A/N:
Hello, and welcome to the Saturday update! We're officially past the halfway mark, and things are gonna start really heating up. Danny gets some time off this weekend, but I suppose later we'll have to see the cost. I apologize for that little chapter snafu on Wednesday! Chapter 12 is definitely correct now! Nothing else to report this week, I'll see ya'll at the bottom!
Chapter Summary:
Danny meets Valerie to get his sick leave approved. Afterward, we follow him over his days off...
Chapter Specific Warnings:
Description of physical illness, stalking(mentioned as a fear, not actual), ableism(intellectual based slurs).
Chapter Title:
Repose: quietness; ease; peace; calmness. ... To lie at rest; to rest ... Rest; sleep.
Provocative: Serving or tending to elicit a strong, often negative sentiment in another person; exasperating. ... Serving or tending to excite, stimulate or arouse sexual interest; sexy.
8:00pm; November 11th, 2005; Amity Park
He stood on the edge of the roof, watching the cars and pedestrians below hustle to park or enter the shops on Main. The standing appointment to meet Red Huntress had drawn him out of the warmth of his nice soft bed on the late fall evening. He glanced down at a patch of grass, hoping Dr. A wasn't frowning in disapproval at him being out of bed. He needed to talk to Valerie, and he didn't want to do it over the phone. As long as he wasn't fighting, she wouldn't get irritated and try to talk to Vlad, right? He considered it for a moment, watching a family try to force a stroller over the still uneven sidewalk from the fight with the Ops Center, realizing her contacting Plasmius ranked higher than a conversation with his actual parents. He could brush off Vlad, and the man wasn't likely to do more than take advantage of the last waning days of his illness, but if the powerful ghost woman dropped by Fentonworks to explain to Mr. and Mrs. Fenton that their halfa son needed more time to recuperate... The idea had him pushing down shivers as a gust of wind ruffled his hair. Ugh, no, that's the worst case scenario. My parents don't listen to ghost rambles...usually, but she's strong enough to keep them captive, and coherent enough to make them pay attention. It'd be hard to brush her off. How is "Technus' mom visits Vlad" the best case scenario here? The couple below got the stroller up onto the concrete and pushed it towards a toy store.
That store had dumped all its electronic wares over the last three weeks, sending even the non-wiggling stuff elsewhere, and smashing everything that moved. All that was left were simple things like wooden blocks or hot wheels. He checked the time again on his cell, frowning when it showed five after the hour. Val was never late—
"Sorry, I had to wrangle the bridge between Elmerton and Amity."
"The...drawbridge came to life?" He turned around, taking in the harried look on her face and the soot and dust covering her armor. The debris disappeared as he watched, swept away by some mechanical process of the suit. It was eerie...and neat. Tucker would love a chance to scan the abilities of the new suit.
"Yeah, well not the bridge itself, that's just concrete and metal. The control station is made of a bunch of computers and electronics, though, and it developed a mind of its own. It didn't do anything dangerous, I mean it didn't try to slam the road down on passing boats or toss cars into the river, but it was still a hassle. I had to spend the last hour scrubbing out every crack and crevasse on that thing before it stopped pouting and did its job." She started trying to brush off the remaining grime, her face a mix of disgust and frustration.
"Wait, you're filthy because you got put on cleaning duty?"
"It refused to 'work in these conditions any longer' and demanded a 'service cleaning'." She continued scrubbing her hands over the surface of her knees, trying to brush off more deeply embedded grunge with a scowl.
"And they couldn't get a normal crew to do it because?"
"Because I look like the 'Molly Maid' to the jokers who run the traffic commission. 'Oh, Miss Huntress, can't you just do it? There's so many hard to reach places, and you have a hoverboard.' It's because I'm girl-shaped. They wouldn't make you clean the grills under a bridge." She shook the last of the dust off her hands and walked closer to him. "Your aura looks a little better, but not as much as I was hoping. You didn't fight Technus, did you?"
"Uh, no?" He froze as her face got closer to his, her helmet retreating as she closed the distance. Even the gossamer material covering her hands disappeared as she reached out and plucked at something in his hair.
"Did you roll in a meadow while you were in there?" In her hands sat a green sprig, little leaves swaying in the breeze. It glowed a shade of pale blue.
"Oh, that! Uh, no. That's from, um, my doctor?" He stuttered. This close, he could smell her shampoo.
"There are ghost doctors?" Her eyes snapped up from the glowing makeshift barrette and went back to searching his eyes, the skepticism plain on her face.
"Yeah, it's where I went last night."
"After you went to Technus'...house?"
