Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Words could change, maybe even shape worlds if used properly – or if one possessed Ghostwriter's keyboard. Without that device, their power would be only derived from the impact they had on people's minds, the messages they sent to those that are interested, the images of impossible, improbable or just fascinating things they provided. With it, words built and knocked down reality, shaping it into another form or just exploiting all the opportunities for change and mischief.

Power: Ghostwriter had it and liked it. There's something about being able to conjure anything – whether in the mind or real life – that constantly thrills anyone with the ability. No wonder the word "orange" bothers anyone who ever tried to use it in a rhyme.

That train of thought lead to some very… infuriating memories involving Daniel Phantom or Fenton, depending on the half that one's familiar with. Their conflict had been resolved a day after it started, yet there were times when embers of fury still stirred in Ghostwriter, times when he longed for the story that Daniel destroyed, times when the replacement story seemed absolutely inadequate.

He sighed, and focused his attention on another part of the United States of America, one without any ghost portals, as far as he knew, anyway. Dakota. That state possessed its own more-than-human anomalies and abnormalities, but at least the ones over there did not burst into the Ghost Zone and destroy precious Christmas stories.

Instead, the anomalies and abnormalities were Bang Babies. Based on the name alone, one might believe they were the results of gang rapes (no, but some of them could be. Who knows?) or babies that go boom (maybe some of them were). Yet, the name did not say everything. The name did not tell the tale of the explosion; of the hazma gas that changed anyone it touched into superheroes, super villains or just super people. It did not tell of the other name given to the people blessed or cursed with those powers: metahumans. The power of words reached its limit when it tried to create terms that say everything about what they refer to.

Ghostwriter, furious at his thoughts for containing exposition and nothing else, sighed. He was not going to attempt an exposition-only story today or even consider whether such a thing could be done. Instead, he focused on Gear and Static.

The duo floated above the city, near each other in a way easily recognized as intimate. Their outfits overlapped and touched each other, Static's blue and yellow on Gear's white and green. So, it barely was a surprise when the heroes kissed, in a movement that only brought them closer together. It lasted a while, and they ignored almost everything else – including whatever they had just saved from certain doom – for the entire duration of that time.

When it finished, Static headed toward the centre of the city and Gear followed him, only a few millimeters behind.

Grinning, Static announced to Gear, "And the only interracial, gay, metahuman, superhero couple saved the world again!" He sighed bitterly, realizing the implications of the word "only."

"You wish there was more representation, right?" Gear replied, knowing the ways of his boyfriend's mind and the wishes of his heart.

"Yeah. There are still people out there that don't accept all or some of that, people that don't think they can be heroes." Static frowned, gazing down at the place that he and Gear had just protected. "People that don't think this can work."

"Well, there are gay superheroes, metahuman superheroes and interracial super teams and couples, V," Gear said in a soft, lightening tone. "We're just the only ones with it all in one package."

"You're right about that." Static admitted, grinning sheepishly. "Maybe it's just that lack of representation is something that I've encountered a lot."

"How about we pause this discussion until we're standing on solid ground?" Gear suggested. "And not in our costumes." He blushed, letting out a little laugh. "Or bed, either."

Their flight continued. Many buildings and streets passed beneath Static's disc and Gear's rocket boots. With his advanced technology, Gear could zoom in and check out the activity going on below, but with Static nearby, well, why the heck would he want to?

Once they reached a rather old and grey gas station, they swooped into the said building. Landing was accomplished in a smooth movement and the removal of their costumes was done just as efficiently. After saving the world for four years and truly realizing the value of their powers during the second, they had enough practice to make the easiness an expected thing.

"Call for Richie Foley," announced a machine. "From Sean Foley. Reply?"

"Not now. Definitely after Virgil and I finish our conversation about issues that he really isn't that fond of." Gear groaned, wondering if his dad attributed all his mysterious absences to romantic activities with Virgil aka Static (though his dad did not know that Virgil went by the name of Static when he saved the world.)

