Chapter Four: Imprint

"I'm out of charge, but I'm full of spite." - Mark "Markiplier" Fischbach

Maddie

I remember how I felt the first time I held my kids. They were so small and red and pruny and perfect in every way. Both times, my exhaustion had faded the second the doctor placed that shrieking bundle into my arms. All I could feel was love for my baby, for the newest member of my family. Both times, Jack held it together until it was his turn to hold the baby.

I wonder if Danny cried too the first time he held his son.

I wonder if he cried twice as hard when the baby died.

I wonder if this is why Danny suddenly became so defensive of ghosts.

A few tears slip past my lashes, grief for a grandson whom Jack and I never got to meet, guilt that our children didn't trust us enough to tell us.

But then, why would they? How many times have they heard us go on about destroying or dissecting ghosts?

Jack is having the same thought. I can see it in his eyes as he wipes a tear of his own off his face. "We need to talk to Danny." He tries to form a smile, but it doesn't quite happen. "With any luck, this is all a big misunderstanding that he can make fun of us for."

The joke falls flat, and he knows it.

I swipe at my face and think as rationally as I can at a time like this. "Where do we even begin? On one hand, it's a ghost. Danny could be in danger, but," I scrape my nails over my scalp, "but it's still his child. Our grandchild! We can't…" My hands are shaking against my scalp. I throw my hands down hard enough that I feel a few strands of hair pop out with them. I shake my head. "I couldn't do it, Jack. I-I don't think I could do it."

This is uncharted territory. We've never dealt with the ghost of a loved one before. We've talked about it. We knew it might happen one day, and we agreed that we would do what had to be done. But, talking about something is different than actually having it happen.

We may have never known our grandson, but he's still family, our child's child.

No. I couldn't possibly. Even if he became a serious threat, I know in my heart that I wouldn't be able to pull the trigger.

"You know," Jack has that intense, thoughtful expression again, "since Bub Phantom first appeared in town, I've been thinking about ghost babies."

"And?" I prompt.

Jack leans his hand on the desk. "You remember my theory on how ghosts harbor memories of their lives and that has a hand in their behavior?" I nod. "Well, babies don't really have any memories, do they? But, you know what they do have? Their parents."

The gears in my head are turning. "You think that Danny's son…knows who his father is?"

"I don't know about that," Jack says. "But, it's possible that he feels some connection with Danny. Ghosts always want something, but babies don't really want anything but to be taken care of. Maybe all ghost babies want is to be with their parents. Maybe they're content simply to have someone looking after them. It would explain why Bub is so docile. Granted, we've only seen him twice, but all he ever did was fly around and look cute."

This is why I need Jack. I look at a group of trees and walk away satisfied. He steps into the forest beyond.

He picks up the onesie. "Let's go talk to Danny."

He puts his arm around me and leads me out of the lab.

My mind flashes to this morning when I accidentally shot Bub. Ghost or not, the idea of shooting an infant nags at me. Now that Jack's calm, analytical words are in the mix, I feel so much worse. What he said about ghost babies makes sense.

If he's right, it means that I truly did harm an innocent child. One who might be my grandson. I can't rule that out. Phantom calls himself Bub's father, but only by a process called imprinting which implies that they aren't related. I wasn't sure if imprinting was a real thing for ghosts, but Jack's theory about babies is making me reconsider.

The kids are standing in the hallway upstairs. Jazz has her back to us, and Danny is in front of her. We can hear their frantic conversation on our way up.

"Jazz, we've looked everywhere else!" Danny claims with a quivering voice. "It's gotta be in the lab!"

Jazz's voice is slightly strained, like she's fighting for calm. "Look at it this way. Even if Mom and Dad do find it, they have no reason to suspect that it came from a ghost."

I cringe at that, and Jack tightens his grip on me.

Danny starts to say something then sees me and Jack and stands there with his mouth open. His gaze lowers to the baby clothing in Jack's hand, and something darkens my son's eyes.

Jazz whirls around. Her wide blue-green eyes dart between me and Jack and her nephew's onesie. The smile she gives us is too wide and shows too many teeth. "Oh! You found…my…baby shower gift for-for my friend who's having a baby!"

"We know," Jack says when I am unable to speak. "We know Danny has a son."

Danny continues to stand there with that bleak, defeated look, and Jazz chokes out a laugh. Beads of sweat form on her brow. "What? Danny's not even old enough to- Well, I guess he is, but-"

"Jazz," Danny says, "can you give us a minute?"

