Chapter Two: Jolly Old Saint Nicholas

"A Christmas miracle is when your family doesn't get into a single argument all day." — Melanie White

I wake to the feeling of something tickling and burning my nose. I sneeze - which is weird because I haven't done that in ghost-form since I first got my powers and my body hadn't adjusted yet - and bolt upright. It takes a moment to remember that I'm in one of Reaper's private rooms. I don't remember why I passed out, but it looks like someone put me on the couch. And upon seeing that my sarcastic Christmas shirt has been replaced with my old NASA t-shirt and my skin is a healthy color, I realize that I also returned to my human-form, which explains how sneezing was possible. Fortunately, everyone looking at me - Sam, Tucker, Reaper, and Mira - already knows I'm only half-ghost.

"You okay, Danny?" Sam asks, holding some kind of plant covered in tiny yellow blooms.

I blink the dots out of my vision. "I think so. What's with the plant?"

"Goldenrod," she says, holding it up. "It's notorious for making people sneeze."

"Reaper's, uh, friend made it," Tucker explains.

"He has plant powers," Mira adds. "Which is not what I would have expected from him."

I hear whimpering and look down to see Cujo gazing at me with wide, worried eyes. I run my hand down his back. "I'm alright, boy." To the others, "Reaper's friend?"

"My apologies," Reaper says with a dip of their head. "When you said your home was hectic, I was unaware of just what that meant."

So, someone told them about my parents' annual fight? Why?

"Might I assume it's safe to come into the frame?" A new voice. A deep baritone that sounds familiar.

I turn my head and remember why I passed out. Sa- Sa- The Master of Life sits in the armchair across from me with his mint-green hands folded in his lap. He gazes at me with concern and understanding.

"Sorry, Danny," he says because he knows my name because he's…the Master of Life. He taps two fingers together and stops looking at me. "This is kind of an awkward situation, isn't it?"

It's a struggle to remain conscious. I shake my head, which only makes me dizzier, and I have to prop myself up with my arms. "You're, uh… Hi."

Sa- The Master of Life blows out a breath and stands. "Well, at least you're more coherent than your sister."

He points to Jazz, who is still curled into a ball in the corner and staring into space. I have a hunch that she's been in that position since she found out about…this.

"I'll get her," I say once I can see straight. I hop off the couch, regain my ghost-form, and walk over to her. She doesn't react. "She hates when I do this," I confess without guilt.

This is a trick I started doing to wake Jazz up in the morning when I'm feeling playful and annoying. I swirl my index finger over her head, and a cold light blue cloud forms. It dumps a big pile of snow on her, and she springs back to life, throwing her limbs around and shaking the snow off her head.

When she looks up at me, the usual anger is only there for about a second before she sinks back into her mind. "Hi, Danny," she says blankly.

I know how she feels. "Hey, sis."

"Santa's real."

"Yeah."

"And, he's a ghost."

"He is."

Now that it's been said out loud, I can no longer deny it. Santa Claus is real. And, a ghost. One of the Ancients, at that. Sheer willpower keeps my knees from giving out.

"I'm sorry about this," Sa-San-ta says. "When Reaper brought your friends in, I tried to warn them that you two might react badly to seeing me. But, Jazz had already gone into a trance. Plus, Sam here," he jerks his thumb toward one very embarrassed goth, "jumped me with a million and one questions, and I didn't get the chance to stop Reaper from bringing you too, Danny."

Sam's face is as red as Santa's suit. "Sorry," she says, and I don't know which of us she's talking to.

"You're Santa Claus," I say because I can't say anything else.

Santa shrugs. "Well, just Santa. The 'Claus' part was something the humans added."

Reaper clears their throat. "Perhaps we should give them a moment."

Everyone mumbles agreements and follows Reaper out. Mira gives my hand a squeeze and picks up Cujo before leaving. Soon, it's just me, my shell-shocked sister, and…him.

Rage hits me out of nowhere. For my entire life, for Jazz's entire life, hell, even before they were married for all I know, my mother and father have spent the entirety of December fighting. Every year, those two ruin any speck of Christmas cheer that might have surfaced in their own children. Every year, Jazz and I open our presents and bolt upstairs when Mom and Dad start screaming about where the extra gifts came from.

