Chapter One: Visiting Hours

"Apparently he doesn't know that a zipper can stay up as well as go down." - Murder on the Half Shelf by Lorna Barrett

Danny

"Mom, I know you didn't go to Gettysburg with Dad and me, so you might not realize the extent of the issue. Allow me to refresh your memory on a few things. As an angel, I have the ability to sense the presence of poor, unfortunate lost souls looking for a way to move on. This means that I am obligated to experience their demises through extremely vivid hallucinations. Unfortunately, as an angel who is half-human, those hallucinations cause my body to react in the way the person did at the time. Perfect example, if Dad hadn't been there to catch me, I would have cracked my head open on a staircase in the dark. Ask Dad about it, if you don't believe me. Now, Reaper says that they can help me make a charm that will keep me safe from bodily harm, should a similar instance occur. Which, knowing my luck, it will. The charm needs to be something I can keep on my person at all times. With my secret identity in mind, it needs to be something both innocuous and convenient. Something that won't fall off easily but isn't something that enemies would think grab hold of in combat. With all that in mind, I think I know the perfect object to be charmed."

That's how I convinced my mother to let me get my ear pierced. It's honestly embarrassing how long I spent rehearsing that speech in the mirror.

Seeing as Dad was there for the Gettysburg adventure, I knew I wouldn't even have to try with him. Looking back, I think I scared him so badly that he would have let me get a tattoo on my butt if I thought it would help.

I tap the tiny cubic zirconia stud in my left earlobe with a satisfied grin. Okay, so I really just wanted an earring. My ghost powers make for a convenient excuse, though.

"Remind me again how I let you talk me into this," Mom teases as she drives me home from the mall. I think she likes my earring but doesn't want to admit it.

"I can be very persuasive," I boast.

Mom rolls her eyes. Yeah, she totally digs the new bling.

I touch the earring again. "The lady said to leave it in for six weeks, right? Do you think I should wait 'til then to charm it?"

"You'd know better than I would, Danny," Mom says. "This is all so new to me."

I came out as a halfa to my human parents a few months ago, which opened a rabbit hole of new information and disproven theories for them. Dad is having an easier time with it than Mom (if that disastrous dinner at Cracker Barrel the other day is anything to go by), but both of them are still figuring things out.

"I don't know how charming works anymore than you do," I admit as Mom pulls into the driveway. "Guess we're both new at this."

Once we step into the house, Jazz is there to greet us. And, by "greet us," I mean that she grabs my chin, digs her fingers into my cheeks, and turns my head to appraise my new bling.

"Like what you see?" I ask. I was aiming for cockiness, but that's a hard tone to convey when your face is being smushed.

Jazz stifles a laugh and releases me. "Just marveling at the fact that Mom actually let you do it." Mom scoffs and shakes her head. Jazz ignores her and asks me, "So, what does it look like in ghost-form?"

"Let's find out."

I channel the energy of my core and feel the ice-cold rings appear around my waist and travel up and down my body. In seconds, my skin is pale gray, my hair is white, my eyes are wholly green but for the pupils, and I'm wearing a black jumpsuit.

And, Jazz has her hand on her chin and a quizzical look on her face. She points to my ear. "Either it's invisible, or it didn't carry over."

"What?" I reply.

I touch my left earlobe and then my right one and fight back a groan. Looks like only Danny Fenton gets an earring for now.

"Young man…" Mom chides in disapproval.

I hold my hands in front of me. "I know what you're thinking, but I seriously did not anticipate this." In hindsight, I probably should have. At least switching forms means that the hole in my human ear should be healed by the time I switch back.

"Did I hear you say your piercing didn't carry over?" Dad rushes in with one hand behind his back. "I thought this might happen, so I've been working on this!" He moves his hand out from behind his back and holds a small handheld gun, not unlike the piercing gun the lady at the mall used, dramatically in the air. "Behold! The Fenton Ghost Piercer!" He lowers it closer to my eye level and looks at it with a pride that's only a little twisted. "It can blast a hole through a ghost's flesh like a hot knife through butter." When he sees my wince and Mom and Jazz's deadpan expressions, he quickly adds, "In terms of decorative piercings, that is."

Like I said, my parents are still figuring things out.

"I don't know, Jack," Mom says. "If Danny does go the earring route," ignoring the side-eye, "shouldn't he see a, I don't know, a professional ghost jeweler?"

Dad's enthusiasm returns. "Why do that, when we've got this bad boy right here?"

