Author's Note: Sorry for the lack of updates – I've been on holiday with my family, in a place with a poor Internet connection. But I'm back now, and while I was away, inspiration hit for some Danny Phantom headcanons. So I'll explore them here, in a chapter requested by Wicked.A.

I'm upgrading this story's rating from K+ to T because of this chapter. Dan is a nasty piece of work, and somebody needs to think of the children. I hope you all still like it!

Dan Phantom

Which Danny Phantom? The man I am now, or the child I used to be stuck with?

If it's the former, then … a lot. I am free. I am tough. I can do anything I want. I am awesome. No elaboration on these points is required.

If it's the latter, then my strongest urge is to go back in time and punch that kid in the face.

It never used to be this way. I once cared about Danny, believe it or not. He was like a brother to me. I warned him not to do stupid things, and even when he couldn't hear me, I kept trying to get his attention. We had a bond. If he perished, where would that leave me?

I have no memories of life before our union, if I was even living back then. There was only an infinite blackness, devoid of emotion and thought – until, all of a sudden, the place was flooded with light. In the noise and the chaos, I was being sewn to Danny. I filled his mouth as he screamed. I reached into his fingers as they curled in pain. The green slime that carried my consciousness penetrated his skin and mingled with his blood. His body was infused with me. I saved his life.

From the moment he woke up, I already held some knowledge of basic matters. I had names for the objects around me, and I could instantly identify Danny's body parts as they appeared in the mirror. As time went by, I learned more about the items and people most relevant to this human being I now lived with. I learned to recognise Sam and Tucker as friends, Jazz as an annoying big sister, and his parents as a threat.

I could see everything he saw through his eyes. I could hear everything he heard with his ears. I could feel everything he felt on his skin. But Danny was always the one who dictated what we saw and heard and felt. I used to have at least some control over our body. I could make his hand turn intangible right as he was about to have a spoonful of cereal. It was fun to experiment and play such practical jokes, but the fun didn't last. He struggled against me until he wrenched the capacity from my grip.

Whenever he "went ghost," he was drawing on my ecto-energy, consulting the ghost within. His double life was only possible because I was there offering my support. If he was Spider-Man, then I was the Venom symbiote. However, rather than rejecting me, he took Sam's advice and embraced the ghost half. He never knew I existed, but I could tell he was trying to be careful with his newfound abilities. In return, I shared his experiences. When he caught another troublemaking revenant, I cheered for him. When he blushed at the touch of Sam's hand, I involuntarily quivered with infatuation. When he awoke from a nightmare in which he was being dissected by his own parents, I waited with him until he nodded off, taking on his pain to let him sleep.

It disgusts me to say it now, but I loved him. When you're so close to someone that you're never apart, the inevitable outcome is great love. Either that, or great hatred.

What happened to us?

Somewhere down the line, his ego got in the way. He would forget about his duties to Amity Park and let his head be turned by the lure of popularity, or the promise of a date with a pretty girl, or the mindlessness of video games. None of the distractions had any point whatsoever, and they irked me. Didn't he understand that he had bigger concerns to deal with? He wasn't supposed to change his mind. He wasn't supposed to promise to do something noble and then break off halfway through to please himself.

It got to the point where I preferred separation to togetherness.

We had split up just three times before the Nasty Burger explosion. The first time, Sidney Poindexter displaced Danny's soul without his permission, leaving me in the shared vessel. That bumbling nerd had no idea how to use my powers; I was glad when Danny returned to me. The second time, neither of us noticed the Ghost Catcher until I found myself floating alone, looking down on Danny. I was young and confused (and his parents were nearby), so we instantly fused back together.

The third time was different. That was the moment when the terror of loneliness became the relief of independence.

I had objected to Danny's heroic method for quite some time. He acted on impulse, made mistakes and ruined his public image. He was more and more frequently swayed off-task by the inanities of Paulina Sanchez. Even when he proved himself to the townspeople by defeating Pariah Dark, he hadn't been conserving our energy, so we nearly perished. But this time, at last, I had the chance to be a proper superhero. No distractions. No cumbersome secret identity. More time to dispense my unique brand of ghostly justice.

The problems arose when Tucker messed around with the Ghost Catcher. Instead of one man with all the powers, he created two boys with half the abilities and none of the efficiency. And then, at the end of it all, we were back to Square One. Yes, having a human body could be useful for getting past ghost shields, but that was negligible compared to the freedom and superiority I experienced for those beautiful twenty-four hours. I didn't see, and still don't see, why Danny had to completely reabsorb me.

