Everyone's heard of the rumours Wes Weston spouts out by now. And to no surprise— no one believes a single word of what he says.
Phantom being Fenton? It's absurd. How could never-hurt-a-fly Fenton be the town hero who's face of bravery never seems to crumble, and faces foes three times his size? None of it makes sense.
"I don't see anyone else crafting up any reasons why he disappears." mumbles Wes to himself as he traipses down the corridor. Students passing beside him jauntily change their tread, eager to avoid him, alongside a dirty look which they think he can't spot. He's not oblivious.
Yet everyone else in this school seems to be. He thinks, narrowing his eyes as he spots Fenton across the corridor clearly sticking his arm through his locker door, pulling a stash of jumbled books with it. Work that's probably unfinished and weeks overdue.
How does no one ever notice it? The pseudo-human freak isn't exactly subtle with it.
It's become a sort of a desperate competition at this point – Wes himself trailing behind, trying his damndest to get proof of Fenton being Phantom, but to no avail, it never succeeds.
"One day, I'll get you." He mouths to Fenton, eyes narrowed. In response, the raven haired teen only grins one of his infuriating trademark smirks – looking identical to Phantom. Frustration builds up in Wes as he averts his gaze, fists clenched, trying not to outburst.
Can't have his reputation diminished more than it already is.
God, Weston. Frustrated by a smirk. He feels his cheeks flush with embarrassment and turns around, slamming his locker door shut.
Sometimes Wes considers giving it all up. Why should he bother? The hours of research, the painstakingly scribbled notes, the amount of broken cameras he's had to replace with what little money he does have. All for what?
Stupid pride – that's what.
He knows it's stupid, petty, immature, eveything under the sun. But the effort is far too gone to give up now. Even when Fenton can manage to infuriate him by just smirking across the corridors – not even throwing a stupid sarcastic quip – he'll still persevere.
A few minutes later, Wes turns around. Surely Fenton's gone by now.
Nope.
Piercing eyes stare at him from the other end of the corridor, unblinking, glistening green in a certain light. Fenton simply stands. Frozen on the spot. Nothing.
A chill prickles down his spine as the fourteen year old gathers his books off the floor, trying to ignore the toxic eyes staring at him like a hawk. Yet even though as he scrambles down the hallway, Wes can still feel the ominous, vehement stare fixate onto him.
Seconds later, he's barely down the other end of the corridor to head to class when a familiar chill fills the air. Everyone else knows it too, from the way they freeze like rabbits, eyes darting around in panic.
No words need to be spoken.
Ghost attack.
He looks back to where Fenton originally was standing like a statue — and sure enough. Gone as if he was never there. All the other students have fled, now he's the only one standing in the empty corridor.
In the distance, a chorus of shouts and thumps echo down the school, but the teenager ignores it.
Maybe now is his chance — to finally win. To finally set things straight and prove to Fenton — and Caspar High — that he's not one big joke.
Heart pounding, he fumbles with the zip of his backpack, trying to retrieve the camera inside, silently pleading that this camera won't be the sixth victim at Phantom's hands.
"Don't panic, everyone! The Fenton's are here!"
Suddenly, Jack Fenton's voice booms down the corridor, the two Fenton's are there as if they materialised from nothing, brandished in more weapons than an army base and their jumpsuits the oh so eye-bleeding colours that they are.
At exactly the same time that Phantom swoops down through the ceiling and lands in the corridor.
Wes doesn't utter a word.
"Where's the ghost?" Phantom mutters, curling in on himself as he glances around the corridor, the weak wimpy posture that Wes sees consistently on Fenton but never Phantom.
The atmosphere of the room chills. If Fenton—Phantom can't sense the ghost — then they're all doomed. Even if the Fenton's have some weird tracker, at least Wes can rely on Fenton to be reliable.
By now, he'd think people would've figured out that Fenton—Phantom has some sort of built-in tracker from how fast he's able to appear at a ghost attack. But none of them have ever figured out the whole "secret identity" thing, so he doubts it.
Strangely, the Fenton's don't look the tiniest bit concerned. Maybe they already know where the ghost is.
"It worked!" Maddie Fenton's mouth splits into a grin as she beams up at Jack, both looking as if they've hit the jackpot.
"W—what?" Phantom stutters, floating midair with uncertainty.
"Did you think we didn't notice?" queries Maddie, raising an eyebrow, taking a step towards Phantom, who flinches back.
For a split second, he wonders if they've cracked Fenton's identity — but that can't be it. They wouldn't shoot their own flesh and blood.
…Right?
"Uh..didn't notice what?" Phantom licks his lips, a hand making its way to rest at the nape of his neck. Yet again, another trait of Fenton leaks through to the ghost side.
"Oh come on ghost. Did you really think that we're that stupid?" scoffs Jack.
"Well no, actually." objects the ghost, "You're the leading scientists in ectobiology. Except from some of your practices being a bit…questionable…you did make a functioning portal into the Ghost Zone. And the weapons all work effectively."
"Don't be such a soft soap." Maddie scoffs, folding her arms, "We all know that's just an act."
Must be hard, having to act like they're not his parents, ponders Wes. He's never really thought about it — how both the older Fenton's actively hunt Phantom, threaten him on a daily basis, sometimes even shoot him. Fenton has to deal with the idea that in his parents eyes — he's something they hate.
Mainly, Wes' focus has only ever been on ending the prolonged game of cat and mouse that him and Fenton have going. Once and for all.