"Lair," he corrected, before picking up the twig. It twitched around in his palm, reacting to his energy. A little unnerved, he reached back for his hair, and felt it jump off and settle in among his bangs to pin it back once more. Freaky Dr. A… "It's not like a house. Ghosts can control everything inside of it."
"And you went alone!" The shock and worry in her voice startled him. They had been getting along more recently, but they'd just made up. He remembered how strained and upset she'd sounded, voice cracking around mentioning him melting.
"Everything turned out fine! I wasn't hoping I had to fight him; I just wanted to talk." Ok, well, he'd blown down the door because he'd been pissed after wandering through the Neverending Forest, but he'd really hoped they could talk when he'd left the area around FentonWorks. "As it happened, he was sick in bed."
"Him...too?" Her eyebrows drew down, and a careful look took up residence on her face. Her eyes got far away, and then refocused on his face, blazing and bright. "He gave you that cold, didn't he?"
"Yup." He confirmed, moving closer when a gust of wind blew snowflakes and ice against his ass. "I talked to his mom."
"Ok, no, ghosts do not have moms."
"I have a mom." A completely true fact whose details he blessedly omitted. "Anyway, his mom was over to watch him because he had that...ghost cold." He stopped as another gust of wind blew her curls around in a really fetching way, moonlight catching off every wave and giving her a halo. Her eyes looked deep green in the low light of the night, sparkling whenever a passing car below lit up the roof as they turned off the street. He was staring. He should really stop. "It's, um, Dr. A called it a curse."
"A curse?" If she noticed his staring, she didn't mention it.
"She said all 'spiritually active beings' could catch it. She called it Whispering Panic."
"Oooo, very ominous."
"Right? But it's still only like catching the ghost flu. You get over it on your own. That is sorta why we have to talk, though." He stepped off the edge of the roof, floating slightly away. "She did tell me I was banned from fighting. I have to stay in the Zone for the next few days."
"And you have to follow the instructions of this 'doctor' because?"
"Because….she's really nice? She gave me a bunch of medicine that made me feel better. Also, most importantly, she's stronger than I am." That got her attention. It'd been drifting since he moved away, but now her eyes were back to laser focused.
"How much stronger?"
"She won't come here."
"How much stronger, Phantom?" She insisted, taking two big steps forward to the lip of the roof, placing a foot on top of it.
"Stronger than I am now." The answering snort she made did not sting his pride.
"Obviously, you're not much stronger than one of those ghost vultures right now, but compared to you in top form?"
He stopped, thinking through what he'd sensed at the other ghost's lair, "I think, even then, she's still stronger."
She took another step forward, balancing on the lip of the roof, glaring at him in earnest, "So, you weren't going to mention this much stronger ghost, who is the mother of one of your rogues you beat up all the time, before this moment?"
"Er…"
"What if she gets pissed you keep punching 'her baby' and she comes to Amity?"
"I just met her last night! Also, she won't do that."
"Why? Is she trapped by some magical barrier in the Zone that keeps her from ever interfering with the human world?"
"I know you're being sarcastic right now—"
"Oh shit, is that really the reason?" He enjoyed teasing her a little too much.
"No," he sighed, watching her face scrunch back up in annoyance, "but she thinks me and Technus are...playing?"
"What?"
"Yeah! She, and him too really, think this is a game baby ghosts play, like play fighting or something."
"Is that why that last plan to take over the school lab was a repeat?"
"Maybe...maybe he ran out of new ideas for scenarios to roleplay, but still wanted to fight? Oh God, that's it isn't it." He rubbed his hand down his face, then brought up both hands to rub at his temples. His headache had been almost gone. "My point is, she's not mad at me at all. She thinks I'm Technus' friend, and that we're playing an elaborate game of pretend. So, no worries about angry mommy retribution."
"That's one less thing to be concerned about…"
"Oh something else," he floated back over the roof, landing to the right of her. "She said curses infect all 'spiritually active beings' and I thought she just meant ghosts, but she didn't." Her already annoyed face grew more peeved, and he threw up his hands, "This is relevant; I promise. One of the types of spiritually active thingies she mentioned is 'liminal objects'. The way she described it, as inanimate things that absorb a bunch of spiritual energy, that remind you of anything?"
"The technology plague!" Now she was engaged, face having lifted when his digression bore direct strategical fruit.
"Exactly. Technus showed up, gave every ghost energy soaked thing in town the flu, and then bounced back to his house to get his mom to be his nursemaid. In the meantime, we got to deal with the consequences of his little superspreader event." He decided to avoid mentioning he'd probably infected a few things himself, flying around town trying to fight wigglers off. No point drawing her ire if he could avoid it! "She said it's self-limiting, so maybe the techpocalypse will stop on its own?" He felt that was a little optimistic. He had a functioning immune system...of sorts. The same couldn't be said of the wigglers.
