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Chapter Text

Danny's parents had been giving him regular checkups since he was fifteen — since his first Death Day — since they found him in the dark bathroom with his eyes glowing like headlamps, and dragged him down to the lab for a good old fashioned interrogation, just in case he had been replaced by an evil ghost in the dead of night. The checkups were biweekly at first. When his vitals proved stable, they decided it was safe to drop to once per month. Then every third month. Danny was seventeen now, and these regular examinations had long since become normal for him. Not necessarily comfortable, but easy to put up with, and far better than the alternative. 

It was mostly his mother acting as doctor these days. She was always confident and professional, and that generally put Danny at ease. Today was his first checkup since he came out to his parents as Dead. He was nervous this time, mostly because his mother was nervous, and Danny, being something like a ghost, could empathetically feel her nerves as if they were his own. It was his least favorite ghostly ability by far. 

He had filled out his emotional survey earlier that day. His mother was finished with his vitals, the sensory tests, and the scan that recorded his ectoplasm levels. So far, everything was normal — although his heart rate was all the way up to 43 BPM, but that was only because he was nervous. 

His mother had just finished photographing his horns for documentation, and now she was staring at her tablet, a small crease between her brows. 

Danny slouched on the exam table. He didn't really feel like slouching. He was more in the mood to sit rigidly, but he was trying to convince himself that everything was fine, so a rather forced slouch it was. 

His mother was still staring at her tablet. He tentatively touched one of his horns. It felt normal — as normal as a bony point of keratin protruding from his skull could feel. Was there some problem? Was he bleeding? He didn't feel anything wrong, but he could taste his mother's indecision like smoke in the air. 

“Mom?” Danny asked tentatively. 

“Ah,” she jerked her head up. “Sorry.” She set the tablet down on the table. “I was just wondering if, as an additional step in your checkups going forward, perhaps I could take a look at — if you wouldn't mind, sweetie, I know you don't make a habit of, ah, being, or —”

Oh. That's what she was worried about. Danny cut off her nervous rambling. “You want me to go ghost?”

She let out a relieved sigh. “Yes.”

Now Danny had something entirely concrete to stress about instead of his mother's nebulous anxiety. He hadn't exposed his ghost form to his parents since he came out last week. He hadn't volunteered, and they hadn't asked. Danny would have been fine if he never showed them again, because the feeling of them and him and all the messy emotions that pairing evoked… Danny had better things to do. Like watch movies. Or play in traffic. 

Sitting on the padded exam table, Danny felt particularly vulnerable. His mother never asked him to do anything he wasn't comfortable with during these checkups, but Danny was always aware, on some level, that she wasn't just his mom. She was Maddie Fenton, ghost hunter. And she wanted to see him as a ghost. He knew from ample experience exactly how that felt. He'd run from her gunfire too many times. 

But — Danny took a deep breath. This was his mom. The request, he could grudgingly admit, was reasonable. This was his mom. She had seen him. She already knew. She was safe.

She was safe. She was safe. She was safe.

Danny nodded. “Yeah, that's fine.”

His mother pursed her lips and gave a tight, expectant smile. She took a step back. When Danny only stared at her, she made a little gesture of invitation. 

Danny closed his eyes.

She's safe, she's safe, she's safe —

He transformed. 

The chill of ectoplasm cascaded down his body, cooling him like an ice bath. His sense of touch became fuzzy but his sense of presence sharpened to a point. He didn't need to look to see Maddie tense and suck in a small breath. He opened his eyes to regard her anyway. Her face was tight as she tried to hide her anxiety. His bodily glow reflected in her eyes, and she shivered as she met his own caustic green.

Danny knew what he looked like. His sallow green complexion, his jagged edges, his hair flickering up like cold fire to limn the angular curves of his horns with pale ghostlight, revealing the long points of his ears. He hoped they weren't twitching with the sounds of the lab. He stopped himself from balling his fists and rested his hands on the edge of the table instead, leaving his lethal claws in full view if Maddie cared to look. She had asked for this, after all. He was going to give it to her. 

With his sharpened senses, Danny could feel her struggling with herself behind her mask. Danny was nervous too, and he couldn't help the defensive flare of his aura in response. He knew what kind of effect that had on the living. He could taste the primal fear reaching from Maddie's hindbrain as she stood inches from a predator, weaponless. Danny would never hurt her. He was sure that she knew it, yet goosebumps covered her arms under her sleeves. Danny could feel that, too. 

Her fear twisted inside him like indigestion. He drank it in, and simultaneously resented it as it struck a sugary sweet satisfaction deep in his core. In some desire to give her comfort, he kept his teeth behind his lips, and with a conflicting urge to needle her, he crossed his ankles and allowed his legs to merge into a smoky ghostly tail; unignorable inhumanity. 

Danny had known for a long time that he wasn't human anymore. Maddie, his mother, had some catching up to do. The nerves tightening up her chest told him so. 

He kept still, even as he squirmed inside with the dissonance of his own feelings. He drank in her fear; he loved her and wanted to sooth her. This was the reason he didn't like to spend much time as a ghost around the living.

Face blank, he turned aside while Maddie struggled. 

He could feel her love, too. He could feel it ripple, wax and wane as it fought with her involuntary fear as she reminded herself over and over that he was her son. He could imagine her trying to merge her image of the monstrous Phantom with her precious Danny, and so he waited obediently while she worked through her own issues. 

He knew she could do it. Sam and Tucker had. Jazz had. They acted like it was nothing, but he remembered, at the beginning, their involuntary shudders and their hesitance to touch. Danny was a predator. He wasn't made to comfort the living, no matter how much he loved them. He had come to terms with that. And so, it wasn't difficult for him to say, in crackling tones that echoed, “I know you're scared of me.”

Maddie jolted. “No! Danny, I would never —”

“You don't have to lie.” He met her eyes, harder than she deserved. Then he looked away and admitted, “Ghosts can feel emotions.” Had he ever said that out loud? It was easy, here and now. Probably because he wasn't trying to be human. 

Maddie's breath stuttered in her throat like she'd been caught red handed.

