For best results, read "Parental Misguidance" and maybe "Holiday Spirits" first, but you can follow along without them.
Trigger Warning: If you are sensitive to the topic of dead babies, proceed with caution. Nothing happens on-screen, but you read the summary.
Down Will Come Baby!
Chapter One: Save the Date
"Your existence gives me a headache. Go stand over there." - Darynda Jones
I have a date today. But, it's not just any date. This is a date that includes lunch with my girlfriend's parents. Most guys would be freaking out and hoping with every fiber of their being that they don't do or say anything stupid.
I, however, am a hybrid of a ghost and a human. My girlfriend is entirely dead and lives with her still-alive parents. I met those parents shortly after their daughter died and I brought her home so she could show them that she was okay. Er, okay as she could have been since she was, you know, recently deceased. They were there when I beat up their daughter's killer and sucked him into the Fenton Thermos. They were pleased to hear that I'd shipped him off to the most secure and feared prison in the Ghost Zone. They are totally fine with me being half-ghost; I told them do to extenuating circumstances. (I overheard them discuss adopting me when I mentioned that my parents hate ghosts, especially that half of me, with a passion.) They were surprisingly receptive to the idea of me dating their daughter, probably because they already liked me. So, no, I'm not that concerned about lunch.
At the moment, I'm more concerned about getting to lunch on time. A massive green sphere-shaped thing covered in eyes of various sizes had decided that this would be an excellent time to float around Amity Park and shoot lasers everywhere. And, it didn't even respond when I politely asked if it was here for its routine eye exam. So rude!
Let me emphasize just how simple lunch with my girlfriend's parents will be.
It's not easy to defeat something that can see everything and can shoot lasers out of every eye at once. ("I've heard of crying your eyes out, but this is ridiculous," I said the first time it did that.) Luckily, the ghoul has a weakness: while charging up its attack, it closes its many eyes for a good, long while. That's when you strike.
The next time it closes its eyes, I fly in and punch it as hard as I can in its biggest eye. The ghoul is thrown back in the air and blinks as if wondering what just happened.
"That looks painful," I taunt. "Guess you're gonna need laser eye surgery."
I shoot a bright green ghost ray at it. It's too distracted to dodge and is blasted back further.
I pull the Thermos out of pocketspace - the pseudo-dimension that ghosts use as a backpack - and throw in one last taunt. "Now how 'bout you rest in the recovery room?"
I activate the Thermos, and a harsh wind sucks the ghoul toward me. The ghoul's body shrinks and squishes as it is pulled inside, and I clamp the lid back on once my job is complete.
A quick check of the surrounding area shows me that, despite the lasers, there isn't any property damage. Yellowish grass shows through where the heat melted the snow, but at worst, it just looks a little funny for January in Minnesota. I fight the urge to sink to the ground in relief. Those lasers must have been one of those powers that only harms sentient beings. My girlfriend can generate an electric shield that operates the same way.
I put the Thermos away, fly lower, and ask if everyone's alright. I receive a lot of thank-yous and reassurances, but there are still injuries to take care of. Including my own. Having that many eyes means having impeccable aim. I'm covered in burns, and I think my jumpsuit is welded to my skin in some places. It hurts to move, but I have to push through the pain. I'll feel better once I switch back to human-form while my ghost-form heals. These people don't have that luxury.
The ambulances arrive quickly. I like to visit the hospital to check on the victims of a ghost attack, so I recognize all of the doctors at least by face.
The one who runs over to me is a light-browned-skin man in his fifties. "How bad was it, Phantom?" Dr. Kumar asks.
"Could have been better," I say, landing my feet on the asphalt. "I have a lot of unused eye jokes."
Dr. Kumar shakes his head with a grin. He knows that humor is how people like us get through these things.
We get serious and direct the EMTs to the injured. I steal a second to check my phone and cringe. I have some time but not enough of it. I send my girlfriend a text.
Ghost attack. Civilians hurt. Gonna be late.
Her reply is almost immediate.