"Are you sure?"
"Well...no. But!" He rushed when her face turned sour again, "I can get back into contact with her. She seems to know a lot about Curses and ghost illness in general. At least, she knows more than the both of us. While I'm away, I'll talk things out with her. Maybe she has a remedy that can cure the tech and get Amity back to normal."
"Sure, then the only supernatural scourge I'd have to deal with is ghosts."
"Aw, you know you like me."
"I do." He took a whole step back at her admission, his eyes going wider. "I get so much more homework done now with the city split with this truce. I'd like to keep this little arrangement around."
"It sounds like you just like the free labor."
"Hmmm, do I like free labor?" She leaned closer to him, eyes sparkling in the flash from another turning car, and he felt glad he didn't need to breathe in ghost form for the first time in a while. Why does she have to be so pretty and hate ghosts at the same time? "Nah. I'm not some slave driver." She said, answering her own question. "But I do like splitting up patrol duty with you. It makes time go faster. Which, if you're going to be away the next few days, I'm going to miss."
"I'll still be around through the admin chat," he offered, fighting the urge to once again move closer.
"Not the same. You can't catch wigglers through the admin chat. And I'll miss all your colorful commentary about the state of Amity's SUV population."
"It needs to be culled. In fact, I think they should make cars that size illegal." A smile was working its way onto his lips despite the topic. "If you need me, something big goes down, I'll be there in a flash."
"With no more Ops Centers to stomp through downtown, I think I can handle it alone."
"Red—"
"I promise hotshot, things start going south, I'll call you. Now, go on and take your sick leave. The sooner you leave, the sooner you get back, and the faster I don't have to pull double duty." She called up the helmet again, hopping up to summon her board as well. "You have anything else?"
"Afraid not, but as soon as I learn more about the curses from Dr. A, I'll let you know."
"You're going to see her in person?" She was a few feet off the ground now, and he rose higher to match.
"I'm gonna text."
"Of course, the mom of the 'Master of All Technology' can text. Loop me into the text thread then, or send me copies of the relevant messages." She moved further away, already heading back into 'hunting' mode.
"Can do! Hey, stay safe this weekend." He waved as she promised she could handle things again, and he tried not to remember her board sparking. Maybe it was fixed, and maybe the weekend would be quiet, and maybe he'd be better in the morning and he'd be able to patrol. None of that was happening now though, so he flew back towards Fentonworks to enjoy his rare, brief sick leave.
9:30am; November 12th, 2005; Amity Park
Danny blinked his eyes open on his bed, taking in the warm-yellow light of the mid-morning sun. He carefully flexed his fingers and toes, tracing the movement through each muscle group, braced for the feeling of soreness. His caution rewarded him with a lack of pain, and he moved on to rolling his wrists and ankles. Still, nothing ached. Finally, he slid his arms and legs against the sheets, feeling the warm softness rub against his skin and build a pleasant friction to further heat him up. He felt a twinge of something in his thighs and a pang of something else in his right shoulder, but otherwise, nothing hurt. He breathed out, settling to stillness on the mattress, enjoying the silence of the day. He had nothing planned for Saturday besides sleeping in and ignoring his chores. After chewing on the Shimmerbuds Dr. A gave him, his fever had finally broken. All the Advil, Aleve, and Tylenol he'd gulped down in human form, and eating a few white speckled flower buds was what did the trick. He'd thought about it when it'd broken the day before, and realized maybe he'd needed treatments for his ghost form. He might need to start keeping a stash. He turned his head to the side, taking in the time with a small wince. His neck felt stiff from sliding down his pillow last night.
His parents would be settled in the lab at this hour, and Jasmine was off with friends to do some last minute SAT prep today. Not for her, never for her, but she worked hard to drill her less standardized testing inclined friends into tip-top shape. It's kinda bullshit that our ability to have a future depends on some stupid test. He thought, flapping back the covers and slapping his feet down against the plush carpet of his bedroom floor. He'd thought that since...the entire incident with his alternate self, but watching Chloe and Hannah cram like their lives depended on it every Saturday since the beginning of the year for the SAT dates had really sold it. They were as smart as Jazz, but their nerves threw off their test results. He was not looking forward to doing similar in a year and a half.