Every year one of us snaps. Jazz runs into her room and punches her pillow over and over. I throw my toys across the room, not caring if they break. Jazz snuggles with her favorite teddy bear and cries. I bring holiday decor into the Ghost Zone so I have a safe place to destroy it.

Every Christmas ruined because Mom and Dad have screaming matches about whether or not Santa Claus exists.

Meanwhile, he's standing right in front of me. And, he knows about the fights.

"Hi, Danny," Jazz's too-quiet voice stops me from putting myself on the naughty list.

I turn around and force myself not to yell at her. "Hello, Jasmine."

She isn't looking at me. She's still staring straight ahead. "Santa's real."

My voice shakes. "Uh-huh."

"And, he's a ghost."

"I noticed."

When I slowly turn back to Santa, he pleads, "Danny, listen-"

"No. You listen." My whole body quivers and it's not just anger. Goosebumps crawl up my cold skin, and I know I'm one wrong move from turning this room into a meat locker. "Every year. Every year Jazz and I have to sit through our parents screaming and getting in each other's faces. 'Santa' this. 'No Santa' that. You are jolly old Saint Nicholas himself, so I'm sure you know how many letters Jazz and I wrote, asking for proof one way or the other. We didn't even care if you were real or not! We just wanted someone to be right so the fighting would end!" The fight drains out of me and is replaced with an overwhelming grief that forms a tight knot in my throat. "Dad was right. You're real. You-you didn't even have to appear in person. Just…just some kind of proof. Were-were we not good enough? I-I don't think we were naughty but-but could we have been nicer? Was that the problem?"

Santa pinches the bridge of his nose, looking as tired as I feel. He sighs heavily and waves his hand toward Jazz. "Try waking your sister again. She should hear this too."

I storm over to Jazz and try the snow thing again. This time, I yank her to her feet immediately after. It works. She shakes her head and blinks a lot before saying dazedly, "Santa's one of the Ancients." Well, I thought it worked. I swirl a new cloud, and she jumps back with her hands in front of her, shouting, "I'm awake! I'm awake!"

I will the cloud away. "Santa's going to explain a few things to us. Come along."

I lead her to the couch, which is already occupied. I sit between my sister and Santa, feeling protective of her even though the demon - not an insult; sentient beings that formed in the Ghost Zone and never had a pulse to begin with are called demons - means no harm.

"I want to explain why I never gave you kids proof of my existence," Santa says to Jazz. "Believe me, I wanted to. Still do, even though you two are older." To me, "It wasn't a matter of 'naughty vs nice.' You're both good kids."

"So, why not give us the one thing we wanted all these years?" Jazz doesn't need to rant; her eyes say enough.

"Jazz, Danny," Santa says with his hands pressed together. "The only way to stop that argument cold would be for me to phase through the roof like I do every year," so, he doesn't actually come down the chimney then, "but this time when your parents are awake. I'd tell them who I am. I'd explain all the stories the humans share about me. And so on and so forth. Here's what would happen. Your father would be thrilled, but your mother would see nothing more than a ghost in a red suit. That would start a fight about whether or not to destroy me. You want your parents to stop spending the holiday season arguing, but proving I exist wouldn't do that."

"It would start a new argument," Jazz says brokenly.

A worse one, I don't need to say.

My chin quivers, and I stare down at my lap. "I'm sorry I yelled at you," I choke out.

Santa pats my knee. "It's okay. You have every right to be upset. Sadly, kids, there are some things even I can't put under the tree." Whatever we look like makes Santa stand up and say, "I'll give you your space."

He leaves and so does my composure. My vision blurs and turns green as ectoplasm drips down my cheeks and harsh, choppy breaths escape me.

"I know," Jazz sobs. She holds me close, and I return the embrace. She presses her wet eyes into my neck. "I know, Danny. I know."

We must look ridiculous, one adult human and one almost-adult ghost holding each other and crying over Santa Claus. But, what else can we do when the one person who could fix all of our terrible Decembers just told us that he can't?

It'll never end. Mom and Dad will find something to fight about no matter what we do. The Fenton family just isn't meant to have a good Christmas.

We walk out of the room, holding hands because we're the only members of our immediate family who don't want to kill each other over something that can easily be proven but not without consequences.

"Bah humbug," I mutter.

Jazz tightens her grip. "What do we do when we get home?"

