Chapter Five: Community

"We have a rule in the kitchen. If it lands on you, you eat it." - On Thin Icing by Ellie Alexander

Jazz

Danny's mouth falls open. He'll argue about this, beg me to give everyone their money back. I know my brother, and I've been mentally preparing for his response since I created the account.

Everyone in this room besides Danny - and Johnny, Kitty, and Shadow, assuming no one told them - knows how much money is in the account. Some were thrilled for Danny, most were jealous, all agreed that he deserves it.

"Danny Phantom," I say into the microphone, "we've been keeping a little secret from you."

"Who's we?" Danny asks. His neon green eyes dart around the room. "Am I the only one who didn't know about this?" People shout confirmations, which only agitates him further. He fists his hands in his hair. "Phasms, I have a bank account?"

I grin and battle the urge to wrap my arm around him. "It was the town council's idea. The account has existed for a little less than a year. Each month, a donation slip is sent out to every house in town so that people can contribute as a way of thanking you for all that you do." I grab his elbow and pull him up when he starts to phase through the floor. "So, Phantom, wanna guess how much is in the account?"

Danny stands there with his mouth open for a moment. "Uh…like…a hundred bucks?" That sparks a round of laughter. "Two hundred?" Danny's voice is more shrill now, and I think he'd be hyperventilating if he was in human form.

I'm starting to wonder if doing this in front of everyone was a good idea, but it's too late to back out now. I hand him the slip. He snatches out of my hand so fast that the paper almost rips in half. Everyone waits with bated breath for his reaction.

Which is about what I expected. Danny's face scrunches up, his lower lip quivers, and ectoplasmic tears pool in his eyes.

12,027 is a pretty big number, after all.

"Don't you people have bills to pay?" Danny shouts brokenly.

Over the roar of cheers and laughter, I hear my brother's harsh, choppy breaths and once again reign in the desire to hold him.

"I know it seems like a lot," I say once the applause dies down, "but that's nothing compared to-"

Danny grabs my arm suddenly. "I need to talk to you."

I'm too startled to respond.

"We'll be taking a brief intermission," Danny announces.

For the second time today, I am yanked through a wall by a ghost. At least I know this ghost won't hurt me.

Once we're outside and alone, Danny whirls on me. Glowing green trails streak his face, and his expression is reminiscent of a kicked puppy. "Tell me it isn't too late to give everyone their money back."

Here we go. "Danny, no one is going to take their money back. The donations are small way for people to-"

"Small? Jasmine Abigail Fenton," he waves the bank slip in my face, "this is the kind of money you get when you pick the right briefcase on a game show! Now please send all the money back, because I didn't phrase my answer in the form of a question, and no little red man is going to scamper across the screen and dispose of my winnings in an amusing fashion!"

It takes me a minute to sift through all of that. "First of all, those are three different game shows."

"Whatever!"

"And second, you deserve every penny of that, Danny." He starts to argue. I cut him off. "I know you don't view your actions as anything special, but they are. It's like I said, how many people would gain superpowers and use them to defend others? You go on about how it's only because of your Obsession, but your Obsession isn't protecting the innocent or being a superhero. It's helping others."

Danny tosses his hands at his sides. "Exactly."

"No, not exactly. Helping others can mean helping your friends study or helping me with my chores. Your core is not forcing you to save lives, Danny. You choose to do that."

Danny stares down at the small, partially torn paper in his hands. "I still don't feel right about this. The party's one thing, the wrapped gifts are another, but all this money?" He looks at me in a borderline panic. "People need this for-for groceries and mortgages and-and medicine and stuff! My god, Jazz, how much do they donate every month?"

"Not everyone donates every single month. And, you're forgetting that we have some very well-off people in this town." When Danny only looks away, I rest my hands on his shoulders. "Danny, I know you don't like being rewarded for what you do. But, you aren't depriving anyone of anything. Everyone who donated wanted to give you this. Because they appreciate you, and they want to show it."

"A simple 'thank you' conveys the same thing," Danny mutters.

A soft smile pulls at my lips, and pride floods me. "It's good to be humble. But, it's also okay to accept thanks in any form it comes in."

The smile on his face is almost mocking. "You would say that, wouldn't you? Miss Anonymous Resident? Should I start calling you Annie for short? You do have red hair."

I'm not surprised he figured it out so quickly. "Look, Danny-"

"I found them!"

We turn and see two teenagers around the corner and run toward us. The voice belonged to Sam, and Tucker is right behind her.