He snatched up a hoodie after sniffing it for freshness, and pulled it down over his PJ top. He felt warmer lately, but he wasn't taking any chances with a rebound. He shuffled down the stairs, feet covered by socks and house shoes, towards the kitchen where he looked for something to eat for breakfast. Pop-Tarts greeted his gaze when he flung open the pantry door, and feeling lazy and craving something sweet, he decided on the S'mores flavor. They were basically dessert, but with no nagging influences to judge his poor choices, he was happy to have dessert for breakfast...and for dessert too later that day. The pastries popped down into the toaster slots as he brought out his phone, checking his texts. He'd messaged both his besties last night after patrol about the curse-busting sick leave, and then accidentally fell asleep before they replied. They'd texted back well wishes, and told him they'd be at Busters' this Sunday if he felt better.
He knew they'd ignore his texts, other than telling him to sleep, if he tried messaging them now. Feeling significantly better than before this whole wrestling match with the curse started, he was now regretting his choice to warn them off. It was going to be so boring with his sister gone, parents busy, and friends non-responsive. He had homework to 'entertain' him, but he always had homework. Worse, with how sick he'd been, he'd fallen behind.
If I'm feeling up to being upright, I should finish that history paper. Valerie had sent a bunch of links to help with the researching after he'd begged for a rescue. Most of them were primary sources he could cite in the paper, but a choice few walked him through the steps of organizing a paper and writing it. The fewer brain cells I need to work to write it, the better. He thought, grabbing the steaming pastries from the toaster and placing them on a plate from the cabinet.
He trudged back upstairs with a glass of milk and some fruit, and determined he'd get a good chunk of the paper done this morning. Waiting until the last minute for essays was something of a specialty of his, and over the last year, he'd honed the frantic typing to a science of desperate tab opening and expert rephrasing of sentences from sources. He wanted to try a little harder this time, though, especially with the way Mr. Clark combed everything. It was 25% of his grade this nine weeks.
He did text before he got started, though, letting his friends know he'd eaten breakfast and was starting on homework. Tucker, surprisingly, called him.
"You're eating food and doing homework without being babysat? Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?"
"Come on, dude, I have to get better by Monday. Val's working overtime to keep Amity safe while I lounge around my house in my underwear. I'm doing my best to speed along the healing process."
"And what foods are you using to help out?"
"Uh, S'mores Pop-Tarts, a glass of milk, and an apple."
"See? That sounds much more like the Danny I know. You had me convinced you cooked ."
"In this house? We both know the stove is haunted, and it hates me. I haven't cooked something that came out less black than my parents' jumpsuit gloves in years." He nibbled on his Pop-Tart, clicking along to open the tabs he'd be using to write. "I have to eat something, though, or my system might stall out on running that antivirus."
"Speaking of, you said last night it wasn't a virus?"
"Yup, some type of weird ghost curse thing."
"That sounds perfect for your superhero backstory. 'Human by day, ghost by night, hunted by the Zone and human world alike, citizen of neither world: These are the adventures of Danny Phantom!"
"Why does that sound so Gothic and depressing?"
"You're half-dead dude, everything about your life is Gothic and depressing." He heard Tucker slurp on something from his end of the call and asked him about it. Wild Monster, before noon, required sterner stuff than he possessed while sick.
"You drink that all day, does it even work anymore?"
"I just like the taste….and yeah, it works great if you use it instead of water to brew coffee."
"You're not a half-ghost; I'm pretty sure that will actually kill you."
"Morning, Sam." He'd heard her click onto the call after he'd finished his breakfast pastries and started on his apple.
"I think if you die from energy drink poisoning, you come back as a super powerful specter."
"No, I think you come back as a blob ghost, because that is the lamest possible way to go. Morning, Danny, did you eat something other than Pop-Tarts?"
"I had an apple, mom, get off my back."
"Speaking of moms, you said something about meeting Technus' in that jumbled midnight message."
"Dr. A is the one who explained how curses worked, and she's the reason I'm stuck indoors this weekend."
"Why? Oh wait, did she take over the systems in FentonWorks to monitor you with her super technology powers? I can't wait to kick her out of your house." Tucker sounded a little too excited to go head-to-head with a powerful technology-possessing ghost.
"She has nature powers actually, sorta like Undergrowth, but much nicer and more humanoid looking."
"Wait, wait, wait Technus' mom has nature powers? How does that work? Box Lunch had meat and box powers, why didn't Technus end up a druid or something?" Sam had a good point, but they didn't really know a lot about how ghost powers functioned. He said as much, and heard her scoff, "we might not know everything about how ghosts work, but we do have examples of how inheritance of powers work outside of Box Lunch. He should be a druid."
"I don't know what to tell you, Sam. She grows things and turns them into medicine, and he possesses toasters. Hell, she's a lot stronger than Technus, so I'm glad it's just growing herbs and vines. I'm gonna enjoy her being an ally, instead of an obstacle, and stop asking questions." He rounded off the last of the opening paragraph and leaned back in his chair. "I'm pretty sure she implied she can see or hear things through the grass."