Ghostwriter's expression became one of cunning and satisfaction. Gear: a Foley and a smart sidekick; Tucker: a Foley and a smart sidekick. He considered it, thinking of the ways he could play with it. An idea came to him, as a natural reward for thinking.

Tucker, amazed by Danny, his boyfriend, as always, watched the hero from the ground, holding a Fenton ghost-weapon he had improved – or attempted to, anyway – and feeling both utterly attached and detached. Helping on the ground, using ghost-weapons instead of powers… useful, though limited and unable to raise his popularity. Since Danny couldn't reveal his identity and his companions would be perceived oddly if they kept leaving wherever they were at the time for no apparent reason, Tucker and Sam had to help him less than they used to and removed themselves from sight when they did so.

The ghost, frozen by an attack Danny learnt in the Ghost Zone, dropped from the sky and was sucked into the Fenton Thermos, held by Sam (who crouched behind a bush.) In an invisible rush, Danny flew to her and picked up the Fenton Thermos.

Danny Phantom, hero of both of his two worlds, then swooped over to him, Fenton Thermos in hand. "Hey, let's go! I think the ghosts have all been taken care of… for now."

Tucker smiled. "Finally! Some of the ghost fights seem to go on forever…" Especially since neither him nor Sam was really in the action anymore. He knew neither of them had the powers for fighting ghosts with Danny's method, but… Tucker didn't finish the thought, considering it to be unreasonable jealousy of powers he – according to Danny and Sam, at least – shouldn't have. Maybe even according to the rest of the world. After all, pretty much everyone that didn't know assumed that Danny chose or would choose Sam, the girl he had an infatuation with as a fourteen to fifteen year-old, one of their friends.

Even to Tucker and the others aware of it, the truth was surprising. Perhaps that was part of why Danny, always trying to make the world think he was a normal young adult, had refused to tell anyone.

"Uh, sorry about that. My ghostly duties shouldn't do that to anyone else's life. It sucks enough when they do it to my own."

And Ghostwriter, having finished typing the sentence on his keyboard, watched as both the Foleys shined with ghostly auras and appeared in the place of each other. The results, Ghostwriter decided, would be shown in the next chapter. It would be more dramatic that way.

Chapter Text

"Time to get my superhero outfit back on," Virgil muttered. "Thought my superhero duties were done for the day, but if Richie's gonna disappear… Static's gotta save him."

He snatched his Static outfit, the clothes rustling in a mini-wind generated by the quickness of the motion. That escaped his notice, of course, since as he changed his shirt, snapped on his mask and did everything else necessary for his costume change, all his attention really focused on where Richie used to be. Richie. Gear. The one he loved. Gone. Why?

When the glow dimmed, revealing a guy, holding a weapon, Virgil reckoned that he had found the cause. The actual position of the ghostly weapon (by the guy's side, in a position that suggested that it would be sheathed if it could be) and the expression on the guy's face (reminiscent of a WTF icon) indicated that the guy meant no harm and was just as bothered as Virgil by this, yet the loss of Richie made him blind to such cues.

Static grabbed the guy's shirt, holding him against one of the walls of the gas station. "You have ten seconds to tell me where Richie is!"

Electricity coursed into the guy's black skin, making him flinch with the power of Virgil's fury.

"Uh, sorry but I really don't know where 'Richie' is, or who the heck he is, for that matter," he stuttered out. "If I did, I'd tell you. I am one of the good guys."

"Okay," Virgil replied. "Who are you? A Bang Baby? And how'd ya get here?"

"Tucker Foley or rather TF: Too Fine." He attempted a grin as he said it, in what Virgil recognized as an attempt to dissipate the tense atmosphere. "Not a Bang Baby; dunno how I got here, but it probably involved ghostly magic."

"Ghosts?" Virgil frowned, that word leading him onto a train of thought involving his dead mother. "Alright. So, there's a lot more in Heaven and Earth than I've seen so far."

