This can be read as a stand-alone, but I do recommend reading "This Mortal Coil" first to get the full experience.

I've been wanting to include Fun Danny and Super Danny for a while, and I already had this general idea in mind, so...

Talk About Living a Double Life!

Chapter One: The Split

"Be old enough to know better and young enough to do it again anyway." - Unknown

Danny

This is a bad idea. I am conscious of that. But, when you're a halfa with a fixation, sometimes you make poor decisions.

So, you know Obsessions? Those things that ghosts need to have or do to keep their cores healthy and to stay sane? Fixations spring from that. They aren't common and only occur when memories of a traumatic event align with your Obsession.

Counting my current fixation, I've had three in the past year. Welcome to my afterlife.

Let's bounce back two weeks. It's a long story that ends with my father getting shot and killed. The shooter is in jail, the Guys in White are preoccupied with the fallout (related), and Dad is still hanging around as a ghost. It's not quite all's well that ends well - I'm pretty sure Vlad has PTSD, but he's Vlad so he'll probably never get tested - but that whole mess could have ended a lot worse.

The same can't be said about my core. Or, my heart, but that particular pain is more metaphorical.

That night, I spoke with Reaper, one of the ghosts I imprinted on, who also happens to be the Ancient referred to as "the Master of Death." (They're not as scary as they sound. But, I might be biased since I'm basically their adoptive son.) I asked my grim if any of the humans I love would one day become ghosts alongside my father and me.

Reaper's response: a terribly sad look and a hug.

I'm going to lose every mortal I love. And, because I'm half-ghost and will become all-ghost one day as a result, I will continue to exist. The others…

All my human friends. All of my human family. They'll all be gone.

I thought I'd accepted that when Sam's grandmother died. But then Reaper confirmed the worst and…

And…

"I'm still here. I still exist! That means you still turn into me."

And, my core focused on a specific set of people.

Mom, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker are the keys to keeping me the person I am.

I'm walking down the stairs to the lab, so of course my core decides that now is an excellent time for a really bad spasm. No one is home, so I don't bother stifling my scream as searing pain rakes over me from my chest out. Everything hurts so much that I don't even feel it when I tumble the rest of the way down the stairs. I lay in a heap on the floor and pray that this will end soon. My core never calms, but the spasms aren't always this bad.

It's been like this for two weeks, since I received confirmation that I'm going to lose everyone.

Those eyes. Mine but also not…

When my fit ends, I am dizzy and struggling to catch my breath. I'm hurting from the fall, mostly my head, my neck, my left elbow, and both of my knees. Thank God for my ghost-half, or I might have broken something or worse; I know a ghost who died from a fall down the stairs.

I moan and wrap my fingers around the bannister to hull myself up. Switching to ghost-form relieves the ache from my fall but does nothing for my core. I arch my back in a stretch and walk to the weapons' vault, which despite the name, does not exclusively hold lethal instruments.

My goal is to ensure that Mom, Jazz, Sam, and Tucker will become ghosts when they die. Reaper says that it's impossible to control what a soul does once its host passes. I say that I've done enough impossible things to fill three seasons of a TV show.

Weird comparison, I know. But, my mind is kind of screwed up right now.

I need information, and the only possible place to find it is in the Ghost Zone. The main issue is that I have no idea where to look, which means that finding answers could take days, weeks, even months, for all I know. I can't leave my loved ones unattended, and my duplicates won't hold up if the main me is in another dimension.

Hence why I am pulling the Fenton Ghost Catcher out from where it rests against the wall in the back of the vault. If I split myself in half, human-me can stay here and look after my loved ones while ghost-me searches for answers.

There is one major hiccup with this plan. Last time I split up my ghost and human halves, they each had very…distinct personalities. I figure the worst case scenario is that I'm a little annoying for a while.

I turn on the Ghost Catcher and double-check that I'm on the correct side. I hesitate before pulling the glowing green light over myself.

Another spasm hits, and I decide that I don't care about the consequences.

I need my family.

Fenton

Getting split in half knocks the wind out of me, and I collapse on to the hard floor. Miraculously, I don't have to deal with any injuries from falling down the stairs. Just a sore butt.

Not only that, but there's no longer a crippling pain in my chest. Bonus points for this plan!

A whimper catches my attention. I cringe at the reminder that my ghost-half still has all the core pain. Phantom is curled up on his side, facing away from me, shaking and making small sounds.

I rise up on my knees. "Phantom?" He doesn't respond. "Dude, uh, maybe we should forget this and become one person again." Phantom holds up his index finger, asking for a moment. "Seriously, man. I can't even see your face, but I can already tell you look like shit."

Phantom slowly makes his way to his feet. "Forgive my display of weakness." He shakes it off and dusts off his jumpsuit. "It shan't happen again."