"In Amity?"
"Maybe anywhere…"
"That's...not great."
"Yeah," he agreed, thinking about a scenario where she turned violent, "and even if I wasn't sick, I'm not sure I could beat her." It was hard to tell without actually throwing a few blasts her way. Even if she outdid him in raw power, if she didn't know how to use her abilities or was bad at combat, he could come out ahead. If anything else tipped the scales in her favor, however…
"You've got ice powers, that worked on Undergrowth." Tucker tossed the aluminum Wild can into his room trash, the sound of it clanging around drew his attention back out of his musings.
"That might help? But I'm not sure guys, it felt like trying to fistfight a mountain or old growth forest. I don't mean like the literal object, I mean like the idea, the full conception, of what it meant to be those things. Also, she moved into Technus' Lair and changed it around without any effort at all. And then, when I was leaving, she teleported me and Ohm back across the Tranquil Sea, halfway to home."
"Ok, multiple things in that little rant. First, what is an 'ohm', and second, what does redecorating Technus' house have to do with her power level?"
"Good questions Tucker. The answer to the first one is Ohm is that eel who's been following me around. The second one," he thought how to translate the instinctual knowledge he'd gained as a ghost into words, "Technus made his lair. It's his domain. He controls everything inside. Except, if one ghost is stronger than another, they can override control of a space and make it their own. That's easier in uncontested territory and harder in claimed bits like the Far Frozen. Changing someone's lair ? That's way more power than both of those examples combined. She's not just sorta stronger than Technus, she's overwhelmingly stronger. So much stronger that she can take the ownership of his own little pocket dimension away from him."
"So, she is a good guy right?"
"She likes me, enough to give me her cell number and tell me to text her if I need help anyway."
"Woo-hoo, that's a score! Hey, do you think you could make her kick Vlad's butt?" It was a good question, but the answer brought back the dizzy confusion of her understanding of his family tree.
"Probably not, um, other than threatening to call my parents if I didn't stay in bed until I recovered, she's really nice. I'm not sure she likes to fight. Besides, I can handle the Cheesehead," he dismissed, hoping his friends didn't ask further questions.
"If she's a doctor, and she knows how curses work, maybe ask her how much longer you're on bed rest."
"I did want to ask her how to stop the tech disaster. Told Val I'd ask her about it while on my doctor mandated sick leave." He explained his theory about how the curse had caused the techpocalypse, and then his friends had hustled off the line, determined to let him text their best lead uninterrupted. Plus, he had that essay to continue working on.
He typed out a quick message, assuring her his symptoms had improved, but explaining he still had questions about curses. Her reply came swiftly, despite traveling across dimensions.
"Absolutely, Danny, but don't be upset if some things are hard to understand! Learning the basics of good health and infectious disease is a complex pursuit for someone your age."
He was beginning to think she thought he was a literal infant. Technically, his ghost half was less than a year and a half old, but he was fifteen! He messaged a series of questions about how to cure liminal objects.
"Normally, humans have to ritually cleanse these objects. Because they are not 'living' in the same way other spiritually active beings are, they need aid in removing a curse. Traditionally, these services were provided by the spiritually active humans living in a community. They can use talismans, 'prayer', and meditation to focus their energies so they can be used to ward away a curse."
The answer seemed simple enough, but it didn't really help them. He didn't know any shamans, monks, temple priestesses, or clergy. They'd already had local Christians attempt to pray over the wigglers, but that had done jack and squat. Her messages suggested it required real spiritual powers and not just happy thoughts, but were there humans with powers like that...ever? He asked her about other ways to cure the curse. There had to be other ways, right?
"Ghosts who are fully recovered exude an energy signature that neutralizes the curse inside the ectoplasm of afflicted ghosts. The reason you became tired so suddenly is likely related to this fact. You've begun producing an anti-signal of your own, but the strain of doing that while maintaining your ghost form stressed out your core, resulting in that dip in power. As long as you stay in bed, you should be free of the curse come the beginning of the week."
That was the best news he'd heard in over a month. He could see the light at the end of the tunnel and she'd just given him a lead about another method to cure the wigglers. He asked about the counter-signal and worked on the second page of his essay. His phone buzzed, and he flipped it open to another message.
"Just being around a sick ghost when you've recovered aids in their recovery. Though, the sooner your last infection with Whispering Panic, the stronger the counter-signal you emit. Because the curse is so mild, and cures through Energy Exchange are so effective, it encourages its victims to self-isolate to increase its chances of reaching its second, more virulent, stage. However, my son informs me technology has advanced quite rapidly as of late. You may be able to copy this counter-signal and use it to cleanse the afflicted liminal objects around your lair."