Tucker, smirking, replied, "Bang Babies: guess there's more than I've seen, too. Who knows? Maybe all myths and stories are true." He sighed. "Yeah, there are ghosts. Lots of people hunt them, but there's only one or two guys that manage to catch them."

Virgil Ovid Hawkins, recalling someone who might be a ghost, wondered why anyone would hunt and catch the dearly departed. Were they the malevolent creatures of ghost stories, not the people loved in life? Did they scare the shit out of everyone and did that fear make people want to remove them from existence? Were they too strange, too odd? Too hard to understand?

He sighed, navigating his mind away from that mournful and probably rather useless tangent. "So, who are the successful ghost-hunters?"

"Danny Phantom, mostly. From the name, yeah… he's a ghost. Vlad's for-the-sake-of-PR ghost-hunting team was pretty successful, too, though a town full of ghosts is a lot better than having him in control." Tucker paused, as if to see if he was forgetting anyone. "The Fentons try, but their devices are rarely successful and often more whimsical than useful."

"So, there's Danny Phantom, Vlad's PR-hunting team and the Fentons," Virgil summarized. "Danny is a ghost, Vlad's looking for public support and the Fentons epically fail most of the time. Okay."

"Pretty much," Tucker affirmed, hesitant. "Except you kinda got Vlad's motivations wrong. He wants public support because it helps him manipulate people to get his plans to work, not because he's an attention whore. Not that it really matters, but yeah… just clarifying."

"Vlad's not an attention whore; got it! He's just… evil." Virgil rolled his eyes, figuring that getting to know about the hunting scene in the ghost place would easier and less ridiculous if he wasn't talking to an ordinary citizen that happened to be holding a high-tech weapon. That caused the Eureka lightbulb to go off in his head, the realization boinking his head apple-style. "Hey, why are you holding that gun? You probably don't need it. Are you involved in the ghost-hunting business, too?"

Tucker flinched, his expression showing the fear that came with the exposure or near exposure of secrets. His body tensed, and it took him a few minutes to reply. "Not really. I'm just the sidekick that spent – and spends – a lot of time not mattering much to people, but is adored by the hero when he has the time."

That was not really the information that Virgil wanted, but hey, at least, he knew what Tucker's role was. Logically (as Mr. Spock would say), the next question should be: "Whose sidekick are you?"

That question got Tucker flailing and sweating. "Sorry, but I can't tell you. Can't reveal the hero's secret identity, after all, and telling you who I help kick ghost ass with might really hint at it."

Virgil smirked. "I definitely get what you're saying, there. When people know someone's secret identity, they have quite a bit of power and not everyone can be trusted with it." He paused, sighing. "Back to Richie, since getting infodumped on ghost-hunting and all the epic failures in that field certainly isn't helping me get an idea of what happened to him. I highly doubt that a Fenton's ineptness was the cause of his disappearance."

He searched through his brain, looking for anything slightly relevant. What he found answered – or seemed to answer – nothing. Yeah, Tucker and Richie were both Foley's, but considering their differently colored skin, they probably weren't related or if they were, their genetic closeness was that of cousins. And Virgil doubted that any of Richie's relatives would randomly replace him with a differently hued cousin. If any of them were that crazy, Richie'd have already told him.

"Alright, Richie." Tucker sighed, hoping that his importance to Danny exceeded or was equal to Richie's importance to Virgil. He hoped that if Richie, whoever he was, appeared to replace him, Danny would interrogate him about Bang Babies, trying to discover what happened to him. He hoped that his friend and lover considered him worthy of finding, as awesome as this 'Richie' must be. He hoped, though thousands of girls had instilled an inferiority complex into him, though he used to be the mostly ignored and/or picked on one of Danny's trio. He hoped, because he had to get back to Amity Park, because he loved Danny and vice-versa, and because he knew that he shouldn't be neglected, rejected or forgotten by anyone he cared about. Things seemed kinda impossible and tricky to figure out, but he hoped because he'd better be saved.