I stand up. "Really. We can-"

"Ah ah ah," Phantom chides, wagging his finger. "I cannot be felled by a cantankerous core. I can handle anything because I'm-" He frowns and pats his neck. "I'll be right back. Wait here."

As he flies out of the vault, I drag my hand over my face because I know what's coming. Sure enough, when Phantom returns, he has a white bed sheet tied around his neck like a cape.

"As I was saying, I can handle anything because I'm," he sets one foot on a box and raises his fists in the air with his elbows bent and perpendicular to his shoulders, "Danny Phantom!"

Yeah, this so won't end well.

"Let me see if I understand this," Sam says from across the table, pointing at me with the lettuce speared on her fork. "You have business in the Ghost Zone that could take a couple days at least, so you split yourself in half so that no one would ask where Danny Fenton was?"

I swallow my mouthful of chicken tender. "That about sums it up." Except that my secret identity wasn't a thought in my head at the time.

We're at school, eating lunch at our usual secluded table in the cafeteria. It's secluded because no one wants to sit with the losers. Joke's on everyone else; being losers serves us well at times like this.

"Look at it this way, Sam," Tucker says. He drapes his arm over my shoulders, pulling me closer. "We get to hang out with Fun Danny again!"

Sam doesn't comment on that. "Aren't you worried that people will notice Danny Phantom's absence?"

"Relax," I assure. "I got it covered. I told Val the sitch, and she's gonna pick up the slack with ghost attacks. Mom and Dad are helping, too. Meanwhile, Mama," my imprinted mother, Eileen, who is also one of my teachers, "Dash, and Paulina," both of whom are publicly friends with Danny Phantom, "are spreading the word that Phantom's got major biz in the Zone. I thought of everything."

When Sam only raises an eyebrow, Tucker points to me and emphasizes to Sam, "Fun. Danny. Who cares about the rest?"

I try to scoff, but it comes out like a chuckle. "Come on, bro. You're gonna make me think you only like me when I'm split."

"Will you at least tell us what this 'business' is?" Sam asks.

I should tell them, but they'll try to stop me. And by "me," and I mean "Phantom." Which means they'll look for him in the Ghost Zone. So many dangers…

They're so…so fragile…

A sudden bout of fear hits me, and I cover it by sipping from my milk carton. I must still be affected by my fixation, even without my ghost-half. Bummer.

"Let's just say that it's kind of hush-hush," I sort of lie. "You're just gonna have to trust me."

The school day is uneventful aside from getting a hundred percent plus the bonus question on my science test. (Hell, yeah! Still got the nerd brain!) I'm actually in a pretty good mood when Jazz picks me up.

"How was school?" Jazz asks as I climb into the passenger seat.

I shrug with a proud grin. "Not bad, all things considered. I even aced my science test! Wait until Phantom finds out which of us got the brains!"

Jazz rolls her eyes fondly as she pulls out of the parking lot. "Good work on the test, brainiac."

I find myself studying my big sister. She has a casual smile on her face, and her posture is loose. She is unharmed and totally relaxed. Is she too relaxed to be driving? Her eyes never waver from the road, and her hands remain on the wheel. She appears to be paying attention.

There's a red light ahead, a car already stopped in front of it. I hold my breath as Jazz pulls up behind the vehicle.

I don't breathe again until we have stopped safely. No crash. Jazz is safe. Thank God.

Since we've stopped, I don't mind that Jazz has turned away from the windshield to look at me in concern. "You okay?"

"Totally," I say. I even rest my hands behind my head as further proof that I am fine. "It's all good in the neighborhood."

I don't relax until Jazz pulls into our driveway and enters our house unscathed.

Phantom

Mumbling mortis, my core hurts!

It's been a week since my human-half and I split into separate entities. Based on the check-in calls we've shared, Fenton suffers no pain from whatever little bit of our core he still possesses - assuming he has any core at all in him - and I envy him tremendously.

But, I cannot afford to give in to my weakness. Not when lives are at stake.

Not when those lives are at stake.

(I hope Fenton keeps them away from the Nasty Burger.)

My core flares, but years of keeping a secret identity have made me a master at hiding pain. Despite the razor blades of agony shooting out from my chest, I keep my posture just the slightest bit stiff so that those around me will presume that I am laser-focused on my reading.

In truth, the words are meaningless until the spasm ends.

In a stroke of luck, my good grim doesn't approach until I am capable of basic thought once more. "How is your research going, Danny Phantom?"

Reaper stands at around eight feet and has a lean, wiry build that is mostly covered by their dress pants and ruffled blouse. They are a bald ghost with wholly green eyes and facial features that are neither masculine nor feminine. Handsome, assuming such a word can be used in a genderless context.