Kay. XOXO
That's what's nice about dating someone who knows about and respects what I do. I can say things like, "A giant soccer ball is causing trouble," and she'll be like, "Okay, get here when you get here."
Back to the matter at hand.
More than one doctor tries to make me sit down so they can treat my injuries. As tempting as the offer is, I'm more concerned about the humans. Most of them managed to take cover in time, but the ones who didn't have some pretty severe burns.
The good news is that I developed healing powers a few months ago. The bad news is that they really drain me, to the point that if I use them too much without a break, I risk turning into a puddle of ectoplasm. That almost happened the first time I pushed myself too far. Destabilization is not a fun experience.
Still, I work with the EMTs on helping the injured while I can. They handle the less serious burns because I insist on treating the really bad ones. Like the middle-aged man lying against a building right now. His leg has a gaping hole where the flesh was melted away, and even his bones are charred. There was a time when I would have taken one look at that leg and hurled. I don't know what it says about my life that I barely flinch at the sight.
The poor man is barely conscious from the agony. He's muttering about how he doesn't want to lose his leg. My heart breaks and my core pulsates as I feed him reassurances. I rest my hands on either side of the opening and apologize when he winces; my hands are resting on the large blisters covering the remaining skin.
I let the comforting warmth spread through me and into my hands. A soft yellow light coats my palms as the leg's muscle and tissue and skin grow back and the blisters vanish. When I'm through, it's as if there was never an injury to begin with.
Yeah, the Healing Touch is that powerful.
Unfortunately for me, this is the fifth time I've had to treat that sort of injury, and I'm feeling woozy. Heat gathers around my waist, and this is the second time I've had to fight off the transformation back into a human. Logically, I know I need to stop, to find a private area to transform in so that my ghost-form can rest.
But, the man throws his arms around me and sobs out his gratitude, and my core is eating it up. My Obsession is helping others, which might have something to do with why I want to push myself past the limit.
Beyond that though…it feels good to do good, to be appreciated, to know that I have a purpose.
Then a very deep, barely feminine voice breaks through the happiness. "Release him. He needs to rest."
The man throws himself off of me and scurries away on two feet. No one is stupid enough to go against anything Caroline says. You know those nurses in cartoons who are huge and beefy and just plain scary? I'm convinced that Caroline was the inspiration for them.
I start to force myself to stand, but Caroline kneels down to push me into a sitting position. "Your healing powers wear you out, right?" she asks.
I always feel like the main character in a horror movie when she talks to me. "Yeah, but-"
She gets way too close to my face. "Then. Rest."
"Yes, ma'am," I squeak as a shiver crawls up my spine.
This woman is dating our illustrious mayor against his will. I can't stand the guy, but I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
Satisfied that I'm too scared to move, Caroline blissfully wanders off. How is it that I can take on blood-thirsty monsters without batting an eye, yet that woman freaks me out?
Dr. Kumar had been watching with a sympathetic expression and walks over and kneels down in front of me. "Sorry, Phantom. She's been extra cranky since the mayor broke up with her."
"Whoa," I say. "He finally had the guts? I'm impressed he lasted this long."
"Well, Caroline is…Caroline." No argument there. "Personally, I feel worse for Mayor Masters. I hear he's been pretty jumpy since he broke it off."
Again, I almost feel bad for him.
"How are you holding up?" Dr. Kumar asks.
"I can mostly see straight," I say honestly, "so I assume that's good. I can keep going if you-"
Dr. Kumar waves his hands in front of him. "No, no. You've taken care of the worst of it. Leave the rest to us. You've done plenty."
I start to smile, but the sound of a bunch of loud engines assaults our eardrums. Two stark white cars zoom in and come to an abrupt stop. Panels on the roofs and sides open up, and an assortment of weapons rises out of the openings. I groan loudly as people in crisp white suits and dark sunglasses jump out of the cars with guns prepped and ready.
I'm sore and dizzy and late for my date. I am not in the mood to deal with the Guys in White.
But then, when am I?