Sam isn't finished speaking. She jabs her finger in Danny's chest. "No one is taking their money back, so don't bother asking."

I grab her hand and lower it off my brother. "I already told him that," I say.

"Did he listen?" Tucker asks.

Danny pulls his hands through his hair and groans. "Not you guys too."

Tucker turns back to me. "I'll take that a no."

"Guys," Danny says, "it's not that I'm not grateful. I am. Of course, I am! It's just… It's all too much!" He's cut off by a sharp, faintly blue breath that shoots out of his mouth. "By any chance, did someone follow you out here?"

"Mira and Ms. Mae wanted to," Tucker says hesitantly, "but we told them we got this."

Sam waves off the concern. "We'll worry about it if someone starts shooting at us. You know why you're getting that money, Danny? Why we all threw a party for you and bought you presents? Because you're a hero, Danny Phantom. Because you-"

"I know everyone thinks I'm a hero," Danny interrupts, "and I don't know, maybe I am in their eyes. But to me…it's…it's… I don't know how to put it into words. I used to think it was my Obsession, but…" Danny trails off and rests his white glove over his heart. Or, core. Or, whatever you call the fusion of a heart and core. (Note to self: come up with a catchy name later.) His gaze is resting on the spot, and there's a tenderness I've rarely seen on his face. As if there's something truly, unbearably precious on his mind. When he looks up, his eyes are glowing brighter, and the passion with which he speaks is indescribable. "It's something deeper. It's a part of me. Not of my Obsession. Of me. It's who I am." He sighs and lowers his hand. "And, what about you guys? You three have had my back since the beginning."

"Not me," I remind him. "I didn't know about your powers at first."

"But, you were there, Jazz," my brother says with so much weight. "You may not have known what was going on with me, and I may have been too scared to tell you, even though I knew in the back of my mind that you would still love me," his voice breaks at that, "you were there. And, that goes for all of you," he adds to Sam and Tucker. "I was already a loser before I got powers I couldn't control. By the time I could control them, it was too late. Now I'm the clumsy moron who no one can count on and no one wants to be around. People hate me for merely being here! Even now that people know Danny Phantom is a loser - sniff - Danny Fenton is still nothing. Without these powers, I...I'm less than nothing."

My heart is in pieces. I want to throw my arms around my sweet little brother and tell him how much I love him, how much I want him.

But, I can't risk him clamming up. As painful as it is to watch, as painful as it must be for Danny to say aloud, he needs release. He needs to get this off his chest.

"Even Mom and Dad are useless! I know they mean well. I know they love me. But, my biggest fear is - hic - is that that will change if they know the truth." Danny sniffles a few times and scrubs at his damp cheeks. "When I first got these powers, nobody wanted me. Nobody except you guys. I-I wouldn't have gotten anywhere without your support. And, I don't just mean with ghost fighting. I know most people don't know about that, but I feel awful taking all the credit."

Tucker lightly punches Danny's arm. With a watery smile, he says, "Then treat us, man! Buy us cool stuff sometimes. I won't stop you. I can promise you that."

Sam swipes a finger under her eyes. "Danny, not a lot of people are genuinely good, but you are. You don't just show up when there's some villain to fight. You're there for anyone at any time. Danny Phantom wouldn't be the amazing person that he is if Danny Fenton wasn't like that. You are a member of the community, Danny. Ask anyone in that gymnasium, and they'll tell you how much they care about you."

Tucker points to Sam. "What she said. Sorry I'm not more eloquent." Sam rolls her eyes with a fond smile.

Danny doesn't speak. He stares down at the slip of paper, quivering in his hands, and watches his silent tears fall on it.

I wipe my face before giving in to my sisterly instincts. I wrap one arm around my little brother and kiss his cheek. "You've never once been unwanted, Danny. Ghost, human, or something in between."

Danny lets out a few quiet sobs and presses his eyes into his sleeve. One sob is harsher than the others and is accompanied by another wisp of blue. He curses under his breath and puts his palm to his forehead. "Please let that be someone friendly. I do not want to cry in front of my enemies."

At the word, a wave of dread hits me. The looks on Sam and Tucker's faces tell me they're thinking the same thing. What if Vlad came back? He was so insistent on finding Danny before. Could he have heard the party had started? I knew those news people would be a problem!

But, the voice we hear isn't Vlad's, thank god. "Perhaps this would be a good time to reveal myself."

Suddenly, a ghost appears, one that is a few feet taller than the rest of us. Their body is hidden under a light brown cloak, the hood of which hides their face in shadow. It's a good thing no one is around; the sight of Death themself would freak out anyone who didn't know they were benevolent.