He presses a button on the side of the Ghost Piercer, and this tiny, dinky little invention opens up and unleashes long, mechanical, spider-like extensions. The extensions bring their tips close together, and a sphere of crackling blue light the size of my head forms. I'm not the only one who steps back, though the ladies aren't half as terrified as I am.

Dad, being Dad, is oblivious. "Now, which ear did you want pierced, son?"

Before I can form any sort of response, Jazz suggests tightly, "Maybe once it's charmed, it'll show up in both forms?"

"I say we explore that avenue first," I agree.

Dad lets out a disappointed, "Aaawww…"

Reaper's lair is a gothic mansion surrounded by an iron rod fence. The moment I land on the front lawn, one of the Gargoyles - this one is named Kuolema - walks out the front door and marches up to me. The Gargoyles are Reaper's guards/assistants, and they are tall, beefy, and look like living stone statues and have huge claws and sharp, jagged teeth. Not the prettiest things in the Ghost Zone, but their freaky appearances juxtapose their kind, friendly natures.

Unless you piss them off. Luckily, being their boss's adoptive son gives me a "Get Out of Laceration Free" card. Not that I would risk annoying them.

That being said, Kuolema is clearly not pleased. "Sorry, Danny," they say, "but Master Reaper isn't here."

They don't say anything else, so I prompt, "Where are they?"

"They have business in the Far Frozen and might be gone for a few days."

I am officially blindsided. "Now? They've been bugging me about making a charm. We had this whole thing planned. And, they leave now? Did something happen?"

Kuolema considers me, then their serious façade cracks just enough for the concern to break through. They scratch their cheek. "Well, when I say 'business,' I really mean that they've, uh, fallen ill."

Ancients can get sick? I knew ghosts had diseases, but it's weird to think of one of the most powerful beings in existence getting sick. I guess my grim is still a ghost.

With a broken core, I recall fearfully.

"Sheesh, why didn't you just say that?" I ask.

Kuolema just shrugs, but there's a hesitance in the gesture. Since I imprinted on their boss, the Gargoyles have treated me like they would treat Reaper. Which means that they don't like withholding information from me.

"Why go to the Far Frozen?" I ask. "Is it bad?"

Guilt flashes over their face before they hold up their huge hands and regain their stoic demeanor. "Sorry, Danny, but that's all I can tell you. Just know that it's nothing serious, but your parent might have to stay there for a while as a precaution."

"I see," is all I say.

"Your parent sends their apologies that they could not be here. But, you know," Kuolema add hopefully, "any of us Gargoyles could teach you about charms. We are not as experienced as Master Reaper, but…" They trail off when they see me awkwardly look away and pick at my jumpsuit. They touch the tips of their claws together. "Right. Parent-son bonding."

I grin sheepishly. "No offense."

"It's all good," Kuolema says, masking their disappointment. "Master Reaper will send word once they have recovered."

"Alright. Thanks, Kuolema."

We say our goodbyes, and I make my way to the Far Frozen.

My core hasn't stopped aching since I learned my grim was sick. That's the problem with my Obsession. Even when my brain knows that there's nothing I can do to help, my core doesn't.

Speaking of cores, I keep thinking that Reaper's is the reason they're unwell. The War of the Ancients happened five thousand years ago, yet no one has ever been able to fully heal Reaper's core. Not doctors. Not other angels with their Healing Touches. I don't even know the full extent of the damage. I know that Reaper's physical form is heavily disfigured, their face having the appearance of exposed human muscle tissue; I can only assume the rest of their body is the same way. Their wings are ruined enough that I mistook them for claws at first. Their Healing Touch doesn't work and, since it draws power from the core, is even more dangerous for them to use than for any other angel.

Any time the Healing Touch is used too much without rest, the angel is a serious risk of destabilizing. I would know. I brought my sister back from the brink of death once, and if it weren't for my human-half, she would have woken up with a puddle of goo by her hospital bed.

What if that's what happened? I've used my Healing Touch in Reaper's place before, but what if someone was hurt and I wasn't there so Reaper…

My core pulses harder, burning in my chest.

When I reach my snowy, frigid destination, I am too focused to give more than a passing greeting to the yeti-like demons I pass on my way to the medical ward. With its stone floors and walls, sci-fi movie-esque technology, and normal medical stuff, the ward resembles a mix of cave, supervillain lair, and hospital.

Case in point, they have a reception desk with a computer and a check-in sheet for visitors.