My chest seizes at the idea of going back there to that. "Steal the wine and take turns chugging it?"

My sister almost smiles. "We're not old enough Danny." I give her a look, and she sighs and puts a hand on her forehead. "Please don't tempt me."

Suddenly, we hear something that tells us we aren't the only ones having a rotten Christmas. One of the doors is slightly ajar, and a tiny, panicked voice is mumbling things like "It's no good!" and "He's gonna hate it!"

I recognize the voice, and the sadness in it sends a pang through my heart. My core is thrown into high gear at the sound of someone I know desperately needing assistance.

Jazz and I glance at each other, and I gently push the door open. The tiny ghost inside squeals in terror before zooming through the air and slamming the door closed with a cry of, "No!"

"Merry Christmas?" is what I say because I have no idea what just happened.

Jazz knocks on the door. "Bub? Is that you in there? What's going on?"

Bub is a human baby who became a ghost mere months after he was born. I'd give anything to know how that happened, but even without the fact that a lot of ghosts totally lose it if you ask how they died, I'd hate to make him relive that. I asked Reaper about it, but they won't tell me.

Bub's taken a shine to me, so having him slam a door in my face is alarming.

My turn to knock. "Come on, little man. What's up?"

After a moment, the door opens just enough for Bub's little head to pop out. He has pale gray skin, a mop of white hair, and glowing red eyes with reptilian pupils. And, he's normally a lot happier than this.

"I-I tried to make a present," he chokes out, his face streaked with pale green, "but it's no good! I can't get it right!"

"Well," I say, "maybe we can help you-"

"No!" Bub slams the door again. "It's your present! It's no good! You'll hate it!"

My heart breaks. "No, I won't! Bub, I'll love anything you give me, even if it isn't perfect."

"You promise?" Bub whimpers from behind the door.

"I promise," I say.

I won't let anyone else's holiday be as terrible as mine and Jazz's. Bub in particular deserves a merry Christmas. It's his first one, after all.

"I know," Jazz pipes. "What if Danny and I got our presents for you, and we had our own private gift exchange? That would fun, wouldn't it?"

This is why my sister is the smart one. "I think that's a good idea," I say with extra enthusiasm. "What do you think, Bub?"

Silence, then a very small, "Okay."

Thank the Ancients for my speed. I fly to the present table and grab my and Jazz's gifts for Bub and for each other and find Bub's gift for Jazz. When I return, Bub reluctantly lets us into the room. Jazz and I sit on the couch, and Bub floats over the table and picks up…something that's the same size as him and is made of stone. It has a thin kind of circular frame, and a couple of jagged lines inside that connect to…whatever that lump is in the center.

Bub hands the stone thing to me without looking at me. "Here. I tried to make that picture, but," his eyes well up in shame, "but I couldn't get it right."

"Picture?" Jazz repeats as we examine the stone.

"The picture." Bub points to my chest then takes in my attire and lowers his hand. "It's not there now. It's the picture that's usually there. The-the green circle and the weird white shape."

It clicks. "My insignia?" I ask.

Bub shrugs. "I guess. I tried to carve it to look like that, but it's no good. I'm sorry!"

Now I really look at my gift. I start to see the neon green pentagram, the thick white D-with-a-P-inside. It really takes some imagination to see it, but this is my insignia.

Jazz must see it, too. She turns to Bub and says, "You carved this yourself? That's really impressive."

How long did it take him to make this? Did he use tools, or does he have a power I don't know about?

He put so much work into this. For me. And, he's so upset that he couldn't get it exactly right.

Tears sting my eyes, and Bub sees this and gets even more upset. "Oh no! I knew you'd hate it!"

"No! No, I love it!" I assure, holding the sculpture in one hand and coaxing its maker into my free arm. He rests against me and looks up at me in confusion. "I really love it, Bub."

He points at my face. "But, you're gonna cry."

Jazz chimes in. "Sometimes grown-ups cry when they're really, really happy. It's one of the many weird things about us."

I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. "And, you've made me really, really happy, Bub," I say and kiss his forehead on impulse. This puts a smile on his face and sends a little thrill through me. "I love my gift. Thank you so much."

The sheer joy on that sweet face instantly wipes all the bad things from my mind. "You like it!"

Bub throws his arms around me as much as he can, his chubby hands clutching my shirt. I set the sculpture next to me so I can cradle Bub properly. I don't know why I'm doing this, but it feels right.