Though I'm certainly surprised, seeing as Bub told us that Reaper wasn't coming.

"Grim," Danny says, sounding only mildly shocked. "I thought you didn't want to be seen."

Sam turns to Danny. "You knew they were here?"

"They spoke to me while you all were lining up for the speeches," Danny explains. "They've been invisible this whole time."

"Correct," Reaper says. "Forgive my eavesdropping. I wanted to check on my imprint," Reaper points to Danny with a long, bony blue-gray finger, "and what I heard…struck a chord, you could say."

"What do you mean?" Tucker asks.

"That I should like a moment of Danny Phantom's time."

Tucker holds up his hands in surrender. "I know when I'm being dismissed."

He walks away with his hands behind his head. Sam and I look at each other, shrug, and follow him.

"What do you think Reaper wants?" I ask as we head back to the gym.

Sam narrows her eyes. "Hopefully to knock some sense into Danny."

"You know Danny," Tucker says, hanging back to walk with us. "Altruistic and stubborn as hell." Tucker brightens suddenly. "You know, the iPod Touch comes out in a couple months. Do you think he'll buy me one if I ask him?" Sam elbows him hard in the ribs. "Ow! I was kidding! Well, half-kidding. My MP3 player's seen better days."

Danny

Reaper kneels down to my level and holds out their hand. "May I see?" I hand them the bank slip and don't meet their gaze. "My understanding of currency is…limited. But, I imagine that this is quite a sum."

"Yeah," I say. I take the paper back and stare down at it. "I'm grateful, but…it doesn't feel right to take it."

"There is no shame in accepting reward."

I almost smile. "You sound like Jazz."

"Your sister is wise." When I don't say anything, Reaper asks, "Do you feel…unworthy?"

I nod. "Grim, am I really a hero? I guess I am on paper, but I can't bring myself to feel like one. So, I have powers and use them to protect people. Anyone in my position could do that."

Reaper brushes their fingers over my arm, and I finally look at them. "This is true," they say. "Anyone in your position could do what you do. This does not mean that anyone in your position would."

I think about Vlad Plasmius and find no argument.

"Perhaps I shall tell you a tale," Reaper says. "I trust that you are familiar with the story of the War of the Ancients?"

I hum in confirmation. "That's when all the Ancients banded together and sealed Pariah Dark in the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, right?"

"Indeed. It was a dreadful time in our history, and all those who existed in the Infinite Realms at the time bear the marks of war. Myself included."

Something appears from behind Reaper. No, I realize. Something appears from within them. Two long, branch-like things spread out from their back, between their shoulder blades, each one about as long as I am tall. The protrusions are a mahogany red with shorter, thinner, almost skeletal extensions spreading from beneath them like blood dripping from an open wound. These protrusions are horrifying in appearance, yet there's a dark beauty to them.

I reach up to touch one, and Reaper warns, "Only touch the flat sides. Otherwise, you will slice open your skin."

With that in mind, I trace the flat slide of the top part as instructed. It is smooth like polished wood and feels strong despite how flimsy it looks. Suddenly, the tips of my fingers burn, and I jerk them back with a yelp. My fingers had barely grazed the edge, yet ectoplasm drips over the new cuts in my skin and the fabric of my gloves.

"I warned you," Reaper says with some amusement.

I send them a glare that is ignored. Reaper gently presses my hand between both of theirs, and soft yellow light glows between them. When they retract their hands, my cuts are gone, and I'm staring up at them in awe.

"You can use the Healing Touch, too?" I ask, shaking the ectoplasm off my hand. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Reaper shrugs. "I suppose it simply never came up. Besides, any time I could have used it in front of you, you had gotten there before me. You are quite fast," they add with a chuckle.

I'll be annoyed with them later. "What are those?" I ask, eyeing the red protrusions. "Some kind of claws, or…?"

Reaper doesn't answer at first. When they speak, there is a subtle sadness in their tone. "They are… They were…my wings."

Wings.

I scan the protrusions and find absolutely nothing that resembles any wings that I've ever seen. There are no feathers, no thin membrane. For all intents and purposes, it looks as if an artist drew an outline for a pair of wings but never finished it.

But, Reaper can't fly. They're the only Ancient that I know of who can't-

They spoke in the past tense. My grim said that these were their wings.

Right after they mentioned the War of the Ancients.

I brush the flat side with a shaking hand, more mindful of the edges this time. "What happened?" I dare to ask.