"It's…it's true though! I want to help people! I want to protect Amity!" insists Phantom, green eyes narrowed towards both ghost hunters.
Unflinching as she stalks towards him, Maddie steps forward cleanly.
"Liar!" she spits, barely metres away from the ghost who's secretly her son. "You may have this whole town wrapped around your finger, but you'll never convince me and Jack. Ghosts are monsters."
With the ghost and hunter occupied, Wes can't help but notice Jack retrieving something out of his jumpsuit pocket.
The ghost barely contains a second flinch, curling in on himself.
Ouch.
"What—what do you know?" Dejectedly, Phantom asks, head hung low, deliberately averting his gaze to the floor.
Probably so they can't see the tears, Wes thinks.
Suddenly, the whirr of an ectogun sounds.
One second, Phantom's floating, and the next he's a smoking, pathetic heap on the floor, clutching at his chest. Green spatters on the floor.
Above him, Jack stands, the ectogun still smoking from the shot. He retrieves a second item from his pocket.
A tiny blob ghost, in an equally as tiny containment capsule. The tiny green blob squeaks lightly as Phantom's eyes broaden in suprise.
"You…" stumbles the ghost, his breathing quickening as he clutches his chest, "I-I don't get it."
Worry begins to seep into Wes as he notices the worrying amount of unnatural green begin to pool onto the floor.
"We know you can sense ghosts." shrugs Maddie, as if the ghost in front of her isn't writhing in agony from the shot, "And what better way to lure you in with another ghost?"
"Why here?! Your kids go to this school! So many people!" spits the teenager ghost, eyes narrowed with malice.
"Don't mention my children." Maddie states coldly, "This is the area you frequent the most. There's no one here, either."
"But he's your kid." Wes can't help but hiss under his breath, slamming his hand over his mouth in an instant. If they'd heard his remark…then Danny's done for.
Three pairs of eyes stare at him like a hawk.
"Scram kid." announces Jack, "This is ghost hunter business."
Breath hitching — from the shock of the Fenton's shooting their own son — Wes presses against his locker, attempting to slow his breathing. They're gonna confront him, aren't they?
If — if they're capable of doing that to Danny…then…then what'll they do to him?
You're human, though. Fenton is a ghost — but also partially (?) human.
To his relief and suprise, they don't do anything — simply turn around and face the wounded ghost — their son — on the floor.
"How do you think we should transport it, Mads?" asks Jack in hushed tones, leaning in closer to his wife.
"Carry it?" she inquests, then shakes her head, "No. We'd be seen."
"I'd 'preciate if I wasn't called 'n it..." Phantom trails off, stealing a frantic glance towards Wes as he begins chattering, "I don' think capturing me would be a very good idea. Uh…I…I think you'd regret it quite a bit — so if you could just…let me go? That'd be excellent also…"
"No." Is the instant response.
"Ohhkay…" Phantom slurs off, trepidation clear in his sprawling figure, "..but don' get scalpels…not much left to look anyway..." His hands gesture out sloppily into the bloodbath.
Wes wants to run up, wants to do something — intercept the Fenton's, get Danny out of there. In the past, he's never left an opportunity unturned, any type of rabbit hole he'll dive right into. Any opportunity to reveal Fenton's identity as Phantom — he'd take it in a heartbeat.
But now? His feet are glued to the floor. Unmoving.
Bile rises in his throat as the ginger haired teen notices the green liquid still pooling out onto the tiles like a waterfall, now a murky green and reddish mess. Had Fenton's skin always been that pale — even as a ghost?
All of a sudden, Phantom's body slumps to the floor limply, and Wes feels his heart drop to his chest.
Oh God no.
Edged with nervousness, he watches Maddie hesitantly bend down and poke the ghosts shoulder, before retracting her hand and wiping it on her HAZMAT with disgust.
"Out cold turkey." whistles Jack, an impressed edge to his voice as he glances to the ectogun he'd shot the alleged town protector with, "Who new these new prototypes would be so effective? One shot and it's down."
Danny doesn't move a muscle.
Horror flips in Wes' stomach as an oh-so familiar halo of light appears around Danny's stomach. The one thing to ignite Wes' obsession — to reveal Danny's identity.
Simultaneously, flounders of footsteps sound down the corridors. Students returning back to class.
The halo begins to split.
Maddie and Jack watch with morbid curiosity.
Students, hapless within the whole situation, also watch with a keen interest and concern for their hero.
What's happening?
The halo spread and dissipates, leaving behind a chorus of horrified gasps, and the limp human body of someone who's familiar to them all.
Jack and Maddie's stricken glances can't be missed. The clatter of the ectogun to the group. Maddie's bleary face. The naive squeals of the blob ghost in its container.
Clamouring students mulling with confusion. Some pointing with horror. The jumble of horrified remarks and gossip becomes one tangled mess.
He remains silent. All this time — all this time he'd wanted this. To win against Danny and his stupid taunting and finally prove that he was right. To end the torment of not being believed, the strange glances, everything.
Once he won the game, everything would be better.
Better for him.
And what — what about Danny? He'd never thought.
And here it is — Wes has what he's always wanted. To win. To be proven right.
But — but not like this.
As he remains fixated on the bloody and battered body of Danny Fenton splayed on the floor, Wes begins to think that maybe this was never meant to be a competition.
A/N: This is crossposted from my AO3, originally written for Phic Phigh 2022. I still think its one of my favourite fics written to date!
Thanks for reading :D