(There's a "white trash" joke here, but I'm not that kind of guy.)
"Any readings on the ecto-scanners?" one man asks.
Another points a little machine in various directions. "Besides the ghost kid, nothing. The spook must have gotten away."
I force myself to my feet. My knees feel a little softer than usual, but the last thing I want is for these freaks to see how weak I am. "Um, fellas?" I call, and they turn their sunglasses my way. "There's a fine line between being fashionably late and just being late, and we are both currently in that second category, so if you could crawl back into your little clown cars…" I finish off by flicking my fingers in that direction.
A third guy aims his blaster at me. "Watch the attitude, punk."
I do a double-take when I look at him, because I thought I'd seen every Guy in White in this state. The third guy is slimmer than the other men in the group and has auburn hair and a goatee. I don't recognize the woman beside him either: a tall woman with a long dark brown high ponytail and a face covered in freckles.
"I've never seen you two before," I comment. "New recruits?"
"We're filling in from out-of-state," the woman says curtly, also aiming her blaster. "Not that it's any business of yours."
Ah, so that's the game they want to play.
"Actually, it is my business." It takes some effort - turning my legs into a spectral tail helps - but I shoot into the air for an added dose of intimidation. I ignore the many gun barrels turned toward me. "In case you've forgotten, because you people like to do that, we have a contract stating that Amity Park is my turf, and you ding-dongs are not allowed to show your ugly mugs without my permission. Your head honcho and I both signed on the dotted line, which means that you all are trespassing, and I am allowed to use lethal force. You wouldn't want to explain your damaged vehicles or your dirty suits to your boss, would you?"
Just so we're clear, the "dirty suits" comment was not a threat of bodily harm. These guys are just picky about their clothes. I have to say, white is a really bad color choice for their line of work.
The Guys hem and haw with each other for a moment before the freckled woman says to me, "Fine. We'll leave. Just don't give us a reason to come back."
As they pack their weapons and get into their cars, I hear the third guy say, "Why the chief agreed to those terms is beyond me."
Their chief agreed because I had one of my duplicates overshadow him, but no one needs to know that. It had to be done. The Guys in White tend to cause more damage than they fix. I can't stop them from attacking all ghosts and destroying property in the process, but I can at least keep my town safe from them.
Once the Lunatics in White are gone, the effort it took to seem scary catches up to me. I half-fall to the ground and barely feel my legs reform at the impact. Two sets of hands in thick gloves help me to my feet and keep me upright when my knees shake.
The hands belong to a goth girl with a slight tan because she unironically loves the outdoors and a black techno geek who wears that title like a badge of honor. Sam Manson and Tucker Foley, my best friends in the world. Since I got my powers and discovered what I could do with them, my friends have been going above and beyond to help me look after this town. We were on patrol when the eyeball…ball - heh heh, the eyeball - showed up. I'm just glad I was the one who found it.
"How you holding up, Da- Phantom?" Tucker asks.
"Like I told Dr. Kumar," I reply, "I mostly see straight. That's good enough for me."
Dr. Kumar walks over. "He's been using his Healing Touch quite a bit. It's effective, but it really weakens him."
"Is that so?" Sam asks as if she didn't already know that. "We'll make sure he gets some rest."
Dr. Kumar knows me well enough to anticipate my argument. "Very good. Phantom, as I've stated, you've dealt with the worst of the damage. We'll take it from here."
I nod, and the motion has me seeing stars.
The crew leaves, and civilians gather around to check on me. I'd be touched if my head wasn't swimming. Sam and Tucker shoo everyone away as they lead me through an alley and behind a building.
Sam gives me the all-clear, and I sigh in relief once I transform back into a human. I'm not wearing a jacket and my sleeves are thin, but I'm half-ghost, so the low temperature doesn't bother me.
"Thanks, guys," I say now that I'm well enough to speak. "Can I assume everything was fine on your ends?"
"Nowhere near as exciting as yours," Tucker says, pointing at me, "I'll say that. Sorry we didn't get here sooner."
