Made for a tumblr prompt fill. Enjoy!
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When You've Shuffled Off
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Unlike most people, Danny knew what would happen to him when his so-called mortal coil finally- heh- gave up the ghost. The knowledge was a gift and a curse unique to half-ghosts, won for them by their predecessors.
(Because there were predecessors. Vlad was the eldest extant halfa, but he was not the first.)
When Danny died, from injury or old age, or something else, he would become a ghost.
"That's not so bad," said Danny, cupping his hands behind his head and leaning back in the air. "I mean, I already know what it's like, at least."
Clockwork smiled, the expression bittersweet in his old face, and Danny knew then that there was a catch. As always.
"No," said Clockwork, "I suppose it isn't bad. I merely thought to warn you. While you are still young."
Danny made a face. "Okay, what's the catch? Am I going to be stuck in my old man body and have bad joints for all eternity, or something?"
Clockwork laughed and grew younger. "No, no. After all, I have no such issue. Nor does Pandora."
"What?" exclaimed Danny, abandoning his attitude of relaxation to lean forward, intent. "You and Pandora? You guys were halfas?"
"Evidently," said Clockwork, his age settling at 'young adult.'
Oh. Danny did not like the sound of that.
"If you wish to know yourself when you are dead, I suggest you begin to keep a journal," continued Clockwork.
"What do you mean?"
"Humans," said Clockwork, "and halfas, record their memories in their brains. Ghosts," he split his head open to illustrate, "do not have those."
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He knew his name was Phantom. He knew he was strong. At least, it seemed to him that some of the things he had done in the last hour or so (specifically reducing that island to rubble) should only be possible for strong people.
Beyond that? He had nothing. No memory, no sudden insights, no internal urge to do something, or go in a particular direction.
Nothing.
Not that he particularly wanted to stay floating in this green... space.
(He hesitated to call it that. Space should have stars in it. Space should be empty and silent and full and wondrous. But that's just a feeling.)
He was... lost. He didn't know who he was or where he was going.
(There had to be a reason he was here, right? A reason for him to exist?)
A sound caught the very edge of his hearing, and he turned to face it more fully, curious.
"Help," cried the tiny, distant voice once again.
Well, at least he knew where he was going.
(He never could ignore a cry for help.)
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Clockwork watched the young Phantom- and he was young again, in all the ways that mattered- change direction and allowed himself a smile. They would meet again someday.
And when they did, Clockwork had sixty-eight years worth of journals to give him.