Being pierced and yanked out by Vlad's Ghost Gauntlets was both the last straw and the best thing that ever happened to me.

Danny knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to die. He wanted to sink into the infinite blackness I had emerged from, the blackness I looked back on with contempt. He had tried every weapon he could get his hands on: the bread knife, the hunting rifle, the chemicals under the sink. But every time, his body would heal itself. Whether he hurt his ghost half or his human half, the other side would plug the gap, smooth over the wound and make him better. Neither the blade at his neck nor the bullet in his head nor the poison running down his throat could make any difference. But if both halves were separated and then lacerated, maybe he would have peace at last. That was his so-called logic.

Just thinking about his feebleness makes my ectoplasm boil. The boy was lazy. It was as simple as that. I used to believe "Fun Danny" was merely an exaggeration, a side-effect of a split that maybe wasn't completely clean. But in my later epiphany, I realised that his inactivity ran deeper. It was an unchangeable part of his personality.

Whenever something didn't go his way, his actions betrayed his weakness. When he couldn't balance his ghost-fighting life and his personal life, he gave up on trying and handed the bigger burden to me. When he didn't believe he was smart enough to pass the C.A.T., he gave up on studying and resorted to cheating. When he realised that the fallout of that decision might be more than he could bear, he gave up on living and wallowed in grief and shame. The boy was always letting go, surrendering to his ever-changing emotions, and I was sick of it. And now he was trying to join his loved ones instead of enduring his penance for causing their demises? The hatred I held for him in that moment was so intense it could outshine the Sun.

I did not go gentle into that good night. I was not allowed to while an old burden weighed on my mind. As his belongings were being packed up and carried out of Fenton Works, Danny barely registered anything that happened around him. It meant that neither of us remembered seeing the portal deactivated. If we hadn't destroyed it, then Amity Park would still need a hero to fight the escaping villains. I resolved to stay on this Earth and continue what we'd started. It seemed only rational.

What better protector could our town have than a dedicated creature with the self-control to never be completely blinded by sentimentality – unlike the old Danny Phantom?

There were two reasons for mixing with Plasmius. First, it was a way to punish Vlad for going along with Danny's childish whims. Second, combining with a more experienced and battle-hardened ghoul (the opposite of Sidney Poindexter) would give me a host of new skills, such as duplication, allowing me to develop into a more capable superhero.

What I hadn't anticipated was the rush of twenty years' worth of bitter memories, or his electrical core attacking and smashing my icy core, or the angry voices that screamed in my brain and set my hair on fire. It was awful – at first. But in the moment the turmoil settled into silence, I relished in this new sensation of promise lingering beneath the surface. I forgot about Amity Park, about the past and the future, and focused on the present.

After Danny's anaesthetic wore off, the first thing he saw was me, and the first thing he felt would have been the ectoplasm from my chest wounds dripping onto his feet. He started babbling questions to Vlad (who hid behind a door) before ordering me to leave him alone.

"Oh, so now you don't want to die?" I sneered. "Make up your mind!" I wrenched open the straps on the upright surgical table. "Oh, wait, you can't. You're just a slave to your feelings, aren't you? Like grass in the breeze." Proud of that simile, I picked him up and threw him across the room. "And I'm going to walk all over you."

However, as I advanced on the trembling wretch, who had curled into a ball to stem the flow of blood from his torso, I realised that something wasn't right. If I killed him, I would just be giving him exactly what he wanted: the loss of all those emotions that were dragging him down. There were a few more things I wanted him to feel. I wanted him to understand the turmoil he'd put me through. I wanted him to know what it felt like to watch somebody close to you ignore your pleas and do the wrong thing while you were powerless to stop it.

I dragged him into Vlad's inactive ghost portal. One hand sunk its claws into Danny's still-tender chest, making him whimper, and forced him to stand pressed against me, facing the innards of the chamber. The other hand slammed the portal's ON button.

With another blast, strong enough to drill a hole through the mansion, I locked Danny within me.

There was something different about this time. I could hear him. He never acknowledged my existence when the roles were reversed, but now I could feel the pressure he put on my skull, begging me not to break that man's neck, begging me not to blow up those apartments, begging me not to sweep through this Maternity Ward murdering women and children one by one. It had no effect. Cities were reduced to piles of rubble. Landscapes lost all their colour and variety, fading into a putrescent brown mess. Planet Earth was slowly but surely degrading – and all because he cheated on a test!