Yes! Another lead. Dr. A is so smart. Maybe I'll text her to solve my problems more often? He finished off a paragraph on the page he was on, and typed back a response about energy exchange. If it was necessary for the cure to work, or even to copy the anti-curse signal he'd soon be giving off, he'd better understand it.
"I'm surprised you need an explanation for this, but perhaps you have not heard of the technical term. I'm sure you exchange energy with your sire all the time!"
He sneered at his phone, rolling his eyes as he put it face down on his desk. He'd have to figure out how to dissuade Dr. A of her beliefs about Plasmius later.
"Now, then, an Energy Exchange involves you and another spiritually active being connecting to each other's psyches to trade energy and emotion. This is not like when you trade ghost rays with Technus to play, the casual absorption you do inside the Zone near a Nova, or even like when you communicate an idea or emotion with a wave of your energy. Instead, the two beings create a thread between them and send energy back and forth continuously. Doing this, your core can teach the other being's resonant chambers how to produce the counter-signal. Of course, this has other uses like helping young ghosts develop properly, giving and receiving comfort, or greeting friends and family. I'm sure, with these examples, you can think of many times this has occurred with Plasmius."
Nope. He could not. He really had to do something about this...later. He thought about his little vibe session with Ohm, and asked about it. 'No', she'd messaged back. Animal ghosts didn't have the complexity to achieve true Energy Exchange with him. She'd explained it kindly, like someone trying to tell their kid their dog was too stupid to read. Great. There went that limited touchstone for experience. She'd insisted that it worked between animals, though, and gave an example of an exchange between friends. That made him nervous. It sounded like Chilling-With-Ohmx100.
Luckily, after talking it through, they realized that his parents' scanners could pick out the counter-signal without any energy touch nonsense on his part. He would not be exchanging mystical handshakes with someone anytime soon. If her explanation for how...deep the connection went was accurate, he never would. Even if it wasn't all the way in his brain, he didn't want someone else poking around in there. He didn't poke around too deeply most of the time, and he liked it that way!
He looked at his European History paper, and watched the cursor blink on page four. He'd hit a roadblock, and a quick check of the time showed it was just after noon. He'd grab lunch and think about all of this later. With some effort, Team Phantom would weaponize his antibodies into a plague ending...gun or something. They'd figure it out after lunch.
7:15pm; November 13th, 2005; Amity Park
He vowed to kill GhostTeenReignsSupreme as soon as he tracked down their real identity. The weirdo had more than 5,000 posts on their forums. They spent their time berating Huntress fans, arguing with Phantom fans, and otherwise shitting up the place. When the asshole wasn't banned, they were actively antagonizing everyone around them in a spiral of occasionally amusing, but always disruptive, bullshit. The forum's resident troll posted on every sub-forum and topic, like they had no life or didn't need to sleep. While most users took their presence in stride, Danny was tired of looking at admin tickets about their raging slur and curse word filled rants or fielding the DMs from the few concerned users who got genuinely upset with the bully's antics. Whoever this was, he'd find them in person, give them a good scare about being polite to other people, and maybe blow up their computer for good measure.
Tucker, who'd found the posts mostly hilarious, disagreed. He kept reinstating the douchebag to haunt their website and menace the people of Amity. At this point, Danny thought Tucker reinstated them to be his nightly entertainment.
He clicked through to the Phantom sub-forums, a vain attempt they'd made to cut down on the Forum Wars between his fans and Huntress, looking at the first thread at the top. It was about some prototype plush. Of course, the last poster was GhostTeen , who else would it be? He clicked through to read the opening post, scrolling down as the poster outlined their plans for an official line of phantom merch. They hoped to get Phantom's attention...somehow, and convince him to let them produce the goods. All proceeds, absent production costs, were to go to a fund to help Amity rebuild after ghost attacks. Oh no...that sounds terrible! I mean, not the charity part, that's fine, but I do not want my face on sleazy, cheap tourist trap trinkets. He scrolled further, watching posters fight it out in the thread about ethics, materials, return on investment, shipping, and whatever else struck their fancy.
On the last page, containing the newest message, was another post from the OP. It was only then, taking in the little insignia they used on the forums to designate the OP of a thread, that he realized the entire plan belonged to GhostTeenReignsSupreme . Just...fuck me, I guess . Of course, that was the only person weird enough to go through with this outlandish scheme. The last post had a picture of the plush prototype. It was...actually really cute. He hated that he liked it. He felt his lips thin and his eyes narrow the longer he looked at the cuddly looking plush toy.