"It's for the best," I say, thinking of those deep, deep burns I had to heal. "It got pretty gruesome. But, it sounds like everyone will be okay."
Sam puts her hands on her hips. "But, what is up with the Guys in White? Are they ever going to leave you alone?"
I roll my eyes. "Probably not. At least that contract makes it easier to get rid of them." I pull the Thermos back out and hand it to Tucker. "Will you guys get this to Jazz?" So she can deposit the eyeball back into the Ghost Zone. "I'm late enough as it is."
"I hope you at least told Mira what was going on," Sam says.
"Of course I did," I assure and pull out my phone. My friends and I say our goodbyes, and I call my girlfriend while they walk away. "Hey, sparky," I greet when she picks up. "Sorry I'm, like, super late."
"You're not that late," Mira assures. "Ready?"
I nod even though she can't see me. "Do it."
Mira's been able to manipulate electricity since she became a ghost. She can do a lot of cool things with it, one of which is transporting herself and others through appliances like a cellphone, which hangs up the moment you're sent through it. And yes, your own cellphone gets through as well. I do not know how it works, and I don't think Mira does either. All I care about is that it makes a long distance relationship not so long distance.
The transportation process is quick and weirdly painless, despite the fact that I'm being electrocuted as I'm squeezed into a phone. There's a pins-and-needles sensation running over every inch of my skin, and suddenly I'm standing in a living room in Oakland, Nebraska.
I shake my head and take a moment to get my bearings. Meanwhile, Mira is in front of me, looking at me up and down and tugging on her denim jacket, a nervous habit.
Like any ghost who used to be a human, Mira strongly resembles one apart from her coloring. She has a curvy body, glowing green skin, and long dark green hair that always looks tangled even though a brush glides right through it. Those deep red eyes are filled with concern as she waits for me to recover from the disorientation.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
"I'm fine," I assure. "I had to break out the Healing Touch, but that was the only real damage I took." So, I'm downplaying it. Sue me. I knock my fist against my chest. "My ghost-form should be fine soon enough."
Mira smiles that lovely smile of hers. "That's good."
She's a head shorter than me, so I have to bend down for a welcome kiss. Always worth the effort.
I'd love to see the Guys in White's faces if they saw a human kissing a ghost.
"I thought I heard static." Natalie - Mira's mother, a woman with a short light brown bob who's only a little taller than me - steps into the room and heads over to me with a relieved grin. "The longer we waited, the more worried we got."
She kisses my cheek, and I duck my head guiltily. "I-I'm sorry, Mrs. Scott."
Natalie scoffs and lightly smacks my arm. "Don't apologize for doing the right thing, mister. And, I wish you would use my and Andrew's first names like you did before."
I rub the back of my neck. "Well, before I wasn't dating your daughter, so…"
Natalie opens her mouth to argue, but a reed-thin man with blond hair walks in from the kitchen. "Ah, let it go, Nat," says Andrew, Mira's father. He winks at me. "That just means the kid was raised right."
Heat creeps into my cheeks.
A flurry of high-pitched barking breaks into my embarrassment. "Quiet, Yippy," I command as the little white chihuahua sprints down the hall and almost crashes into my feet.
Yippy obeys and settles for staring up at me with innocent doggy love as I kneel down to pet him. I should have brought Cujo, the undead dog who isn't technically my pet but I wouldn't complain if he was. Those two get along great.
"I hope you worked up an appetite, Danny," Mira says when I stand up. She rubs her hands together and bounces a little. "I made my special stew. It's a Mira Scott original."
I raise two thumbs. "Works for me. I'm starving."
Mira tells us to wait in the dining room so she can serve us. On my way in, my eyes linger on a picture of a living Mira, as they often do when I come here. This time, it's her senior picture hanging on the wall. In it, she is wearing a simple dark blue dress and sitting on a prop stone. Her human-self had fair skin, untangled straight light brown hair, and her father's brown eyes. Mira isn't a fan of makeup or jewelry, but neither her human- nor ghost-self needs it to be beautiful.