"We had Pariah Dark cornered," Reaper says from somewhere I can't reach. "Or, so we thought. He unleashed a powerful attack. We had already been weakened to the point that survival would be miraculous. I would not see my friends destroyed. So, I took the brunt of the attack."

"Your wings…"

"A necessary sacrifice. And, quite possibly the only reason I survived. However, my form took horrible damage, as my core had been severely injured."

My stomach churns. A ghost's core is the most important part of their body. It's the thing that holds their form together. Without that…

"I spent the remainder of the war incapacitated, constantly surrounded by doctors and under strict guard from my Gargoyles. I healed, but I was not quite the same after."

A quiet gasp leaves me as I watch Reaper's hand reach up, grab their hood, and pull it back. I've never seen my grim's face before. Now I know why.

About a small portion of their face, consisting of part of their cheek and part of their chin, is the same pale blue-gray as their hands. The rest is the pinkish red of raw meat. Where the damaged skin meets the undamaged, the line is thicker and slightly bulging like scar tissue. The damaged skin has the appearance of layers that have been haphazardly stacked on top of each other. I can't tell if it's bare muscle and sinew (assuming ghosts have those) or if it's an assortment of scars. I'm too afraid to ask what the rest of their body looks like or if they were bald even before the war. Their eyes are the same neon green as my own, though theirs lack sclera and pupils, leaving them entirely green. It's like a sick version of Christmas, seeing such a bright glow stand against that awful red.

"I was hailed as a hero for my actions that day," Reaper says. "But, as I took no further part in the war, I could not help but feel as if the praise was unwarranted."

"What are you talking about?" I ask. "You saved their lives! If it weren't for you, the other Ancients might not have made it. We could still be dealing with Pariah Dark!"

Reaper gives me a sad smile. It's so weird to see them emote. "Nevertheless, every moment I spent bedridden, I wished that I was still out there, fighting alongside my friends and fellow soldiers. It is difficult to feel heroic when you are scarcely able to move and are plagued by fear for those you care for."

I have a sudden urge to touch that hideous red skin, but I push it down. "Why are you telling me this?"

Reaper's smile is softer now, though still with a trace of sorrow. They rest their hands on my upper arms. "You and I are a lot alike, Danny Phantom. Perhaps this is why our cores are intertwined the way they are." Referring to my imprinting. "We will stop at nothing to protect what we have. Yet we are uncomfortable with praise."

"It's instinct," I say, knowing that my grim understands. "It doesn't feel special to us because…it's just something we feel that we need to do."

Reaper retracts one hand and brushes the other over my back. "Such is the curse of our kind."

A chuckle escapes me. "'Our kind?' Anyone ever tell you you have a weird way of phrasing things?"

Reaper laughs, pulls their hood back up, and retracts what's left of their wings. "I know that you do not feel as though you have earned your reward. But, I think that it would mean a great deal to everyone if you were to accept. Your good deeds may not seem like much to you, but there is always someone who appreciates them, who appreciates you. Remember this."

I look down at the bank slip. 12,027 bucks. It's far, far more than I deserve, but…I guess no one else feels that way.

On a more selfish note, well, free money. It would be kind of stupid to turn that down.

"Okay," I mutter. I put the slip in my pocket. "Um, do you want to come inside? Like, let everyone see you? I know they'd all like you."

Reaper hesitates. "I…do not think that would be wise." My disappointment must show, because they add, "You must understand. My name and appearance invoke fear and distrust among humans. I simply do not wish to cause a disturbance."

"Grim, these guys trust the ghosts I trust," I argue. "If they know you're my parent, they'll at least give you a chance." Reaper lowers their head but doesn't speak. I force a smile. "No, I get it. You're not ready for that. It's cool."

"I am sorry," Reaper says sincerely. "Please understand that the living have feared my image for millennia. It is different with your friends and sister, as they are well-acquainted with you and with ghosts as a whole."

I wave my hands in front of me. "You don't have to explain yourself. It's really okay." In truth, I would love to introduce my grim to the town. Especially since they're one of the most powerful ghosts in the Zone, so I wouldn't have to worry a lick about their safety on Earth. But, I'm the last person who should make someone reveal their identity. "Just knowing that you're here is enough."

Reaper lightly caresses my cheek and freezes suddenly. "Pardon me. This could be urgent." They pull their phone out of pocketspace and look at it. "Yes, the Gargoyles would not call otherwise."

My pulse quickens as Reaper stands up and answers the call. The last time they got an urgent phone call around me, it was Clockwork warning them that they wouldn't be able to keep Amity Park safe from me on July 23rd: the final day of my reckoning, the day I would go on a rampage.