It had well stitched embroidery for the face, and a big well-styled coif of soft looking toy fur for his hair. His entire suit was made of a soft shiny looking fabric, the kind that felt great to rub on every cash grab advertised toy in the store. The proportions weren't life-like, but the 'chibi' style version looked even more huggable and adorable than regular proportions would have managed. It even had his insignia on the chest in a different material so it stood out. All in all, it looked perfectly designed to sucker kids and tourists out of their cash. It must have taken weeks or months to make. God, this poster is such a—
There, in the corner of the photo, past the well-lit desk with the toy, was a Letterman's jacket. It was red and white. It looked crisp and cared for, despite the haphazard way it draped over the poster's bed. It belonged to Casper High, and after more than a year of seeing it while getting his ass kicked, he'd recognize it anywhere. It belonged to Dash. Something cold and hard slammed into his stomach, leaving him queasy and forcing beads of sweat across his forehead. The longer he stared at the innocuous looking discarded piece of clothing, the more the feeling built.
Dash was GhostTeenReignsSupreme . Dash spent all his free time on the forums singing Phantom's praises and insulting anyone who dared imply he was less than perfect. Dash had pictures of him he traded with other posters or lovingly edited into image boards. He was their forum's resident troll, and he made a plush doll of him.
The revulsion crawled up his spine and threatened to punch its way out of his stomach, trying to fight with his dinner to take up all the space inside. He pushed away from the desk so quickly he knocked over his chair, and started pacing his room. The other boy had always bullied him, but there was something so much worse about this. It felt invasive, like he couldn't escape his attention, even as Phantom. He'd joked about the poster digging through his trash or trying to steal his discarded lunch if they knew him in person, but now? It was too real. Dash might not do that...where people could see. Knowing he could be this obsessive, and well acquainted with his violent streak, the thought of sharing oxygen with this nightmare of a jock made his skin crawl.
He rubbed his hands over his arms, trying to calm down. The other teen still didn't know who he was. Nothing had changed…other than realizing he'd stalk him if he got the chance. But he never would. Danny would make sure of that. No. Phantom would. If his hero gave him a proper scare, it'd break his fanaticism, and they could go back to something more normal. He went back to the computer, eyes skimming over the message for more clues.
At the bottom was him promising to keep it hidden away in a locker. Dash hadn't said where, but the boy wasn't bright. There was his gym locker or the one in the hall, both of which were at school. He considered that he'd rented one just to store his Phantom paraphernalia, but shrugged. If it wasn't at school, he could go from there. First order of business, he was burning that plushie. He'd figure out how to scare Dash later, but that thing had to go now.
He'd transformed and taken off towards the school without even stopping to log off of the forum. He'd explain whatever he needed to if his parents saw he had access to the back end, it was plushie burning time!
The flight to the school barely left him winded, even though he'd gone full speed. He smirked at the sign his powers were nearly mended, and looked down at the school. The only lights on were on the front sign, illuminating it for all passing cars or pedestrians, reading off the dates for the winter concert and school play. There was also the date for the latest football game, the last home game of the year. They were going to state, again, and this game was a victory lap. Thinking of football reminded him of Dash, and he sunk down through the roof of the school, heading for the bully's locker.
He didn't remember the exact hallway, but he had night vision and ghost powers. All the sophomore's lockers were assigned in the same section. All he had to do was turn a few rows invisible and look for the demonic little plush. He placed his hand against the first set of lockers, willing the metal see-through. No plush. He moved on to a second, and then third set, growing more frustrated by the second. If it wasn't in the hall, it'd be in the gym, and if he had to crawl past dirty jock straps to get to that plush, he'd blow it up in front of Dash. The fifth set of lockers revealed the plush, though, and his mood immediately soared.
Thank god for Dash being a dimwit. Who stores something this important in a place where people steal all the time? As soon as he'd thought it, the idea soured in his mind. Losers like him got their things stolen, but he'd never even heard of someone touching the A-Lister's lockers. Not unless they were having their head slammed into the front of them repeatedly. Maybe it was safer than he'd first assumed. He reached into the locker, and snatched the offensive doll from inside. Its threads—caught in the moonlight leaking in through the window—twinkled back at him, looking for all the world like an innocent toy. The material was as soft as he'd guessed from the picture, and the stuffing inside made it fun to squeeze.