Danny looked at her evenly, but her wounded gaze shook his confidence. He winced, bolstered himself, and said, “Its okay that you're afraid. That's —” he coughed awkwardly, “— that's the idea. I'm scary.” 

“No, sweetheart —”

She didn't get it. He glared at her, saw her flinch, and snapped, “Mom, you've seen tons of other ghosts. You know I'm scary. It's not an accident.”

Affront flashed across her face.

He hurried to clarify, “I mean, I didn't do it on purpose, but it's —” he growled in frustration, “— it's part of my thing! You know what I'm saying? I protect Amity Park, and being scary helps.” 

Her face cleared with sudden understanding. Danny didn't realize until that moment how much he had needed it. His aura settled.

“Yeah, so.” He looked away again, this time with a strange peace beginning to bloom. “That's why it's okay. You're — it's normal. I'm no Casper. I know.”

A similar warmth began to grow inside his mother. Danny stared at his lap, feeling mildly embarrassed, until that warmth began expanding, then overflowing. Danny jerked his head up in dismay; he didn't know what to do with feelings like that. 

Maddie gazed at him with bright eyes. She swallowed hard, then stepped in to wrap her arms around him. 

Danny froze. Her bare hands were hot against his back, like heated stones. He was familiar enough with the feeling of living skin against his ectoplasm, but when her jumpsuit made contact, Danny went rigid. The ectophobic material burned, both hot and cold, on the verge of pain, and unforgiving as steel. Her grief and love poured over him. He felt like he was drowning. 

“I love you, sweetheart,” she murmured into his shoulder. “Scary ghost and all.”

Danny couldn't compute. He phased intangible. Her hands sunk through him, but the sleeves of her suit had no give. Danny struggled. She faltered, giving him just enough room to escape in her confusion. He shot backwards, out of range, his core thrumming with panic.

Maddie staggered against the exam table. Her potent worry stabbed at him. She reached out, but Danny was already gone. He passed through the metal walls of the lab, into the earth, and flew skyward. 

Danny wrapped himself in flesh, then wrapped himself in blankets. He would have gone flying to clear his head, but his ectoplasm felt too raw right now. Even as a human he could sense the faint emotional imprints of the people in his house, but he could tune them out when he was like this. It was even easier with Sam's new mixtape blasting through his headphones. 

And so, he was particularly displeased when one of those emotional imprints walked close enough to his room that he couldn't ignore it. He slipped off his headphones just in time for them to knock.

“Danny,” it was his sister's voice, “are you in there?”

“Go away,” he mumbled.

“What? I can't hear you.”

Danny groaned and rolled over to glare at his door. After a moment, the knob obliged him and unlatched itself. 

Jazz poked her head around the doorframe as it creaked open. “Hi,” she said.

Danny rolled back over and pulled his blankets tighter.

“Did mom upset you?”

“No,” Danny grumbled. 

“Really?” He could practically hear her raised eyebrow. “Because she just came up from the lab looking like she ran over somebody's dog, and she's asking about you.”

Danny wriggled around just enough to glare at her.

“What did she do?”

What did she do? Danny turned back to stare at the wall. His mom hadn't done anything, honestly. She had seen him, just like he'd wanted. She had accepted him, scary ghost and all. So was Danny the fuck up? Was it his fault he felt so angry and scraped raw? He didn't want to tell his sister that he ran away. That Maddie had scared him so badly he couldn't think. 

Danny mumbled into his sheets, “Said she loved me. Ghost me.” 

He was glad he couldn't see Jazz's face — not that he needed to. Her sympathetic heartbreak was almost suffocating as she murmured, “Oh, Danny,” as if she understood something he didn't. 

He didn't care. He grabbed his headphones and shoved them back over his ears. Turned the volume up a little louder. After a few moments, he felt his sister move away. 

Danny couldn't hide forever. Eventually, he got hungry. He slunk out of bed, shrugged on his biggest hoodie, and crept downstairs. 

His mom was in the living room with a blanket over her shoulders and a needlepoint in her lap, watching Close Encounters for the millionth time. Danny winced. He must have really upset her.  

He shrouded himself with invisibility on his way to the kitchen, counting on the TV to mask the sound of his footsteps. He was rummaging through his stash of beef jerky when the movie paused with a ringing silence. She called his name.

“…Yeah?”

A rustle of blankets, and his mother stepped around the corner. “Are you alright, sweetie?” 

“Yeah.” Danny tore the wrapper off with his teeth, then ripped into the dried meat. 

She frowned. “I didn't mean to upset you earlier.”

Danny chewed and swallowed. “You didn't.”

Her anxiety still echoed in the air. Before, when Danny was a ghost, the fear had tasted good as much as it grated. Now it only made him angry. She was his mom. She wasn't supposed to be afraid of him at all. He tore another bite out of the jerky to mask the way his lip curled.

“Danny —”

“I'm fine, see?” In a flash of impulse, he transformed right then and there in the kitchen. 

Maddie took a surprised step back before correcting herself. Her fear burned for a spare second, until Danny felt a wave of resolution pass through her, smoothing the wrinkles of anxiety and pulling her shoulders straight. Her smile was still a little tight around the edges, but her gaze didn't waver as she said, “Okay. That's good, honey.” 

Danny's feet lifted off the floor. His knees drew up towards his chest as he studied her. Danny couldn't tell if she had vanquished her fear or if she was only hiding it very well. He took another bite of his jerky; it didn't stand a chance against his much sharper ghostly fangs. 

Maddie's nerves burned away entirely under a bout of fervent curiosity. Danny almost groaned, even before she asked, “You can eat as a ghost?”

Chewing didn't take as long with his current mouthful of daggers. He swallowed and said, “Yeah. Most fully formed ghosts can.” Maybe if he humored her she would go away. 

Instead, her eyes lit up. “Where does it go?”

Danny scowled. “I don't know.” He took another bite and focused on his snack to stifle the instinct to flare his aura.

“Do you excrete?”

“Ew, Mom!” The lights flickered, Maddie's breath frosted the air — Danny hurried to reel himself back in. But if he had scared her at all, it must have been so brief that he missed it while he was wrangling with his touchy aura. 

She crossed her arms and gave him a look as if she were the one being harassed. “I'm just curious,” she said. “Can you blame me? There aren't many ghosts I can have a conversation with.”