One of the Frozeners, a stern woman inappropriately named Snowflake, is at the desk and speaks the moment I walk in. "No, Danny, you can't see Master Reaper."

That is not how I thought this would go. "I know that," I snark. "I don't have X-ray vision."

Predictably, Snowflake is not amused. She turns back to the computer. I can't see the screen, but I'm half-convinced she's playing Solitare. "I'm under strict orders to keep you out. So, get out."

Usually, I appreciate that Snowflake, unlike most of the Frozeners, doesn't treat me like a celebrity. Now, however…

"Why do I have to be kept out?" I ask, forcibly dialing back my temper. "Isn't family supposed to be allowed in? Even if it's serious?" As soon as I say that, my anger cools into dread. "Uh, is it serious?"

A new voice, much deeper, enters the scene. "It easily could have been," Frostbite says as he steps in from the hallway with a clipboard in his hands. "But, Master Reaper got here long before then."

"Well, that's good," I say him. "But, what is it? And, why can't I see them? I know we're not, like, blood-related - er, ectoplasm-related? - but they're still my parent."

Frostbite regards me with sympathy, but, "My apologies, Great One, but Master Reaper specifically requested that you be kept out."

The words sink in and drill through my chest. "You mean…they don't want me here? Why?"

"Your parent has their reasons. Oops!"

Frostbite drops his clipboard. I pick it up and hand it back to him. He glares at me as he takes it back. Behind me, I hear Snowflake snort.

I'm even more confused when Frostbite tosses his clipboard over his shoulder. "Oops! I have dropped my clipboard! And now, I must turn around," he does so, "and not see you when you sneak past me and enter room number four."

Buffering…buffering…

"Oh!" I exclaim when my brain turns back on. "Right! Uh, yeah. Okay. Uh, thanks."

I "sneak past" Frostbite while his back is turned and pray that Snowflake doesn't mock my stupidity every time I see her from this point on.

I hesitate once I reach the correct door. I desperately want to know how Reaper is doing…but they don't want me to visit. Why not? Did I do something wrong? Are they mad at me? Reaper isn't the type to let their emotions fester. If they were angry, they would tell me, wouldn't they? And, even if they are angry, surely they would still want their child, imprinted or otherwise, by their side at a time like this.

What if emotions have nothing to do with it? What if Reaper's condition is worse than Frostbite is letting on? Maybe Reaper doesn't want me here because they're in a position that would freak me out.

The mental image of Jazz comatose and hooked up to everything under the sun haunts me to this day.

My hand shakes as I turn the doorknob and crack open the door. I let out a breath I don't need when I see that Reaper is awake and reading a book. They are sitting on a propped up hospital bed and hooked up to a few things, including an IV drip that appears to contain some form of ectoplasm, but they are conscious.

And, their cloak is gone, tucked away somewhere. Their lower half is covered by a thin blue blanket, but I imagine it's as bad as the rest of them. I knew that Reaper's head was a mass of ruined skin and that they were completely bald. (Granted, I've seen pictures of how they used to look, and they were bald then too.) I suspected that the rest of them was disfigured, but seeing their chest and arms appearing more like a skeleton with a layer of muscle tissue is…

I'll be honest. Apart from their wholly neon green eyes, they look like they jumped out my science book. I knew they were very thin under that cloak, but since they're a ghost, I never thought anything of it.

Oh, Grim. No wonder you wear that cloak. And, you've looked like this for five thousand years…

Reaper marks their place then sets their book in their lap. "I suspected that they would let you in."

Shit.

I push the door open and hesitantly step into the room then close the door. "I'm sorry," I say to my feet. "I know you…don't want me here. But, I heard you were sick, and…" I shake my head. "Sorry. I-I can leave."

"My apologies. Perhaps I should explain." I finally look up, and they beckon with a finger. "Come."

I grab a chair and pull it to Reaper's side before sitting down. They regard me with love and regret.

"When I instructed everyone to keep you out," Reaper explains, "it was not because you were unwanted. It was because," they spread their hands out in front of them, "I did not want you to see all of this."

Their body, they mean. My heart and core hurt. "It's not that bad," I lie.

Reaper tilts their brow in amusement. "You are kind, but I was referring to my situation."

Cold creeps into my cheeks. "Oh. Uh, yeah. That's…probably bad. Um," I fold my hands in my lap and lean forward, "what is the situation, exactly?"