If the little monster hadn't been crafted by Dash, he might like to keep it. He hovered in front of the locker, and turned it intangible again, looking through its contents for more Phantom contraband to burn. Inside, the locker lacked all the usual accouterments and trinkets of a proper school life. Absent were the textbooks, the folders, or the binders. It lacked loose papers or dropped pens and erasers, or even snacks. Instead, it sat as a veritable Phantom shrine. He had no idea where Dash kept his books, maybe in someone else' locker he bullied into it, but between the photos, fanart, and creepy written out log of sightings, he considered sending an ecto-blast into the entire thing and ignoring the resulting fire. Everything inside stank of cursed content. He swung open the latch from the inside and picked up one of the photos, not recognizing the scenery.
"I'm telling you guys, it's even better in person. Since you're my bros and all, I'll let you take a peek at my work before the real designs go on sale. I can write you down as a pre-order if you like it." Dash voice carried from around the corner, and he froze in front of the open locker, plush in one hand, photo in the other. "I hope I can tweak the face a little on the full production run. It's almost perfect, but it needs…" he trailed off as the group of boys rounded the corner and caught sight of him, still stuck like he hoped the lack of noise would avoid alerting the horde. "Holy shit...um I mean! Phantom hi!" Dash cleared his throat, and the noise finally snapped him back to reality.
"Uh—"
"You saw my forum post!" His voice was so bright, his eyes so shiny, that it knocked his plane of thought into a tailspin. "I knew you read a lot of the forum, because well, you have to to do your job. But I didn't think I'd see you in person. I, you have the plush!" He rushed over, reminding him of Cujo in puppy form, and stopped just out of reach. He gestured to the doll, face open and soft, "did you like it?"
He floated higher and farther away, trying to get some distance between him and the way too nice Dash. "It's soft." His mouth said before he could stop the thought from slipping out. "It even looks a lot like me." He was being too honest, but it was hard to stay mad while seeing the star struck look on the other boy's face. Maybe, with some encouragement from his favorite hero, he could turn over a new leaf?
"I told you he'd like it, you guys. You losers are just too retarded to realize how good of an idea it was."
Right. This was Dash. What had he been thinking? "Hey dude, it's well-made and everything, but it's weird having a doll of me? I mean, it's soft, and kids would probably like it," where am I going with this , "but it's freaky having my face on something other people cuddle." Ah, that's better, a lot more negative sounding.
"See, I thought that might be an issue, but I didn't know what else to use. You're the town hero, the most important person here. What else could Amity use to draw people in and also make you more famous?" Dash knit his brows together for a moment, puzzling his three brain cells for all they were worth, before continuing, "I think t-shirts might work."
"With my face?" He felt the horror returning, kicking and screaming.
"Of course not, dude! You already said you didn't like it. Your insignia, though, think how cool it'd look on a black hoodie! It'd work on shirts too."
"That's…" He should tell him it was a bad idea. But it wasn't a bad idea. Goddamn it. Since when does he have good ideas in that football-tackle-addled brain of his? "I haven't really thought about branding?"
"Well, you're so busy saving the city all the time, when would you? Don't worry, though, my mom works in marketing! She knows all the best people for selling clothing, and making commercials, and all that fancy-schmancy stuff. She can get you in contact with people who own factories, sell air time on TV, or anything else you need. The GiW, and all those other ghost hunters, have the wrong idea about you. We just need to run a counter campaign." Dash grinned up at him, and put both hands on his hips. "You don't have to worry about the details, that's what I'm for, Phantom."
"Dude, you really thought this through."
"Of course dipshit! I can't screw up something this important." Dash turned towards his lackies, face still bright and excited. He looked down at the plush with its hand sown black mouth and carefully stitched insignia, and felt something give. His thoughts returned to blasting the plush into ashes in front of Dash before a loud creaking came from the trees outside. It wasn't windy.
"I can't talk about this right now, I have to go. But, uh, this conversation is not over." He hoped he sounded stern, but instead, the other teen's face looked blissful, like he'd just gotten the best news of his life. "I'm taking this with me." He announced, drifting back towards the ceiling. "All of you, stop trespassing at the school and head home!" Scolding given, he flew through the roof before they could trap him in more conversation. The creaking was louder outside of the building, and he turned towards home instead of lollygagging. He had enough problems to deal with, he was not inviting another.
A/N:
Welcome to the bottom, dear reader! This was a fun chapter! Danny now knows the identity of the forum's worse troll, and is in possession of the world's weirdest fan gift. His weekend off seems to have done him good otherwise, and Dr. A came up with an interesting potential avenue to solve their wiggler problem through text. She still...has some interesting ideas about Danny's family unit, but she's got the spirit!
We'll be catching up with Valerie all next week with a double feature in her POV. For now, enjoy the chill vibes of the last two Danny chapters. I can promise it won't be this calm in the future. :)
The chapter for Wednesday is on pace, so I will see you then!
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That's it for now. See you on Wednesday!