The usual pang hits me. A life cut so very short, only about half a year ago, at the tender age of eighteen. As someone who died at age fourteen, I can relate, even if I was miraculously revived. Sort of.
"Danny," Andrew calls from his seat at the head of the table, "get in here. Tell us about the ghost that held you up. Must have really been something."
There's nothing that can be done about Mira. Her family and friends still love and accept her, and that's the most important thing.
"Okay," I say as I take my seat and Mira starts ladling delicious smelling stew into our bowls. "Picture a beach ball but really big and with a bunch of eyes."
After lunch, I stay with the Scotts until my ghost-form is fully recovered. Then, Mira opens a portal - she is one of the rare ghosts who can do that - to one of my favorite parts of the Ghost Zone. It's Sunday, and that's the day I visit one of the two ghosts I imprinted on: the Ancient known as Reaper, the Master of Death. Though I confess to coming more often than once a week if I can.
Imprinting is what happens when someone who dies as a kid finds an older ghost whose core resonates with theirs. Or, something like that. All I know is that I have two ghost-parents: Eileen Merryweather, who also happens to be the homeroom and history teacher to my human-half, and Reaper.
Of course, family visits aren't the only reason I come here. Reaper is kind enough to open their home to anyone who needs a safe place to be, so I help out as both a guard and an emotional crutch. Lots of wild and/or sad stories in this place. Sometimes I bring my "human companions" as Reaper calls them. It's just me today. I asked Mira if she wanted to come, but she had plans with her own human companions.
Reaper's lair is the textbook definition of a gothic mansion. It's a massive structure surrounded by a graveyard that seems to go on forever. Inside, there are dark walls with elaborate designs and crystalline chandeliers and ghosts of all shapes and sizes and colors.
I used to knock on the door when I arrived, but since discovering my imprinting, Reaper insisted that I simply enter as I would my Earth home.
"Danny!"
The moment I close the door, a very small ghost launches himself and his favorite toy into my chest, the former turning his wispy white tail back into legs at the contact. I giggle as I wrap my arms around them. The ghost is Bub, an infantile spirit with pale gray skin, soft white hair, and glowing red eyes with reptilian pupils. The toy is Mouse, a yellow plush, well, mouse the same size as him that I got him for Christmas. Given that I'd forgotten about Bub's fangs and still-present instinct to put everything in his mouth when I gave it to him, I hadn't expected Mouse to last this long. But, Bub adores the plushie and takes good care of it.
Bub has one tiny hand clutching Mouse's arm as he snuggles against me. There's a sweet, warm feeling in my chest as I brush my thumb over his head. "Hey, little man," I greet. "Were you waiting for me?"
Bub lifts his head and nods. "Uh-huh. I was being patient. It was hard, but I did it!"
"Good. Good job." I readjust him so that I'm cradling him in the crook of my arm. He lays Mouse on top of himself like a blanket. "As you get older, you'll have to be patient a lot more often, so it's good to practice now."
"Did you fight a bad guy, Danny?"
I walk over to the long, wide staircase in the center of the foyer and sit down. Ghosts who pass by chuckle and make quiet, amused comments about imprinting. Permanent residents like Bub and the Gargoyles - Reaper's assistants - know by now that I'm the Ancient's son in all but DNA. Word must have spread beyond these walls; I've noticed that my usual spectral foes haven't shown their faces in town quite as frequently as they once did. Except the Box Ghost, but he's no big deal and he's a pretty nice guy when he's not stealing things.
"Yep," I answer as Bub nibbles on Mouse's ear. "Big ball thing with lots of eyes that shot lasers everywhere. Some humans got hurt, but they're okay now."
"Was it scary?"
"It's always scary when people are in danger. You know why?"
Bub gnaws on Mouse's other ear. I don't know how he does that without poking holes into the fabric.
"It's scary for me," I continue, "because I know that other people are scared. That's why I have to be brave for them so that they don't get hurt."