“And whose fault is that?” Danny muttered. 

She drew herself up. “It's not as if —”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved a clawed hand. “Violent ghosts, whatever. Sorry.”

His mother huffed. Danny didn't have the energy to be polite to her. He drifted over to the fridge, dropping his wrapper in the trash on the way there. He was surprised to find that the expected cloud of cold air from inside the refrigerator didn't feel any different from the warm kitchen. Then it occurred to him that he had never raided his own refrigerator in his ghost form. It had always been too risky. He pushed aside the nonsensical urge to shut himself inside and see what it looked like in there with nothing but his own ghostlight illuminating the leftovers.

He absentmindedly tapped a long finger against the door, then pulled out a half-full box of yesterday's pork lo mein. He extended his aura toward the silverware drawer, tugged it open with a thought, and retrieved a fork. Food always tasted better when he ate it as a human, but — he glanced back at his mom. She was still watching him. 

“Do you need something?” he asked pointedly.

Her expression — her emotions — were too complicated for him to parse. But they weren't overwhelming, so Danny decided not to worry about it. After a moment, she said, “Danny, I was wondering. Would you like to come ghost hunting with your father and me?”

He almost choked around a mouthful of noodles. “Why?”

She blinked at him. “I just thought it would be nice. A little bonding experience. We could give you some backup, you know.”

“I already have backup.”

“Then… maybe you could back us up.” She looked annoyingly hopeful.

But Danny couldn't deny that the idea of protecting his parents tugged at his core. They were always so reckless. Maybe they would actually listen to him now. He worked through another bite of noodles, then said, “Okay.” 

His mother's surprise was palpable, but pleasant. She nodded, dawdled. He turned back to his leftovers and she headed back into the living room. When he heard the movie unpause, Danny switched back to human form to better enjoy his food. He wandered in after her. The movie was at the mashed potato scene. He leaned against the back of the couch to watch. 

Danny had always thought it was bizarre that his mom hated ghosts so much while her favorite movie was Close Encounters of the Third Kind. But maybe, he mused, she just hadn't had the right kind of contact yet.

Chapter Text

Danny didn't usually hang around the garage when his parents were there. Up until now, he had given the impression that he didn't like ghost hunting, so he had never really witnessed them preparing the GAV. The process was, in short, an ADHD nightmare. Standing next to him, Jazz was taking a few deep breaths, probably calming her urge to strangle them and take over — or at the very least, make a very detailed checklist. 

She leaned in to murmur in his ear, “Are you sure about this?”

Danny waved dismissively. “Yeah, of course. I said I'd do it, and you know they need babysitting.”

Jazz rolled her eyes. “I'm just…”

“Worried they're gonna do something stupid?”

“And make you uncomfortable, yeah.” She sighed.

Danny offered her a softer smile. “Don't worry. I got this.” He glanced at the GAV, his father's legs sticking out of the skylight as he calibrated some precariously placed equipment, and the sound of his mother doing who knows what inside. And for some reason, “I… want to.”

His mother called out from the open door, “Danny, where's your hazmat suit? I can't find it.” 

Danny grimaced. He called back, “Permanently fused to my ghost form after I got fried in the portal.”

A loud clang echoed from inside the vehicle, followed by his mother's muffled cursing. 

Jazz massaged her forehead. “Oh my god, Danny…”

Danny shrugged. “Ask dumb questions, get dumb answers.” 

Danny's father popped his head up and said, “That's what I call a commitment to safety!” As if Danny had chosen to wear Fenton brand hazmat for his entire afterlife. He carefully unhooked his claws from the hem of his t-shirt, where he'd accidentally pierced the fabric with his full-body cringe.  

His father hopped down from the roof of the GAV with far more agility than his size would suggest. “Hey!” He bounded over and clapped an excited hand on Danny's shoulder. “Do you want a new one for your human form?” he said with a wink. 

Danny wasn't sure whether to wince at the staggering insensitivity, or smile at his father's weirdly enthusiastic acceptance. He settled with squirming away from the ectophobic glove clasped over his shoulder. It didn't hurt, but the tingling wasn't pleasant, even through his shirt. “That's okay Dad, I'm kind of allergic now.”

His father's mouth went round with surprise. “Oh yeah!” he exclaimed, as if Danny had just reminded him he was gluten free, rather than describing the effects of his inhumanity. 

From inside the GAV, Danny felt a powerfully uncomfortable flux of emotions that he had no inclination to explore. 

“Well, let's see what else we have.” His father went to the wall of storage cabinets and started rummaging through a box of gear. He tossed aside two specter deflectors, a suspicious looking pair of gloves, and a number of things Danny had never seen before. Finally he pulled out a completely normal toolbelt. 

“Aha!” He held it up. “We can put some holsters on this. Oh, how about a wrist ray?”

Danny held up his hands. “I really don't need anything, Dad.”

His father gave him a kicked puppy pout.

“I can, you know.” Danny held up a pair of finger guns. “Pew, pew.”

His father's eyes lit up again. “Right!” He grinned hugely and ruffled Danny's hair. Danny sidestepped away as the gloves tingled his scalp. 

Then his mother emerged from the GAV. “How about some body armor, sweetheart?”

Jazz stomped over. “Mom, Danny is a ghost, he doesn't need —”

This was getting ridiculous. Danny rolled his eyes and transformed in a flash of light. He was going to have to change at some point, so he might as well get it over with now. He drifted into the air, appreciating weightlessness even as he glared at his mother, and projected a series of precise shields in demonstration. With an undertone of irritated static, he said, “I really don't need any gear.” 

His father let out a whoop, but his mother only frowned. “I just don't want you to get hurt, honey.”

Danny was grateful that his parents couldn't perceive the uncertain flux of his aura. The truth was, he did get hurt. A lot. He just didn't care because of how quickly he healed. Even so, he wasn't about to wear his parents' ghost hunting gear. For one thing, it would be embarrassing for the other ghosts to see him in it. He said, “I'm fine, mom. That stuff is just going to slow me down.”

To his dismay, Jazz helpfully suggested, “Maybe later you guys could work on some body armor that works with Danny's ghost form.”