Jazz freezes for a moment then spins around and whispers to her brother, "Danny, you don't have to tell them anything-"

"I'm tired, Jazzie." He doesn't lower his voice. "I'm just…" He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm so tired."

My heart breaks all over again. My son became a teen parent, had been caring for the baby in secret, lost the baby, then rediscovered him as a ghost and found a new reason to hide his existence. And, if the mother is Mira like I still suspect, that means that Danny no longer has help from the baby's mother. Even with Jazz's help, that's a terrible burden for someone so young to carry on his own.

Jazz kisses her brother's cheek before walking past us. "Go easy on him," she says as she heads down the stairs.

Danny

The moment I saw my parents' faces, saw Bub's onesie in Dad's hand, I knew. I don't know how much they know, but I'm about to find out.

I no longer have the energy for excuses.

I am so goddamn tired.

"How did you know?" I ask.

Mom answers. "I found the onesie in the laundry." Which I left out when I went to check for ghosts. I truly am stupid, aren't I? "Then I overheard you and Jazz talking about it and saying something about-about your son."

Dad holds up the onesie. "This didn't mutate like everything else did. I wanted to see what was different about it, and…"

And, he figured it out. Protect, my core screams. My son my baby protect protect.

I snatch the onesie and press it to my chest as if the action alone will keep Bub safe. "Stay away from him." My voice is low, a little shaky. "Stay away from my baby!"

My parents look like I've just ripped their hearts out.

"Sweetie," Mom pleads, "we have no intention of hurting him."

"I don't believe you!" What I do believe is that my own mother and father would attack their grandson even though his only crime was dying. That thought hurts more than any ecto-gun. "I know you don't care who a ghost used to be. Well, I do care! I swear to God, I would shoot myself before I'd let you hurt Bub again!"

Mom gasps, her hand flies to her mouth, and the tears in my eyes are mirrored in hers. "It is him."

She's thinking about this morning. "That was an accident," I say because some insane part of me still wants to comfort her. "And, you didn't know."

Dad holds out his hands, palms down. "Let's take this one step at a time. Why didn't you tell us? I understand not telling us after…you know. But, what about when Bub was alive? We would have helped you."

When Bub was…

Good god, they think I knocked someone up! But then, why wouldn't they? They don't know I'm a ghost, so what other explanation would make sense to them?

"It's complicated," is all I say. It sickens me that going along with this is easier than telling the truth.

Fortunately, my parents don't press for details. "What about his name?" Mom asks, clutching Dad's arm like a lifeline. "I'm fairly certain you didn't name him Bub Phantom. If he'd…survived," the word has to be pushed past her lips, "what would he have been called?"

This question is easier to answer. "Anthony P-" I stop myself from using what would have been Bub's last name. His birth parents, Zachary and Richelle Pierce, took that name from him the moment they reported him to their employers, the Guys in White. Yes, that's the kind of luck I have. "Fenton," I say instead. A bittersweet smile forms around the name. "Anthony Alexander Fenton."

"Anthony Alexander Fenton," Dad repeats thoughtfully. "It has a nice ring to it. Why's he called Bub now?"

"Some ghosts take on a different name after death." I shrug. "Since he's a baby, my best guess is that he picked the first sound out of his mouth. Needless to say, Phantom added the last name."

"That's my next question," Dad says. "How is Danny Phantom involved? It's that imprinting thing, right?"

There's no way for me to answer without saying more than I'm comfortable with, so I just nod.

"And, you're okay with that?" Dad asks. "With sharing your son with Phantom?"

Keeping my laughter in is a chore. "It's an arrangement that works," I say vaguely.

"Um," Mom stammers, drumming her fingers on Dad's arm, "how did… How did he..."

"Die?" I finish for her.

I hesitate on this one. A spirit's death is an extremely sensitive topic for some, to the point that certain ghosts will become violent if asked about it. That being said, Bub is very open about his death, possibly because he doesn't really understand it. If asked, he'll say that he fell asleep and woke up in the Ghost Zone. He's not old enough to know how truly awful and unfair his death was.

So, I suppose there's no harm in sharing. "It was SIDS." I still can't talk about that without my heart breaking in my chest. "He died of SIDS. He was only three months old."

Dad lowers his head and presses his lips into a thin line. Mom's eyes well up once more, and she places her fingers over her mouth.