Reaper lies back with a sigh. "I suppose you were bound to find out. As you are aware, Danny Phantom, my core never quite healed from the injury I took during the war. You know of most of the lasting effects…but there is one I neglected to mention."

They tap their index finger to the little tube inserted into their chest, directly over their core. A tube that's connected to the IV, I realize.

I remember when my own imprinted son started developing his fire powers and was in agony because of it. Frostbite gave him an injection to help, saying that targeting the core directly was the best way to heal it.

"It's your core, isn't it?" I ask tightly. I thought as much, but I was hoping to be proven wrong.

"Despite its deformity," Reaper says with a somber, heartbreaking calm, "my core is, for the most part, stable. However, there are times when it weakens to the point that my physical body begins to break down."

There's a crack in my chest that's only audible to me. "You…you told me your form was stable. Completely stable!"

Reaper's smile is a lot of things. Sad. Frustrated. Accepting. "And, it was at the time. It is not as bad as it seems. This only happens twice or thrice a year." Did they just say thrice? "More often if I am excessive with my powers, but even then it is more an inconvenience than anything. I know the signs, so I know to get here before it becomes a real problem."

I shoot to my feet and ball my fists at my sides. "It's already a problem! Look at you! This isn't fair! You're a hero. You risked your life so the other Ancients could keep fighting." I throw my hands toward them as they massage their forehead. "And, this was your reward?"

Reaper sighs again and gestures for me to sit down. I reluctantly do so. "This is why I did not want you to know. I know how you fret over my condition, and I know what your Obsession is."

"I love you," I say. "Obsession or not, I want you to be okay."

Reaper smiles warmly and curls their long fingers around my hand. I want to squeeze back, but I'm terrified that their hand will squish in my grasp. "I love you too, my son. And, your concern is appreciated, but I do not want it to overwhelm you. You have many others who look to you for care."

"So do you," I remind.

All angels share the desire to protect, and Reaper is no exception. As such, their lair is a safe haven for any ghost who needs it. I've spoken to many of those ghosts, heard their stories, helped them in any way I could, even if it was just offering a shoulder to cry on. Any ghost who sets foot (or whatever they've got) on the property is protected unless they are the one causing the problem.

Reaper is a hero, and their good deeds are not limited to their actions in the War of the Ancients.

Reaper's mouth twitches, but that sad smile remains. "One day, a cure will be found. Clockwork himself assured me of this. I have been waiting for five thousand years. I can wait a little longer."

Five thousand years. How much longer will it be before a cure is found? Ten years? A hundred? Another five thousand?

What if Reaper is downplaying the severity of their injury? I've been on the receiving end of Pariah Dark's attacks. I very nearly destabilized that day, and I was using one of my parents' inventions to boost my power. Even though the majority of injuries in one form don't transfer to my other, my human-half was unbearably sore for days after that fight. Don't get me started on my ghost-half.

I suppress a flinch when my core seems to throw itself against my ribcage. "I don't want to wait. There has to be something I can do for you now."

Reaper looks at me in a strange way but brushes off whatever they were thinking about. "There is one thing you could do for me."

I lean forward. "Yes?"

"You could protect yourself. We do not need to be in my lair to create a charm."

"Seriously?" I retort in disbelief. "Grim-"

They hold up their hand. "You cannot help with my condition, but you can give me peace of mind."

I don't like it, but if that's really all I can do for them… "Fine. I was gonna use an earring for that, but it only shows up in my human-form. Will charming it fix that?" Say yes, because otherwise I'll have to use Dad's invention.

"It will," Reaper says, much to my relief. "But, you will need a bit of your ectoplasm for the process. I am unsure of how well it would work with your human-half's blood."

I hold my hands in front of me and stand up. "I can take a hint. How much ectoplasm do I need?"

Reaper presses their thumb and index finger together. "Just a smidge."

The idea of hurting myself on purpose makes my skin prickle, but I walk over to the sink and grab one of the disposable cups. I don't want to use any of Frostbite's tools without asking, so I hold out my other hand and form my energy into a tiny green blade of Hard Light. I set the cup down and peel back my glove, leaving my palm exposed.

"You know," Reaper says nervously, "a simple prick of the finger will-"

Too late. I hiss as my makeshift blade slices effortlessly through my skin. I hold my injured hand over the cup and let my ectoplasm drip into it-

"Th-that-that's plenty!" Reaper cries almost immediately.