His parents brightened, but Danny glared at her. She whispered, “You don't have to wear it, but you do get hurt a lot, you know.” 

Danny sighed. To his parents, he demanded, “Are you guys ready yet?”

“You know what?” Jazz said, “I'm coming. Mom, where's my suit?”

“What? Jazz, no —” The last thing Danny needed was another person to protect. 

“In the closet, sweetie!”

Jazz murmured to her brother, “I don't trust them to behave.” She set off to find her rarely used suit. 

Danny trailed after her, going slightly indistinct with embarrassment. “You really don't have to, Jazz.”

She gave him a smug look. “Maybe I just want to watch the show.”

Danny moaned and drifted into the rafters to sulk. 

It was another fifteen minutes before they were actually ready to leave. Danny couldn't understand why they were taking so long, considering his parents' usual method of jumping in the GAV and hightailing it out of the neighborhood, but his parents never claimed to make sense. 

“Danny? Are you getting in?” his mother asked. 

“No. Why would I do that?” He adjusted the Fenton Phones in his ears. They never sat quite right after his ears grew long and pointed, but he only ever remembered the problem while he was wearing the them, and therefore too busy to fix them. They worked well enough, so he stopped fiddling. 

His mother was frowning at him through the open passenger door. “I'd really feel better with you riding inside.”

From the back seat, Jazz said, “Mom, let Danny do what he wants. He has methods.”

“It would really be safer —” 

His father took that moment to rev the engine, then said, “Oops!” because the GAV was in neutral. It did nothing more than make a lot of noise. Danny wrinkled his nose at the exhaust, lamenting the fact that he needed to breathe in order to speak.

To his mom, he said, “No way. I can't sense anything from in there. The shielding in the walls is too thick.”

“Howdy ho!” his father shouted, and the GAV jolted forward. 

Danny flew alongside as they exited the garage, adopting his flickering ghostly tail for added speed. His mother slammed the door shut as they tore down the driveway, and Danny switched on his Fenton Phones. 

His mother immediately asked through the communicator, “What do you mean by sense?”

“Uh…”

Jazz tuned in and shouted, “Mom, leave Danny alone! He is not a test subject.”

“I know that!” his mother snapped. 

“It's okay, Jazz,” Danny said, and it was. Surprisingly, he found himself appreciating his mom's interest. His hesitance to answer was mainly because he had no idea how to explain. He tried, “Its kind of like a sixth sense, I guess. Like, I don't really need to use my eyes to see when I'm in ghost form because I can just sense a lot of things.”

”Wow!” said his father, ”It's like a super power.”

Danny laughed. “Not really. My sense of touch is totally nerfed, so it's more like a trade off.”

”What's this sense called?” asked his mother.

“I don't know, I just call it my ghost sense. It took me a long time to figure out how to use it. All I really know is that it's the primary sense for ghosts.” Danny paused to do an evasive maneuver while the GAV whipped around a corner. “I mean, probably. I don't know for sure since I'm not actually a ghost.”

His mother hummed thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that you've always shown up on our scanners like any other ghost. All these years, and we didn't even know you were different.”

“Heat signature!” his father shouted.

“Oh, that's true.” His mother explained, ”During your first year or so, your heat signature was much higher than other ghosts. Relatively, I mean. We always thought it was strange.”

Danny nodded to himself. “That must have been before my ice powers came in. Now I'm extra chilly.” He glided close to the passenger window and gave his mother a toothy grin, and blew frost across the glass. 

“Danny!”

He cackled, then veered off and flew up to coast above the GAV. “All right, give me a sec,” he said. “I'm going to do a little scouting with my ghost sense.” He smiled into the wind.

“No worries Danno, we've already got the scanners going,” his father said.

“Yeah, well I have more range.”

“More than the Fenton Finder 3.0 XL? This baby can scan a half mile in every direction!”

Danny's scoff crackled through the comms. “I can tell you what's happening all the way at the mall, if you want.”

“That's clear across town! How do you manage that?”

Danny shrugged, although his family couldn't see it. “My town, my Haunt. We work together.”

“What does —”

“Will you give me a sec?” Danny griped. “I'm trying to focus.” He flicked off his Fenton Phones for some peace and quiet.

Danny kept his eyes on the GAV and let his mind spiral out, melting into the wider pool of Amity Park. His Haunt welcomed him. Danny relaxed into shared consciousness. 

So, he may have misled his parents a little bit on the nature of his scouting. It wasn't just his ghost sense that he used to get a lay of the land, although that was part of it. Mostly, he simply asked and listened. 

It had taken a long time for the bond to form. Danny didn't even know it was happening until one day he realized that Amity Park was alive, and that it was speaking to him. Danny didn't pretend to understand how it worked. He didn't need to understand on any analytical level to know instinctively how to speak and listen and feel what his Haunt felt. There was no question in his mind that Amity Park was his and that he belonged to Amity Park. They were partners. Danny knew the love was mutual. 

Maybe his parents would stop trying to take him on vacation now that they knew what he was. He could travel if he needed to, but Danny had no desire to leave his Haunt, ever. In Danny's opinion, there wasn't any place better. From the houses to the trees to every individual resident, Danny loved it, and he would go to great lengths to protect it. He already had, over and over, and he didn't intend to ever stop. 

One of the reasons he had been so afraid to reveal his identity was the fear that his parents would try to limit his patrolling. The fact that they were encouraging him instead made his core hum pleasantly. He could feel them now, little whirlpools of presence cruising down the road below him, devoted, in a way, like he was. Too bad their sensors were so weak. Danny stretched his mind. 

His town sprawled out before him, a living map that fluxed and flowed. It didn't have a heartbeat, but only barely. Presences, both living and dead, pulsed with emotion and intention like fish darting through a vibrant reef. Danny asked without words and allowed his Haunt to guide his attention. There, toward the edge of town —

Below him, the GAV took a sudden left turn, startling Danny from his thoughts. Annoyance flashed through him as he flicked his Fenton Phones back on and caught the tail end of his father shouting something unintelligible. “What's going on?” Danny asked.

"Got a ping over on Chestnut!" came the excited reply. 