After giving it some thought, I decided to avoid telling them what I am really doing. They are entirely convinced that it is impossible to influence what the soul does when the body dies. (And, as they are the Master of Death, they're probably right.) They would only discourage me, believing that they are saving me from further pain.

As such, they think I am using their library as a quiet place to work on an English report.

I make a show of opening my notebook to a blank page. I also resist speaking in my usual manner and mimic the way I talk when Fenton and I are one. The truth would raise too many questions. "Okay. I haven't decided on a topic yet, but I've got a few ideas."

I have no ideas. I almost wish there really was a report because I detest lying to my family, imprinted or otherwise.

Reaper accepts my response. They casually place one hand on the table I'm sitting at. "I meant to ask upon your arrival." They point not at me, but at a specific part of my attire. "Why the bed sheet?"

Oh. I keep forgetting that I do not wear a cape when I am whole. For some reason, I normally find them silly and inconvenient. Must be Fenton's influence.

I tell Reaper the same lie I told Frostbite when I spoke with him. "I lost a bet."

Reaper chuckles and pats me on the head. "You tickle me, child. I shall leave you to your homework. Do let me or the Gargoyles," Reaper's guards and assistants, "know if you need any help."

I need help. Help that none of you can provide. "Will do. Thanks, Grim."

Hopelessness is settling in. There is nothing of value in Reaper's library, not among the books I read.

A week of trying. A week of failing. A week of my core's constant calamity.

A lesser man would give up, but Danny Phantom is no quitter.

Motivation. That is what I need.

Before leaving, I ask Reaper where my father's grave is. They offer the location with a sympathetic smile.

Behind the gothic mansion my parent calls home is a cemetery with a grave for every being who died and became a ghost. It's a very big cemetery, and even with explicit instructions, it takes me a while to find my father's grave. When a ghost visits the grave of someone they know - or knew, depending - they experience a tide of feelings more powerful than a mortal would. Perhaps a moment of clarity as well, and that is what I'm searching or.

Or, at least a means of expunging my erratic emotions.

I plant my feet in front of my father's grave.

Jack Algonquian Fenton

February 26, 1963 - December 30, 2007

My first thought: His middle name is Algonquian?

Then the emotions come. My father is imperfect. He is flighty and can get too wrapped up in his inventions, a problem that will likely continue, given that science is now officially his Obsession. But, he is a kind, honest man who radiates joy and love and pours passion into everything he does.

Including sacrificing himself.

That rifle had been designed to harm ghosts and humans. That bullet was meant for me. Yet, my father pushed me out of the way and paid the ultimate price. Logically, I know his death isn't my fault, but the guilt is there nonetheless.

I place my right fist over my core, honoring my beloved father's sacrifice even if he is still here in another form. I let my tears fall, let them cleanse my battered soul.

Yes. This is what I needed. A reminder that I am not only doing this for me, but for him too.

So we can keep our family.

My phone vibrates before my quiet crying can fully cease. I fly away from the cemetery as I answer the call from Fenton; he has our real phone and is the only one with the number for my burner phone. "Yeah?" My voice is thick from my tears, but the grave's lingering effect means that it cannot be helped.

"Uh, Phantom?" Fenton says. "You doing alright?"

I sniffle and swipe at my face. My voice is stronger after a deep breath. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? 'Cause it kind of sounds like you were crying."

No lying here. We know how we sound after such a display. I sigh. "Sometimes a hero must shed tears in order to stifle his sorrows and sustain the stability needed to survive a serious situation."

Fenton is silent for so long that I think he hung up. Then, "Dude, I think you just broke the record for the most S-words spoken in a single sentence. Agh! You got me doing it!"

I hold my hand over my mouth to cover a giggle. "Such a silly statement brings a sincere smile to my lips."

"Stooooop."

"Ah! 'Tis another S-word!"

Fenton grunts, and I picture him rolling his eyes. "I'm glad you're feeling better, but why were you crying?"

I swerve around a boulder in my path. I don't have a destination in mind. I'm just flying. "I was at our Grim's lair and, long story short, I stumbled across our father's grave."

"...Damn."

"Indeed."

"Apart from that, how's the research going?"

Pain shoots through me in response, but this spasm is more bearable than some. "Success will come. It is only a matter of time."

"In other words, you got nothing."

Must he remind me? "How are things on Earth?"

Fenton hesitates a moment too long for my liking. "Uh, it's all good. No worries."

"You are hiding something. I can always tell."

Fenton scoffs. "What do you know about me?"

"Fenton. I am you."

He has no argument. He releases a loud groan. "Fine. No one's hurt or anything, but…I think I got our anxiety in the split."

And, depending on the situation, our anxiety can be pretty bad. "Elaborate."

Fenton doesn't answer right away. "How does five panic attacks in one week sound? Kind of sucky, right?"