I shake my head. "I don't want sympathy. My son is still here, and that's all that matters to me."

"Oh, Danny," Mom's hands move to her heart, "of course it is."

Her sincerity shocks me. That wasn't a sarcastic of course it is. No, she means that. She agrees that I should feel that way.

"Does his mother know?" Dad asks. "Who is she?"

Who is Bub's mother? She is a woman who, along with her husband, poured all of her love and affection into her baby boy. She is a grieving parent who ran out of the room in tears because her baby had become a ghost. She is a government agent who was holding on by a thread while aiming an ecto-gun at her undead son.

"She's…" How do I phrase this? I can't drop some random name, and since they think Bub is my biological child, I feel weird using the name of a grown woman. What if they looked her up? How would I explain that? "She was a good mother to Anthony, but…but she wouldn't let herself love Bub. She's not a part of his life anymore." That sums it up nicely and only makes my breath catch a little.

There's a long pause during which I can't look at anything but my son's clothing still in my hands.

"Good riddance, then."

I look up at the utter certainty in Dad's voice. He has that ultra-serious expression that he gets when there's something important on his mind.

He continues. "If she can give up her son that easily, she doesn't deserve to be in his life."

My head is spinning. "W-what are you saying?"

Mom offers a watery smile. "Danny, if it were you or Jazz, we couldn't possibly do that to you. I can't imagine how someone could give up their child, no matter the reason."

"Same here," Dad says.

Don't give me hope. Hope can be taken away. It has been. More than once. I've tasted hope, felt its warm embrace. I've had it viciously ripped away and torn apart before my eyes.

I'm on the edge. Please don't push me over.

"You… He…" My mouth is dry. My throat is tight. I don't recognize my own voice. "Y-your grandson is a ghost. You hate ghosts."

Mom takes my hand. "But, we love you, Danny."

Dad puts his arm around Mom and gives me the softest smile. "And, our family is more important to us than anything."

Don't take this from me. "And if…if a family member is…is a ghost?"

"Then, so be it," Dad says.

Mom squeezes my hand. "Bub may be a ghost, Danny, but he's still your son, our grandson, so we can figure it out."

My heart, battered and bloody and ruined as it is, feels so warm and full. The first sob wrenches from my throat, and the force of my cries sends me stumbling into my parents' arms. For the first time since my death, there's no nagging thought that this hug could be the last, that they wouldn't hold me so sweetly if they knew.

The hope is there. I think it's going to stay.

When I run out of tears to shed, I feel lighter than ever. I step back with the onesie still pressed against me. Mom is wiping her cheeks. Dad's face is dry, but his eyes are damp. Jazz…is standing behind them with a wet smile on her face.

The smile falls when I catch her eye and Mom and Dad notice her as well. Her face reddens as she looks from one person to the other. "I wasn't listening."

A few seconds pass before we all burst out laughing from stress or relief or our inherent craziness.

"So," Dad says, "when can we meet our grandson officially?"

When I hesitate, Mom adds with a strained smile, "But, we understand if-if you…aren't comfortable with him being here."

I clear my throat before I can find out that I'm not out of tears. "I-I would have to…schedule something with-with Phantom. 'Cause you know, ghost, Ghost Zone. But, I'm sure we can make that happen."

"You'll have to disable all the ghost sensors," Jazz warns.

I'm glad one of us isn't too emotional to think of that.

Mom clasps her hands together. "We'll get right on that. But first," she stops smiling as she turns to me and puts her hands on her hips, "we need to have a serious talk with you, young man."

"Uh, why?" I ask, thrown off by her change in demeanor.

Dad is also all business. "You got someone pregnant, Danny. We know you're not the only guilty party, but we still need to discuss this."

But, I didn't- But- Oh, shit.

I turn to Jazz for help, but she holds her bare wrist in front of her face and says, "Oh, look at the time. I have so much to do today," before fleeing down the stairs.

I'm allowed to hate my sister, right?

The next day at school, I keep my mouth shut. When my friends and my Mama ask me why I'm so quiet, I say that I'll tell them later and don't elaborate. When I head to Reaper's lair after school to pick up Bub and Reaper asks why I'm so jittery, I don't tell them. If that makes anyone more curious or worries or frustrates them more, that's their problem. I'm terrified that I'll back out if I say my plan out loud.

After giving me the most awkward scolding I've ever received, Mom and Dad spent the rest of the day disabling the alarms and checking and rechecking everything. I walked around invisibly as Phantom as a test; they passed.