Danny consulted his Haunt. He frowned. “There's no action that way.”

“Hah!” his father shouted. “Let's see whose scanner is better, now!”

The GAV sped up. Danny groaned, and followed along. As he had sensed, there was a cluster of ghosts convening in the back corner of the parking lot where the GAV skidded to a stop, but they were just haunting quietly. Nothing Danny would usually interfere with. His parents, on the other hand, either couldn't tell the difference or didn't care. 

As they leapt out of the GAV, their bloodthirsty fervor shook him. Danny wasn't a fool, he knew what ghost hunting meant to his parents. He was only now realizing that he thought they'd be different now that they knew. 

He shook his head to clear it. Stupid. He darted forward to intercept them.

“Take that, ghost scum!” Jack cried as he opened fire. 

Danny bared his fangs and flared his aura in warning. He dropped a broad shield in the path of the gunfire; the blasts fizzled out. 

The small group of ghosts scattered. To them, Danny imagined the scene looked exactly the same as always. The Fentons: trigger-happy. Phantom: swooping in, adversarial. 

This wasn't what Danny had signed up for. He extended his aura in apology, but the ghosts had already evacuated the area. 

Danny whirled on Jack and Maddie. “What's wrong with you?” he hissed. 

Maddie glared at him. “You let them get away!”

“Of course I did, they weren't doing anything wrong!” 

Jack shook his gun. “They're ghosts! Who knows what they could have gotten up to?”

“I do!” Danny crackled. Frustration flickered jagged darkness across his form. Green energy sparked along his claws. 

Jack and Maddie tensed and took a defensive step back. 

Danny closed his eyes to escape the looks of alarm on their faces. He pulled his aura back in, compressing himself, and willed the excess energy away. He drifted down to the pavement, shifted his tail back into a pair of legs, and planted his feet. “Sorry,” he muttered. 

His father approached, more hesitant than usual. His mother followed, and asked, “You know what those ghosts are up to.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, how are we supposed to know?” The question was genuine.

“I don't know, use your eyes? Ask?” Danny offered. “It's not that hard.”

Jack scoffed, although not unkindly. “You want us to walk up to a bunch of ghosts, asking how's the weather?”

Danny scuffed his boot on the pavement. “It'd be great if you could just leave them alone unless they're actually doing something wrong, but sure, why not?” When his parents gaped at him, he amended, “I mean, if they freak out you can fight back, obviously, but those guys,” he gestured, “they were just hanging out.” 

His parents shared a look. Then his father drew himself up and said, “I don't want any old ghosts starting to think they're welcome around here.”

Danny bristled. “They are.”

Jack's eyebrows rose. “Says who?”

“Says me.” Danny bared his fangs. His silhouette went dark and jagged as he rose into the air to match his father's height. He hissed in a staticky growl, “This is my Haunt. I make the rules.”

The sound of a gun cocking echoed in the empty parking lot. 

“Jack,” his mother hissed, anxiety palpable. “Put that down.”

And now they were fighting. Danny twisted in on himself and tugged on his horns in frustration. Jazz was right. He was so stupid to think this would work. Before anything else insanely creepy could slip out of his mouth, he shook out his ectoplasm and shot into the sky. The open air and singing wind always soothed him.

My Haunt? I make the rules? Danny rubbed his forehead as he flew. Way to sound like a cartoon villain.  

He absolutely regretted saying it, and absolutely knew that it was true. Perhaps, he thought, part of the reason he wanted to share a ghost hunting excursion with his parents was to show them that fact. If he had been more conscious of the desire, maybe he would have been more careful, because he was only now realizing how inhuman the impulse was. 

Maybe I should start pissing on street corners, too.  

Danny rolled onto his back as he flew and allowed himself some indulgent misery, along with a brief montage of getting arrested for public indecency and then committed to an asylum when he explained his reasoning. 

Jazz was probably having a field day right now. I make the rules. Geez. 

And yet, Danny did make the rules — for ghosts, anyway. And that was the trouble with ghost hunters. They were alive. They couldn't understand even the broadest strokes of the silent language ghosts spoke. They couldn't hear it at all. Danny had actually been relieved by the idea of his parents being able to finally help him instead of causing more problems, but how could they truly help when they were biologically incapable of reading the room? When they couldn't understand the nuance that made the difference between helpful policing and domestic terrorism? His mother's question was valid. How were they supposed to know? Sam and Tucker helped him patrol, but they always went out together, and they always deferred to Danny before acting. 

Danny groaned and scrubbed at his face. He could always just tell them. It wouldn't free up any of his time, but it would solve the problem. He could tell them right now, in fact. That intruding presence near the edge of town was still prickling at him. 

It would be a good olive branch, in any case. 

Danny flipped the switch on his Fenton Phones. “Pssht, Phantom here. Do you read?” Then he winced. He was too used to talking to Sam and Tucker on these things. 

“Danny!” Jazz exclaimed. 

“Danno, you're back, son!”

“Oh, sweetheart! Are you alright? We're so sorry about earlier.”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Danny said. It had only been ten minutes ago. “You guys still on the road?”

“Sure are, kiddo!”

Danny smiled in spite of himself. “Meet me at the old industrial complex off thirty-two.”

“Aye aye, be there in a jiffy!”

“Dad, you just ran a red,” Jazz complained. 

Danny sped off to beat them there.

Chapter Text

Danny touched down at the edge of the parking lot. It was cracked, overgrown, and empty aside from the rundown blocky buildings that made up the abandoned complex. Not even a wisp greeted him. Danny wasn't surprised, considering the antagonistic presence permeating the entire area. It felt like a silent forest in anticipation of a predator. Danny inhaled, tasting the air. 

The spectral memory of burnt metal, machine oil, and a stalking predator's musk. 

A low growl rose in Danny's throat.