Jazz lightly brushes Bub's bangs, and the little guy springs into the air. "Oh, Jazz!" he shouts. He grabs a messily wrapped, misshapen present that's half his size and hands it to Jazz. "This is for you."

"Thanks, Bub!" She unwraps it, and we both try to make sense of the stone in her hands. "Is it a heart? Or, a flower? Or-"

"It's a rock!" Bub shouts proudly.

It takes every ounce of willpower I have, but I manage to hold in my laughter.

Our private gift exchange was the highlight of my day. Bub flipped for the plastic keys that Jazz got him and started flapping them around and cracking up at the noises they made. My gift to him was a yellow plush mouse, courtesy of Dash Baxter's love of crocheting (no, I'm not kidding). Bub named the toy "Mouse" and hasn't let go of it or the keys once, even though Mouse is the same size as his new owner.

Jazz and I were successful in our gifts to each other as well. I got Jazz a plush toy as well, though this one I found at a store and snatched up right away. Jazz loved the huge pink teddy bear in a purple shirt with a red heart on it. "A giant girlfriend for Bearbert Einstein," I called it, and she gave me a big hug. I laughed when I opened my gift: a black hoodie with the words "Just Bury Me and Call It a Day" in big white letters. Most people won't get the joke, and I suspect that's why Jazz bought it. It's a little big, but who cares?

It was just like my visit with Reaper and Eileen; sweet, fun, and made me want to celebrate. No one was fighting. Everyone was hugging and kissing and gushing about their presents. Just the way it should be on Christmas day.

Alas, we had to leave that room eventually.

Jazz and I head down the stairs, carrying/wearing our gifts, while Bub floats around us, squeezing Mouse's soft neck under his arm and chewing on a blue key. In hindsight, I should have told Jazz about Bub's fangs and still-present baby instincts. Those keys aren't going to last long. Mouse might not either, now that I think about it. But, that's okay. As long as Bub gets a good first Christmas.

Unlike me. Local legend states that my parents were too busy fighting to notice a dog using me as a fire hydrant. Thank God, I have no memory of the incident.

We spot Sam and Tucker huddled by the wall, talking excitedly about Santa, and everything tumbles back to me.

"How many duplicates do you think he can make?" Sam asks. "He needs enough to hit every single house, so…"

Tucker shrugs. "Well, he said to just pick a big number and assume it was right. I'm gonna say at least a few thousand." He adjusts his glasses. "More importantly, can we just appreciate the fact that Portal Creation is one of the rarest ghost powers there is, yet we now know four - count 'em, four - ghosts who can use it?"

Those four would be Mira, Reaper, Wulf, and…apparently Santa, which explains how he gets to Earth and makes sense for a demon called "the Master of Life."

"That is pretty cool." Sam spots me and Jazz and cringes. "Uh, we weren't talking about Santa."

Tucker whirls around with a forced grin. "Nope. Definitely not."

"It's okay, guys," I say. "The shock has worn off. I think we've veered into acceptance."

They eye our presents, and Tucker asks, "What's all this?" He snorts when he reads my hoodie.

Sam points to it and asks, "And, where can I get one of those?"

"Some online store I found," Jazz replies. "The three of us did our own thing upstairs."

"I got this," Bub announces, waving his noisy, slobbery keys around. Then he shows off his other toy. "And, this is Mouse."

"A strong name for a strong man," Tucker says. "I assume Mouse is a man."

"You got some nice stuff, Bub," Sam says. "I'm jealous."

Bub does a little shimmy and sings, "Wait 'til you see your presents! I'm gonna show my toys to Cornelius." A demon toddler he's friends with, a toddler who's getting a stuffed rabbit from me. Before Bub leaves, he whispers to me. "I got Sam and Tucker rocks, too. Don't tell them."

If he was anyone else, I'd think he was screwing with them. I just wink as he flies away, and I bask in the knowledge that he presumably likes me best.

"Back on topic," Sam says. "Santa being real is a good thing, isn't it? That'll end the debate."

And, here comes reality to crush my Christmas spirit under its steel-toed boot.

"It'll end that debate," Jazz laments. "Don't forget that Santa's a ghost."

"So?" Tucker asks. "He's still real!"