Jazz and I also set some ground rules for when Bub came to visit. There are only three, but they are vital. One is that under no circumstances is Bub allowed in the lab. Two is that any inventions designed to harm ghosts must be stored in the lab when Bub is here. Three is that Mom and Dad cannot be left alone with my son; either I or Jazz has to be in the room with them. I could see how much that last one hurt my parents, but they were smart enough not to argue.

Bub is nestled in my arms as I step out of the portal I made and into my bedroom. I release the portal, return to human-form, and say to Bub, "Now, remember what I told you about my parents."

"They think that-that you and Danny Phantom are different people," he recites, "and I gotta not tell them you're not."

That wasn't how I phrased it, but it's the right idea. "Exactly."

Bub frowns suddenly and shrinks into me. "You promise they're not scary?"

There's an ache that runs deep into my chest. My son is thinking of when we went to Tennessee to meet his birth parents. I kiss his little head. "I promise." I stroke his soft gray cheek. "My human parents are very nice. You ready to meet them?"

"Yeah," he says quietly. His red eyes are tight, and his fist is in my shirt.

"You're so brave," I praise.

I press my lips to his head once more and carry my baby downstairs where Mom, Dad, and Jazz are waiting. Mom and Dad think that Phantom is dropping Bub off; that wasn't a total lie.

I hope Bub can't hear how hard my heart is pounding.

Jazz is pacing, and Mom and Dad are on the couch, holding hands. Jazz stops, and Mom and Dad get up when they see us.

Bub perks up when he sees his aunt, though his greeting doesn't have nearly the enthusiasm it usually does. "Hi, Aunt Jazz."

Jazz waves. She isn't as cheerful either. "Hi, Bub."

My legs are heavy as I carry my son to my parents. Mom and Dad gaze at Bub with wonder and apprehension and maybe even love.

"Bub," I say, "meet your human grandparents. My dad's name is Jack, and my mom's name is Maddie."

"My name is Bub," my little man says to them. "That's my name."

Mom rubs the tip of her finger under Bub's chin. "Hello there, Bub! It's so nice to finally meet you."

"I see you got your dad's good looks!" Dad chimes. Then he tilts his head and squints. "I…I think you do. Or, you did before…" To me, "You got any pictures of this kid from when he was alive?"

"Uh, not on me." Any pictures of Bub's human-self would be in Nashville. Last time I was there, swiping a photograph wasn't exactly a priority.

Mom bites her lip. "Um, Bub? Are you…doing alright? After…y-you got hurt?"

Bub is the only one who hasn't gone stone-still. "You mean when you hit me?" Mom flinches. "Daddy told me about that."

Mom's chin quivers, and she throws her hands together. "Bub, I am so sorry! It was a terrible accident. I didn't mean to hit you!"

"It's okay," Bub says. "I feel better now."

Mom puts her hands over her mouth and looks like she wants to cry.

Dad tentatively holds out hands and wags his fingers toward himself. "Can I, uh, can I hold him?"

When did I start smiling? "Is it okay if my dad holds you, little man?" I ask my son.

"Yeah," Bub says.

He floats out of my arms and lays down in Dad's. Nobody says anything about the mode of transportation. Dad doesn't say anything about a ghost lying prone in his arms.

In fact…he seems happy, gazing at Bub with such warmth and tenderness. Mom is the same way.

Bub lightly presses his hand against Dad and comes to the conclusion that, "You're a lot squishier than my daddy."

Mom, Jazz, and I cover up laughter. Dad puffs out his chest and proclaims, "That's 'cause I eat more fudge than your daddy!"

"Um," Mom stammers, "could-could I have a turn with…"

Dad hands Bub off to her. Mom takes my son so gently in her arms.

Proud grandparents. Of a ghost.

They could be the proud parents of a ghost.

The thought shoots through me without the usual fear or sorrow or disappointment.

I back up until I'm standing next to Jazz. We both have tears in our eyes and huge smiles on our mouths.

"This is going so well!" Jazz whispers with her fists in front of her chest.

I take another look at the beautiful sight of my ghost-hating parents cuddling a ghost. "I'm gonna tell them."

Jazz turns to me with a mix of shock and eagerness. She knows what I'm talking about.

"Not today," I say. "They have enough to process right now. I'll give this some time to sink in. Then I'm going to tell them who I am."