He could sense the GAV still a minute or two down the road, so Danny allowed himself a moment to scout. The aura clearly belonged to Skulker, but Danny's sense of it was diffuse, imprecise, as if the hunter had done something to confuse his location. Danny loosened his molecules, better to let the ambient ectoplasm permeate his senses. He tried again. The enemy aura was still undefined, but more concentrated to the south east, somewhere around —

The GAV tore into the empty parking lot. As focused as he was, Danny didn't even notice it until it was nearly on top of him. He snapped his molecules back together and leaped into the air, somersaulting, to land neatly on its roof as the vehicle skidded to a stop. He flicked his Fenton Phones back on. Standard pre-fight chatter resumed. It seemed like his parents hadn't even seen him. Danny idly wondered what he looked like when he relaxed his form like that. He walked across the roof to the front of the GAV and tipped forward to hang upside down in front of the windshield. He gave a jaunty wave.

As fast as he could blink, Jack was aiming a charged ectogun at his head with a snarl on his face and a shout. Just as quickly, he dropped the gun and happily returned Danny's greeting. “Hey there, Danno!”

“Jack!” his mother snapped. “You have to stop doing that.”

Danny didn't really mind. He found it oddly nice that his father didn't tiptoe or offer awkward apologies. Getting aimed at wasn't so bad. Mostly, Danny was happy that his family wasn't shooting at him anymore. 

At least his father had the decency to look sheepish. Danny jumped off the roof and drifted around to the passenger side. He didn't reach for the handle, though. The ectophobic paint always burned him a little bit. Maybe they would repaint the handles with something less toxic if he asked. The thought made him smile. In a moment, the doors slid open and his family — his team  — were tumbling out with an assortment of weapons and gear. 

“That was a good call, son,” his father said with a friendly slap on the back. He didn't seem to notice Danny stiffen and squirm out from under his hand. He was fully immersed with the bulky ghost tracker strapped to his arm. “We got a big ol' ectosignature beeping right at us.” 

Danny's mother peered at the screen, then at Danny. “And this ghost is definitely, er, up to no good?”

Danny felt his glow brightening at his mother's trust. He nodded. “It's Skulker, but I can't pinpoint his location. He did something to mask his aura.”

“Not according to the Fenton Finder 3.0 PortaPro! I got a lock on that ectoplasmic slime about four hundred yards, thatta way,” his father pointed southeast. 

Danny swallowed down a twinge of unease. It was a good thing that the tracker worked, he reminded himself. His parents' inventions weren't dangerous to him. Not anymore. He pushed aside the reflexive plans of sabotage. 

His mother's fighting spirit seemed to have returned now that she'd checked everything off her list of things to tiptoe around. She grinned like a predator in her own right. “That ghost doesn't stand a chance.”

With some brief coordination, Jazz took the driver seat of the GAV. She would keep to the rear as backup, while Danny ranged out ahead of his parents, who proceeded into the hunt on foot. It was a truly bizarre feeling, being on the same side as them. Although his instincts wouldn't stop pinging their presence as a threat, which was proving to be a bit of a distraction. 

Perhaps that was the reason that, a few minutes into his exploration, he flew right into one of Skulker's traps. One moment he was drifting through the complex, the next he was grounded and wrapped in spectral, phase-proof ropes. 

Unlike usual, his parents jumped into action to free him. They made short work of bindings, and Danny was upright and on high alert in no time. 

Skulker chose that moment to show himself in a shimmer of vanishing invisibility. “What’s this?” he sneered. “Phantom and the doctors Fenton, working together?”

Danny growled sub-vocally, channeling an undertone of threatening ghost speak while his mother and father fell into formation around him. 

“You bet we are!” his father shouted.

Danny’s growl faltered with a pang of embarrassment. 

“What a shame. My biggest competitors out of the game.” Skulker leered at each Fenton in turn. “I thought you wanted to destroy him, molecule by molecule?”

“That isn’t us anymore,” Danny’s mother bit out.

“Oh?” Skulker’s robotic eyes went wide in morbid fascination. “Welp, did you tell them?”  

“None of your business, Skulker!” 

Skulker cackled. “Well, doesn’t that make things more fun. The whole family, working together. How cute.”

“He knows?!” said his mother.

“We all know,” Skulker gloated. “You humans are the ones who are late to the party.”

His parents balked. Skulker readied a blade the length of his forearm in one hand and a cannon in the other. “Why do you think I’m so adamant about collecting his pelt? He’s a rare specimen, indeed.”

“Don’t you talk about my son like that!” Danny’s father roared. He brandished a blaster and leapt forward, shots flying.

Skulker dodged the blast with an aerial maneuver that would have been impossible for someone fully bound by physics. He fired a net at Danny's mother, who dodged with a roll and sprung to her feet. She and his father double teamed the hunter, sending him on the evasive. 

Danny hung back, watching his parents work and relishing the fact that he didn't have to dodge their blasts. He stayed near enough to throw shields, near enough to draw fire, and unfortunately near enough to catch every one of his father's scathing insults. He had long grown inured to them, but today, despite not being a target, the taunts of ectoplasmic slime and ghost scum burned more than usual. 

Skulker voiced his complaints for him in the form of a volley of shots around his father's feet, challenging his balance. Danny cast a shield before his father could tip over. Simultaneously, Skulker fired a retractable claw straight for his father that smashed right through Danny’s shield.  

“Jack, no!”

He grunted with the impact and shouted as his feet left the ground. Skulker reeled him in like a fish. “Careful with those shots!” Skulker called to Danny’s mother. “Wouldn't want to hit someone else by accident!”

Danny fumed. His claws lengthened, his fangs grew. His mother fired furiously despite the threat. Danny wove between the shots, streaking straight for Skulker and his father. 

He barrelled into them like a stampede. His father went flying. Danny raced after him, arms outstretched, and caught him as gently as he could, despite his claws and jagged edges and his instinctual flinch against the burning of his ectophobic suit. He looked at Danny with wild eyes. Danny saw the terror of his battle-ready form reflected. 

No time to dawdle. Danny delivered him to his mother and shot back toward Skulker. The hunter was just regaining his focus. Danny didn't let him keep that advantage. With his first pass, he raked a series of deep gouges in Skulker's carapace with one clawed hand. Another pass took a slice out of his side. Skulker wobbled in the air. With a third approach, Danny slammed straight into him and sunk his claws into Skulker's pauldrons. He clung, unhinged his jaw, and screamed. 

Skulker's fear was delicious. He flailed at Danny, slamming a gauntlet into Danny's back with a blow that would have knocked the air out of him had he bothered to breathe. 