Only a few drops made it into the cup, but if they say so. I switch to human-form so my ghost hand can heal and return to my seat beside Reaper, who looks like they're coming down from a heart attack.

I shrug. "You know I don't do anything by halves. For the most part," I add with a wink.

It's hard to tell since they don't have pupils or irises, but I'm pretty sure Reaper is rolling their eyes. They point to my earring. "Is that what we will be charming?"

"Yeah." I cup my hand around my pierced ear. "You like it?"

Reaper nods. "It suits you."

It's nice to have at least one parent who openly admits to liking it. "Should I take it out? The lady at the kiosk said to leave it in for six weeks, but-"

Reaper cuts me off by shaking their head. "Skin to skin contact is required, so this is actually perfect. Now, what you must do is smear a bit of ectoplasm on to your finger and press it to the earring. After that, you will need to focus on your energy and what you want it to do."

"So, it's like using my powers?" I ask.

"Not quite. In those cases, you channel your energy into what you need at that moment. Charming is more difficult because you must channel it into what you will need later on. Consider what you will need in the future, and your energy will bend to your will."

I take a deep breath and press my finger tip into the cold ectoplasm in the cup. I touch my ectoplasm to my earring and concentrate.

I think about the lost souls - "wanderers," they're called - who I met in Gettysburg, who showed me their deaths. Since I'm half-human, my body reacted to those visions in real time as I experienced those horrible final moments through their eyes. My body's reactions varied from screaming and crying to just sitting there motionless to almost falling down a steep stone staircase. The charm's purpose is to prevent that, to make my mind and only my mind experience a wanderer's demise.

Distantly, I feel a warmth spread out under my skin and slowly directs itself up my arm.

I keep my mind on the charm's purpose: to make my wanderer visions affect me the way they're supposed to and without the threat of bodily harm.

The process must be complete, because when I open my eyes again, I'm seeing stars and fighting to stay upright.

"Are you alright?" asks the wobbly shape in front of me.

I try to blink the speckles away, but that only makes my head hurt. Just as I'm about to pass out, a feeling so cold it burns runs over my body. Suddenly, I'm in ghost-form and, though still lightheaded, I'm no longer in danger of falling over.

I breathe out in relief and ask, "Is it normal to almost lose consciousness afterwards?" When Reaper only grits their teeth, I say, "Note to self: don't charm things while in human-form. Did I at least do it right?"

Satisfied that I'm fully conscious, Reaper points to my ear. "Well, your earring is now visible in your ghost-form. That is a good sign, but we will not know for certain until you encounter a wanderer."

I touch my earring, confirming that it is there in this form, but my pride doesn't last. "Okay. You have your peace of mind. Now, is there anything else I can do for you? Maybe I could use my Healing Touch?" They narrow their eyes, so I add meekly, "Just a little? Come on. We've established that my Healing Touch works better because I'm half-human, so-"

"If you are referring to curing your sister's illness," Reaper says firmly, "recall that you began to destabilize as a result."

"But, I saved her."

"And, you almost destroyed yourself. I will not have you taking unnecessary risks."

Help them, my core shrieks, rattling my bones. Help them do something save them.

Reaper misinterprets my expression. "The doctors know what to do, and they have been doing it for five thousand years. Why, Frostbite himself oversaw my recovery during the war."

"Really?" I knew Frostbite was old, but I didn't know he was that old.

"Indeed. As such, you need not worry over my condition. And, like I said, Clockwork told me a cure would be found. It is only a matter of when." Reaper gives me that strange look again.

We visit for a little longer until I make up some excuse about a ton of homework. It's not a lie, but the real reason I'm leaving is because my chest feels like it's engulfed in flames.

I catch Frostbite in the hallway on my way out. "Frostbite, were you really Reaper's doctor during the war?"

"Indeed," Frostbite says solemnly. "I and my people did everything possible for them. And, we continue to do so." He looks back at Reaper's room. "Alas, nothing we have tried so far has offered a permanent solution." He turns back to me. "Many believe that it is hopeless, that some things are simply unfixable."

No no no no. My core stabs another knife through me with each word.

I fight to keep my composure. "What do you think?"

Frostbite's mouth curls into a determined smile. "I think that the world is constantly changing, and new things are being discovered every day. There may not be a cure now, but I believe that one will be found some day. It could be that such a cure does not yet exist, or perhaps we have simply been looking in the wrong place. Whatever the case, it will happen."

His wise words soothe my core just enough that I can get home without issue.