Reaper listens to the Gargoyle on the other line then glances at me and says to them, "Can it not wait?" They listen again. "Very well." They hang up, put their phone away, and turn to me. "My apologies. I would not leave were the matter not urgent."

"Everything okay?" I ask and realize it's a stupid question.

Reaper raises a hand. "It is nothing to concern yourself with. It is merely…a nuisance. But, one that is too dangerous to ignore."

My lips pull up a little. "Like Skulker is to me?"

"You could say that." I hear a grin in their voice. I wish they would pull back their hood again so I could see it.

They hold out their open palm, and I know they're going to summon their scythe to open a portal. "Oh!" I say, stopping them. "Let me do it. I think I've almost got Portal Creation down."

Reaper lowers their hand. "Then, by all means."

My grim gave me a scythe of my own for Christmas, and it comes to me when summoned. (Don't ask me where it goes when not in use.) I call it to me now, and it appears in my hands. The handle is thin and gray, and the blade at the top is long and curved but shorter than the blade on Reaper's scythe.

I bring my scythe back and picture Reaper's lair in my mind's eye. I concentrate my energy into the blade. I'll have to focus extra hard to make the portal big enough for an eight-foot tall demon to fit through.

I swing the blade upward, and it slices into the atmosphere. I fly upward, and the blade sticks a little but I manage to pull it through. I yank the blade free with a grunt and stare in amazement at the glowing green vortex I've created.

With all the energy of a giddy toddler, I laugh breathily and point to my success with my scythe.

Reaper hums in approval. "Is this the first time you have made a successful portal?"

I can only nod and hope my grin doesn't split my face in half.

The pride in Reaper's voice makes that face-splitting a real possibility. "Then, I am honored to be your first passenger." They lean in and kiss my forehead. "Until next time, Danny Phantom."

I will my scythe away. "Until then. I love you, Grim."

"And, I you, my son."

As soon as they step through and the portal disappears, I hear a familiar whine behind me and turn around. Cujo's head is poking through the wall. Having been caught, he steps all the way through and looks up at me with big sad eyes.

"Was I taking too long, buddy?" I ask, planting my feet on the ground. "Were you worried about me?"

Cujo whines some more and gets close enough to paw at my boot.

A sweet warmth rolls over me. I bend down to lift him into my arms. "I'm okay, boy. Really."

He licks my chin and snuggles against me, letting out a content sight.

Better get back in there, I suppose. I'm sure Cujo's not the only one who's worried.

I take a steadying breath and phase us back into the gym. The chatter slows to a stop once people realize I've returned. I set Cujo down, and the only sound is the clicking of tiny nails as he follows me to the mike stand. Jazz steps aside with an encouraging smile.

We reach the stand, and I hold my index finger to my chest and swipe it downwards diagonally. Cujo recognizes the silent command and lies down beside me. I send him a quiet, "Good dog," before gazing out at the audience. So many people who appreciate me, who want me.

My core is calm. My heart is full to bursting.

I clear my throat. "Sorry I walked out like that." My voice echoes through the gym. Everyone is listening with rapt attention. "It's… This is…incredible. I want to say thank you, but those words seem so…insignificant. To think that someone like me…someone shy and nerdy and…and…" I swallow hard as ectoplasm creeps into my eyes. My voice shakes. "I have never felt as wanted as I do in this moment. Not as a human, not as a ghost. I was nothing. I felt like I was nothing. And, I confess that I still do, but...but now I'm something. Even if I don't truly feel like it." Teardrops slowly slip past my lashes. For once, I don't mind crying in public. It feels okay to do it here. It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to; isn't that how the song goes? "I hate that it took dying for me to get here. But, I got a second chance, and that's not something that everyone gets. And, you all… Heh. Most of you hated me. But, you gave me another chance, too. And, seeing you all here, hearing what you had to say to and about me…" I take a moment to compose myself. "I knew I cared. But, I never realized just how much until now. That's why… That's why the reckoning is so scary for me. Because I love this town so much." I see a few people dab at their eyes. What they're feeling doesn't hold a candle to what I am. "But, don't worry. July 23rd will pass, and this town and everyone in it will still be standing. Count on it. Because I will not allow any other outcome. This is my home, and I will fight to the bitter end to protect it." I conclude by throwing my fist in the air. "To Amity Park!"

Cheers, louder than ever, break out. I even hear someone shout, "Go, Ravens!"

So much love. So much respect. All for me.

"Thank you," I whisper.