Danny hissed a mortal threat in rasping, breathy ghost speak. He loosened one claw and dug it into the joints of Skulker's shoulder, jamming his long fingers between the plates of his armor. The arm spasmed. Danny shifted his grip on the hunter, sunk his teeth in, and wrenched at the arm with a metallic groan. 

Skulker pressed a gun to Danny's side, but Danny didn't particularly care. Skulker had used that arm to apprehend his father, and now the hunter was going to lose it. He fired — Danny grunted — and icy blood spattered from his side.  

“Danny!” The worried call was accompanied by a burst of nourishing fear. 

Danny didn't let go. He twisted and thrashed until the arm screeched and finally gave way. Skulker howled as the appendage plummeted to the asphalt. 

Skulker's fear was acute now. Danny's hair flared up brighter and he swiped a tongue around his mouth — blood, cold and crisp; lacerations from the metal. Danny didn't mind. He smiled with the threat of his teeth. Mist dribbled from the corners of his mouth. 

“Danny!” his mother cried again. 

Danny didn't dare turn his back on his prey. He could taste the sweet anxiety pouring off his parents. He didn't mind that it was both for and about him. In battle, all fear was good. 

He smashed his claws into Skulker's suit again and again, leaving blasts of ice in his wake. The hunter's suit was sparking dangerously, finally beginning to twitch and go limp as Danny tore a bite out of his other arm, then out of his neck. 

“Danny, this isn't you!”

Danny spared a glance over his shoulder. His parents were braced against each other. The fear pouring off them finally turned bitter on his tongue. He wondered what they had been expecting. Did they think Phantom would behave civilly now that they knew he was their son? He would have shouted back, “Yes it is!” if his mouth hadn't been full of metal. 

As it was, he ignored them and returned to rending his prey, shredding wads of metal that crashed to the asphalt far below. 

“Danny!”  

He spat the mecha suit from his mouth, scraped his mind for English, and shouted, “Get out of here!” 

Skulker's remains were a perfect outlet for his frustration until the ghost's tiny true form wriggled free. Danny caught him in one fist, unhooked his thermos from his belt, and sucked the ghost in. He swept the tractor beam across the battlefield to collect the spare chunks of armor and drifted to the ground. 

Finally, the wound in his side began to smart. Danny shortened his claws to examine it. The deepest damage was already healing, but he knew from experience that this one would take a couple days before it was reduced to a scar. 

He glanced up, and abruptly dreaded the approach of his parents. They were running toward him, his father with a hint of a limp from getting tossed around. They halted a healthy distance from Danny, close enough that he could see the apprehension on their faces. 

“What?” he demanded. 

Jazz brought the GAV up behind them, screeching to a halt. She leapt out of the driver’s seat and ran over. “That was great!” she cheered. “I loved it when you —” She mimed a battle stance, swiping her fists through the air. She wasn’t usually so enthusiastic. Danny suspected she was playing it up to show their parents what she thought an appropriate response was, but it was still embarrassing, and the hole in Danny’s side wasn’t helping his mood. 

Danny’s father broke out of his stupor first. He jaunted over, gesturing for the thermos. Danny tossed it to him and quirked a smile at his delighted grin. “Finally! We’ll get to destroy this menace once and for all!” 

Danny bristled. He darted in and snatched the thermos back. His father startled, then huffed with a hand on his hip. “Give that here, son.”

Danny swallowed down a growl. He was warring with his father’s authority over him as his son, and his own authority over Jack Fenton as a hunter in his Haunt. Danny clutched the thermos closer. “No.” 

Jack put on a smile. He reasoned, “We finally caught that ghastly bastard. Now we can give it what it deserves.” 

Danny drifted backwards. A cold fear trickled down his spine. When it came down to it, Danny liked Skulker. He was an entirely respectable ghost, and he followed Danny’s rules when it mattered. He had never gone after any of Danny’s humans, and Danny liked fighting him. He liked that he could rend the other ghost to ribbons without significant consequences. Skulker was a frenemy, at the very least. And Jack wanted to dismantle him down to the core. 

Danny went rigid as he realized what was really scaring him. “What if it was me?” 

“What?”

“What if it was me in this thermos?” Danny asked. “Would you say that about me?”

Jack balked. “Of course not! You’re my son.”

“You didn’t know that two weeks ago.”

Jack brushed him off. “I know now, and that’s what matters. I love you,” he insisted. “You could be gay, or… or a communist, or one of those transgenders for all I care. You’ll always be my son.”

Danny didn’t contain his growl this time. He shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense!” he burst out.

Jazz strode forward resolutely. 

“Jazzypants, don’t —” 

She whipped around and gave her father a withering glare. He jolted, and fell back.

Danny didn’t know what to do with himself. He felt like he was seeing double when he looked at his father. His aura expanded as a smothering darkness like a security blanket. He clutched the thermos in one hand and grabbed one horn with the other, trying to ground himself. The wound in his side burned. 

Jazz was undeterred. She walked into his aura. It parted for her, closing in as she approached.

“Jasmine!” came the voice of their mother. 

Danny seethed with dissonance. He stared down at his sister. She gazed up at him and reached out, but Danny flinched away. He couldn’t stand the idea of her hot human touch, or the thought of his cold, ghostly skin touching her. He would poison her, he was sure. 

She drew her hand back, but only slightly. He felt like she was holding him at a distance. “Danny,” she said, “go.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Vibrating erratically, he shot upward in a flourish of icy air, and disappeared.

Chapter Text

Danny flew straight to Sam's house. She wasn't home, but she had a private bathroom connected to her bedroom that Danny had taken refuge in many times. He drifted into the shower without bothering to undress — his ghostly clothing was as good as skin when he wanted it to be. The cold water stung as he sprayed down his side, but it was the easiest way to clean the blood off himself, since his intangibility didn't differentiate his spilled fluids from his own body. 

Water was a different story; a quick trip to the intangible plane left him clean and dry. He unzipped his hazmat and shrugged it off his shoulders to bare the greenish skin of his chest and the burnt hole in his side. The oozing had mostly stopped. He had no need to protect it from infection, but neither was he interested in getting blood all over his clothes when he changed back to human form. 