Bub pulls the ear, now drenched in ectoplasmic drool like the other one, out of his mouth. I can see his young mind working as he digests what I said. "I don't get it," he says at last.
I grin and sniff a laugh. "You will someday."
I rise when I see my grim walk in from the hallway. The Master of Death stands at roughly eight feet and wears a simple brown cloak that covers all but their hands, which are a pale blue-gray and have long fingers. The cloak's hood is always pulled up and hiding Reaper's face in shadow. Or, that shadow is their face. One of these days, I'll work up the courage to ask about that.
"Ah, Danny Phantom," they greet in that quiet voice of theirs. "Bub has been waiting by the door for you all day."
"I was patient!" Bub chirps.
I smile at the little guy before saying to Reaper, "Ghost attack, date with Mira. I'm a busy guy."
There's a hint of pride in Reaper's voice. "That you are, child."
I let Bub float out of my arms so that I can properly hug my grim. Being so much taller than me, the best they can do in this position is rest their bony hands on my back, but that's fine. The sentiment is there, and it's my own fault for not letting them kneel down first.
When I first learned that I'd imprinted on Eileen and Reaper, I was terrified of telling my friends and sister. My human parents are…less than perfect, we'll say. They're not abusive or anything like that (unless I'm in ghost-form), but I won't lie; there are times when you could make a case for neglect. But, they are good people who love me and my sister with everything in them. As much as I wanted to tell the team about my mama and grim, I was afraid they would assume the worst about my mom and dad. Especially Jazz, who was already hyper-aware of our parents actions after a recent series of unpleasant events.
Luckily, when I worked up the nerve to explain just after Christmas, everyone was very understanding. I made sure to emphasize that it was merely a part of my biology and had nothing to do with my human family (even though I don't know that for certain). Tucker teased me about being "the ultimate teacher's pet," but that was the worst of it. Although, Sam did seem a little more weary, looking back, but she didn't call me out on anything.
Now that the secret's out, I don't feel so worried about showing affection to my ghost parents, even if the team isn't here to see it.
When we pull away, Reaper turns to Bub, who had been waving Mouse's arms up and down and babbling incoherently. "Bub, perhaps you could venture off while I tell Danny Phantom about that thing I told you."
Bub purses his tiny gray lips before his eyes light up in memory. "Oh! Okay." To me and with barely contained giggles. "This is neat!"
He flies away with Mouse in tow, and Reaper kneels down to my level. "Bub has taken quite a liking to you, Danny Phantom."
Where is this going? "Well, I like him too, so that works out."
"Allow me to explain. Infantile ghosts such as Bub have cores that are easily influenced by the ghosts around them. And, Bub spends a great deal of time around you."
I frown. "Is that bad?"
Reaper waves a hand in front of them. "Not at all. What I am getting at is that Bub may develop one or more of your powers as he ages."
"Really?" A thrill runs through me at the thought. I picture it. Me helping my little man perfect his ice powers. Or, passing down Eileen's teachings on Duplication. Or, finding Bub's limit on the Ghostly Wail-
Uh, let's hope it's not the Wail.
Reaper sees the stars in my eyes and raises their hand. "There is no guarantee of this happening. But, it is certainly something to watch for."
Oh, I'll definitely be watching. The idea is in my head, and I love everything about it. Even if Bub doesn't develop any of my powers, there's still so much I could teach him. I want that. I want to be a mentor to him.
I want to show him the love and support that his parents didn't get the chance to.
This isn't the first time that desire has popped into my heart, but can you blame me? Mira and I may have died young, but she at least got the chance to live and I literally came back from the dead, if only halfway. Bub, however, is a baby. How long did he get to live? A few months? Weeks? Was he stillborn? Did his mother miscarry? I don't know, Reaper won't tell me, and I could never ask Bub such a sensitive question. Not just because you risk being mauled or worse if you ask a spirit how they died, though some of them are pretty chill about it.
All I know is that Bub is the sweetest thing in the world and he deserves a chance.