For ten years I had one goal: to make Danny pay for his lifetime of poor choices. If he wanted to abdicate responsibility and let someone else take control of the situation, he also had to abdicate the right to stop that power falling into the wrong hands. My hands. At the end of every day, I stood on the outskirts of a new city, watched the Sun set on the damage I had caused, and listened to Danny weeping for all the babies I'd slaughtered. I was never happier than when I was making him suffer.

On one such evening, I finally picked a name for myself. I never needed one while no-one knew who I was, but rising to dominance gave me inspiration to cement my new position. My name is not Daniel, or "God is my judge." My name is Dan. I am "He that judges." I don't defer to God, or even to the Devil. I need no other authority. I make the rules. I decide what is and isn't acceptable.

At least, I would, if it wasn't for Clockwork.

His influence was initially minimal. When we first met, I'd just finished smashing up Johnny 13's motorbike in an argument; I was playing a game with myself called "Upset as Many Ghosts as Possible in a Day." The meddler appeared out of nowhere, wielding his scythe, and told me he was going to turn the clock back to make sure the quarrel never happened. I let him do it. And then I broke Johnny's legs.

Clockwork never seemed to get the message. Instead of cutting off Ember's flaming ponytail, I wrecked her vocal chords. Instead of leaving an obscene scar on the Lunch Lady's face, I ripped her apart molecule by molecule. He kept erasing uncomfortable events, only for me to perform even worse deeds. I owed him a lot, in that respect. He gave me the chance to torment Danny in bigger and better ways.

But on the day I broke through Amity Park's latest attempt at a ghost shield, he changed his tune. Sam and Tucker showed up after ten years of being dead, wearing his trademark medallions, and I just knew that something was up. Clockwork was conspiring to make an even bigger change, one that would be harder to reset.

I needed to thwart the scheme. I had an interest in ensuring this future came to pass. I was a stronger, better person because of those destructive experiences. So I worked to keep history progressing exactly as it should. I trapped a young Danny in his future. I retook the test for him. I bound and gagged everyone important to keep them within the Nasty Burger when it blew up. I would not let Danny Fenton get away with his selfishness and sloth.

Sadly, right at the moment his whole life would have fallen apart, the so-called Master of Time swooped in and saved the day. Ugh.

How did I not see it before? Every instance of "correcting" the timeline was a plot to make me seem more evil in Danny's eyes, to inspire him to make sure I never existed. I was allowed to live for so long because Clockwork wanted to teach an undeserving brat a hackneyed lesson about how cheating is wrong. Once that was accomplished, he saw no use for me. That's why I'm here in his lair, crammed into the Fenton Thermos with my arms and legs bent in places they should not be bent.

I don't hear the old Danny in my head anymore. He's gone quiet. He's probably rejoicing in the knowledge that the young Danny doesn't have to go through what he did. The thought of that homewrecker sitting in happiness and contentment is truly sickening.

But brooding on him is pointless. My disgust is moving from Danny to Clockwork. That spectre has too much power for his own good. I'd always assumed that the glory and notoriety I'd achieved were all down to me. In reality, I was a puppet, and Clockwork was pulling the strings. Well, it's about time I cut loose.

What did I tell the boy? "I'm still here. I still exist! That means you still turn into me." I wasn't talking to Danny, though I was happy to let that pathetic child think otherwise. Clockwork kept an eye on the boy for months afterwards, and through the cylindrical wall, I could pick out the sobs from his sleepless nights. It was music to my ears. No, I was actually talking to my younger self. I'd hoped to weaken Danny in our scuffle, grab the Ghost Gauntlets and release the phantom from that prison of flesh, ready to take on the world. If it weren't for the premature Ghostly Wail, I might have succeeded.

But I have another plan in the works. I like making plans these days. I must have picked it up from Plasmius.

Step One: get out of this stupid Thermos.

Step Two: vaporise Clockwork.

Step Three: go back in time and catch Danny at his weakest moment.

Step Four: pull my younger self out of the bodily shell.

The details still need fleshing out, of course. I'll have to find something to do with Danny. I won't give him the satisfaction of having the sweet release of death, so I've got to invent a new torture for him.

It'll also take time for my younger self to climb to my level. I didn't reach my peak for ten years, and in the new timeline, we could have to wait even longer. He hasn't had the personal tragedies to spur him on. But I suppose a few "accidents" can be arranged. He has the potential to be a great ghost, and with a teacher like me, I know he'll get there eventually.

There's more than one way to become a monster.