He punctuates the statement with a small laugh, trying to make it a joke. I don't find it funny.

"It's not as bad as it sounds!" Fenton lies. "It's just kind of a nuisance, know what I mean?"

"Cease your lies, human," I command. "A panic attack is never merely a nuisance." I would know, and Fenton is aware of this. "Have any of them been…particularly bad?" The kind where we are so lost in memories of our villainous future self that we are unaware of anything else. "Fenton?" I prompt when he doesn't respond.

"Um…" I let him take his time, though the wait is eating me alive. "There was… Val was fighting Klemper and…and the Nasty Burger took a hit."

The Nasty Burger.

("I just have to run out the clock until your entire life falls apart.")

Agony shatters my chest, forcing me to land. I half-fall on to a rocky surface and somehow still have my phone in my hand. Tremors wrack my body, and I fight down what is either a whimper or a sob.

My voice shakes; I can't stop it. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Nah, man. No one was hurt." Thank the Ancients. "But, I tell ya, bro, I just straight up lost it." His voice gets tight. I can tell that he needs to talk. "It was a bad one. A real bad one. Sam and Tucker say I was wigging out for half an hour!"

That's…not normal. That's not normal for us. Even our worst panic attacks never last longer than ten minutes.

Now that I think about it, core ailment aside, I've felt lighter than I have since before I got my powers. I hadn't considered that my anxiousness may have stayed with Fenton after the split. Alternatively, this could be a case of our fixation manifesting differently in my human-half. A combination of the two, perhaps.

"I need the utmost honesty from you, Fenton," I say. "Do you feel that you are able to look after our loved ones?"

"Bro, I got this," Fenton assures. "I didn't mean to sound like I don't. I just needed to get that off my chest."

Hm… "Have you at least spoken to Jazz?"

"So she could psycho-babble me? Yeah. Just finished, actually. Though, knowing her, there's gonna be a follow-up appointment."

There is thinly veiled affection in his words. Our sister truly is a gift in our lives.

We can't lose her. Nor Mom or Sam or Tucker. We need them.

I need them.

Fenton is in no condition to protect them, I now realize. It isn't his fault, and I know that he is doing the best he can. But, if his anxiety has spiked to such a degree, then he is an unfit protector.

Unlike me.

Fenton and I send each other well wishes before ending our call. I continue flying aimlessly while (my core destroys me) I ponder the situation. How can I protect my family and search for a means of ensuring their ghostliness at the same time? Duplication is the obvious solution, but my duplicates won't hold if I am in another dimension. I have tried more than once, even asked Vlad and Eileen about it; it simply isn't possible.

(Much like ensuring that my loved ones become ghosts.) Fire blazes under my skin. I ignore it and press on.

I stop and a real smile breaks through my pain when I see a familiar little fellow approach me with a wide fanged grin and a wave of both of his tiny arms.

Bub is a toddler who passed away when he was only three months old. I cannot say the exact moment he imprinted on me, but I love him like he was of my own loins. At eighteen months, Bub is all innocence and baby fat. He has gray skin a shade lighter than my own, wholly red eyes with vertical pupils, and hair as white as mine. Our matching hair colors and similar skin colors are a coincidence, but I like to think that there's more to it.

Moving my arms is like scraping my skin against a wall of razor blades, but it's worth it to hug my son. Guilt crashes over me when I remember that I neglected to visit him this week. I try to do so at least once a week. In perfect world, he would stay with me in the human realm. Alas, 'tis better for a young ghost's development if he is given a choice, and Bub choses to roam free.

"My sweet son," I greet, fighting emotion. I place a kiss upon his bangs. "How I missed you."

Bub giggles. "You just saw me yesterday, silly!"

Ah, so Fenton spent time with him. That's good, though now I'm wondering if it's possible to be jealous of yourself.

Bub squirms out of my grasp and flaps his arms. "I'm flying around. You wanna fly around with me, Daddy?"

Yes. More than anything. "I'm sorry, Bub, but I have very important business to take care of." Most of it involves not melting into a puddle of fixation-induced agony in front of him. I fear that I am hanging on by a thread even now.

Even a hero has limitations. I refuse to let my child see mine.

"Is there a bad guy?" Bub asks.

"Something like that." I take him by his small shoulders and pray that he cannot feel me shaking as I kiss his head once more. "Another time, my imprint."

"Okay." Bub flies past me but moves backwards to wave goodbye. "Bye bye, Daddy!"

I wave back. "Farewell, my son. I love you!"

"I love you too, Daddy! Byyyyeeee!"

More much needed motivation. My son needs his Nana, his aunt Jazz, his dear friends, Sam and Tucker. I am more determined than ever to find a solution.

To protect them for my father, my son, and myself.

To ensure that…he is not a possible future.