Jazz and I look at each other, thinking the same thing. I point at nothing and deepen my voice. "Look, Maddie! It's Santa!"

Jazz makes her voice higher. "Jack, that's a ghost! We need to destroy it!"

"We can't do that! It's Santa!"

"It's a ghost, Jack!"

Our friends let out an understanding, "Oooohhhhh…"

My sister and I drop the act. "Santa himself pointed that out to us," I say. "He knows when you are sleeping. He knows when you're awake. He knows our parents will never be good for goodness sake!"

"And, we know our parents," Jazz adds, "so we know he's right."

Sam starts to say something, but the music stops, and Reaper calls everyone to attention. "It is time for you all to receive your gifts. Santa's duplicates will bring them to the one who brought them so that you may deliver them in person. If you have difficulty finding someone, my Gargoyles will be happy to assist."

Multiple Santa's - exactly what I need right now - cluster around the massive table and put presents in sacks for easy carrying. The duplicates each hand a sack to a person - the ones who reach me and Jazz give us apologetic looks - and everyone begins searching. This should be a chaotic endeavor, but everyone seems to be having fun, stopping to open gifts and enjoy reactions before moving on to the next person.

The team and I split up after opening our own gifts. I gave Sam a vegan cookbook and Tucker a new case for his Nintendo DS (his old one was stolen by the Box Ghost even though it wasn't perfectly square; Boxy was in a mood). I got a pentagram wall decoration from Sam and a sci-fi novel I've had my eye on from Tucker. We don't have as many gifts to give out since we don't know most of these people and hate two of them, but it is tricky finding the few people we did shop for. Still, it's kind of fun. Like a real life version of "Where's Waldo?"

After spending some time giving and receiving, I spot Mira hovering near the second floor. When I get closer, I notice who she's talking to.

"You think that would help?" Mira asks.

Santa strokes his beard. "It's not what they asked for, but I think it would at least brighten their day." He spots me and almost smiles. "I'll leave you two be."

He flies off, and Mira turns and smiles nervously. "Oh, hi, Danny! How long were you there?"

Curiouser and curiouser. "Not long enough to know what's going on."

Mira relaxes then grins at my hoodie. "Where'd you get that?"

"My sister."

"Nice." Mira digs around in her sack before handing me a small, thin box. I let my sack hover beside me - apparently, they do that - and unwrap it and grin when I see a copy of "Kirby: Squeak Squad."

"I kept the receipt in case you already had it," Mira says.

"Honestly, I totally forgot it came out. I know what I'm doing when I get home."

"Do you, now?" she asks as I go in for a thank you kiss.

My turn to rummage. "Now, yours is in here somewhere… Bingo."

I hand her the cylindrical package, and she rips off the paper and gasps. She gazes in wonder at florally-designed cooking utensils in their plastic container, and I know I made the right call.

"These are gorgeous! And, that's a good brand, too." Mira bounces on the air. "I can't wait to use these!"

"Does that mean our first Christmas together is a success?" I ask, hoping the answer is what I think it is.

But, the look Mira gives me makes me nervous. "Depends. Are you okay after the whole Santa thing?"

"I think so," I lie.

Mira buys it. "Then it's a success. You mind helping me find Cujo? He's the only one left I have to give a present to."

"Same," I say. "I got him a rubber ball that squeaks."

"I got him a squeaky toy, too," Mira says. "But, mine's a rubber chicken."

I want to ask Mira what she and Santa were talking about, but I don't want to think about that guy right now. I just want to have fun on Christmas for once.

Reaper stops me mid-search, saying they want to talk to me. I tell Mira to go on without me and follow Reaper off to the side. The Ancient kneels down to my level.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing, child," Reaper says.

I shrug. "Okay, I guess. Jazz and I had a little fun with Bub, so that helped. There's nothing we can do about our parents, so why get upset over it?"

As always, my grim sees right through me. "It is alright to be upset, Danny Phantom. Santa explained the extent of your situation, and it sounds quite…irritating."

"That's one word," I mutter with an eye roll. "Grim, I don't wanna talk about this. I just wanna have some fun while I still can."

Reaper regards me for a moment. "Very well. Enjoy the party. You and your companions may stay as long as you please."

I thank them and continue my hunt for Cujo. I fully plan on enjoying the party. Because I won't enjoy going home.