferno is part of an epic poem the guy wrote about his journey—"
"…through Hell and back," the copy finished for her.
"How do you know that?" Danny demanded.
"Vlad Masters almost made it through college until the accident that gave him his ghost powers landed him in the hospital," the other pointed out. "I have his memories as well as yours."
"So, what do you think?" Sam asked.
"Of the name? It's growing on me." Dante gave a small smile and crossed his arms. "I'll try it on for size."
"If that's settled, can we go downstairs and eat?" asked Tucker plaintively. "I smell meat. All-beef hot dogs, to be precise."
"There better be tofu dogs to go with them," Sam remarked.
At this they all laughed, and clattered downstairs, leaving the smoking remains of Danny's room behind to be dealt with later.
Author's Note: About Dante. Many thanks to Cywyllog for helping me to figure out what to call him; the reasoning was basically what Sam gives in the fic. I hope I've been able to keep everyone straight between Danny, Dani, the Danny/Vlad hybrid (aka Dark Danny or Dan Plasmius or Dan Phantom, depending on who you ask), and the mostly-Danny (now Dante) and mostly-Vlad splits of the hybrid. It was tough and sometimes ponderous to write it all out, but I hope I was successful. With any luck it should be smoother sailing from now on as far as names as I wrap this thing up.
If anyone has suggestions as to what to call the Vlad half of the split, I will happily take them into consideration. Frankly, I'm stumped.