He was taping down a gauze pad when he heard the bedroom door open and shut and sensed Sam's presence. Her room always felt like her, but the flavor grew more potent when she was there to refresh and amplify the layered emotions that were Sam. He poked his head out of the bathroom and smiled. “Hi Sam!”

She jumped; he snickered. “God, Danny, don't scare me like that!”

“Boo.”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes but Danny only felt fondness from her. 

He glanced down at himself. His suit had rematerialized while he was distracted, so, feeling decent, he drifted out of the bathroom to hover over her bed. She flopped down next to him and groaned. 

“That bad?” Danny grinned. 

Sam rolled onto her back. “Parents.” Then she looked closer at him and sat up. “Hey, didn't you do that family ghost hunting thing today?”

Danny grimaced. 

“That bad?” she teased. 

“No. Yes.” Danny sighed. “I don't know what I was expecting.”

Sam stuck her hand in his flickering hair to play with the cold flames. “What were you expecting?”

“Common sense?”

She burst out laughing. Danny groaned and passed through her bed to hide in the dark space underneath. Sam crawled to the edge and hung her head over the side. “You're a dumbass.”

“It's not my fault!” his voice echoed. 

“I know.” She dropped an arm and let her hand dangle. “Fucking parents.”

Danny wriggled toward her. His claws retreated as he snaked out his own arm and rested it next to hers. He didn't touch, but it was enough. “Fucking parents,” he agreed. 

Danny didn't go home that day. He stole dinner from Sam's kitchen and then patrolled until well beyond nightfall. He would have slept at one of his friends' houses, but he was feeling agitated and twitchy and didn't want to subject them to his very literal bad vibes. 

His haunt drew his attention to the Atkinson's, his neighbors down the block, who were away on a week-long vacation. Danny drifted down through their roof and made himself at home in the spare bed in their attic. It was dark and a bit dusty, but Danny's ghostly sensibilities didn't mind at all. Nor did he mind being in a stranger's house. All of Amity Park was his, after all. 

Come morning, Danny was dreading checking his phone. It had been in the pocket of his jeans, tucked safely away in whatever pocket dimension his clothes were sent to when he shifted forms. He knew Jazz must be playing damage control over his prolonged absence, so he decided to take mercy and finally check in. 

Danny transformed. His phone immediately began to ring. He peeked at the notifications first, and winced. One hundred and forty-seven missed calls. He thrust back the blankets, coughed into the cloud of dust, and paced toward the small attic window as he finally picked up the call. 

“Hi,” he said weakly. 

There was a pause, a rustle, and then his sister cried, “Danny?!”

“Yup, that's me.”

She groaned. “Finally! I was sitting here hitting call over and over for the past hour. Where are you? Sam and Tucker both said you're ‘out’, whatever that means.”  

“Oh, yeah, I stayed at the Atkinson's.”

“Who?”

“They're our — you know what? Doesn't matter.” Danny paced back toward the bed. “I'll be back in a minute.”

After a pitstop at Nasty Burger for breakfast, Danny flew directly to his bedroom. The front door felt dangerous — not so much in a ghostly way, but in a teenage way. He texted his family group chat that he was home, and then sprawled out on his bed to wait. 

He didn't have to wait long. His mother's footsteps came running up the stairs within minutes. 

She paused outside the door, then knocked. 

“You can come in,” Danny called. He sat up to lean against the wall as she slipped inside and shut the door behind her. She stood at the entrance, uncertain. 

“You’re not wearing hazmat,” Danny commented.

Her smile was pinched. “You said you’re allergic.”

She had listened. Danny hadn’t even been talking to her when he said it, and she remembered anyway. He suddenly felt bad for making her worry, so he nodded to the spot beside him and made room when she moved to sit down. She didn't seem angry. She held herself stiffly, knees together, eyes downcast. 

Danny frowned. “You okay?” 

She nodded, but didn't look up. “I wanted to talk to you about the other day, during your checkup.”

“What about it?” Danny kneaded the blanket nervously.

“I hurt you, didn't I? When I tried to give you a hug. That's why you left.” She finally met his eyes.

Danny's gut clenched. Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn't been this. He wanted to feel claustrophobic and cornered. He wanted to be angry. The feelings didn't come, so he swallowed and nodded. 

“Can I give you a hug now?”

Danny blinked at her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd given his mother a real hug. He reflexively examined her for ghost hunting gear, then kicked himself. She was wearing a flowery blouse. Sensible jeans. She was dressed like a mom, not a scientist, and still, the expectation of pain twisted Danny's stomach. He nodded again. 

His mother turned to him and rested a hand on his shoulder, like a question. Danny wanted to cry and he wasn't sure why. Her hand was warm. It didn't burn at all, yet he couldn't open his mouth to tell her. His mind yearned to curl up in her arms while his body still insisted that he couldn't, that he shouldn't, that he didn't know how. Danny gazed at her, lost. Slowly, carefully, she leaned in and pulled him to her chest.

Danny clutched her back. He pressed his face into her shoulder and squeezed his eyes tight as the aura of his mother's love washed over him and settled like a weighted blanket. Danny didn't run from it this time. It was heavy but he let it in. He needed it, he realized. He hadn't known until that moment, but he needed it. She rubbed his back, and suddenly he was six years old and loved his mother more than anyone else in the world. 

She murmured, “You were so cuddly when you were younger. And then you started high school and I just thought you were growing up.” Her hand on his back stuttered to a halt. “But that was around the time the accident happened, wasn't it? You weren't just growing up. We were hurting you. We —”

“I don't want to talk about this.” Danny's voice cracked. He buried his face in her shoulder, as if that could protect him from the grief swirling into her aura like ink into clear water.  

She whispered, “Okay,” and fell silent.

Danny let her hold him while he exhaled the panic one breath at a time. He didn't know why he was so upset. So his parents accidentally hurt him. That was normal. He shouldn't be freaking out.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Danny shook his head. He breathed in, deep and shuddering, then let it out. “I'm okay.”

His mother nodded. They stayed like that for a while, Danny basking in the rich complexities of her love twined with relief and regret and fondness. He let her hold him until her aura turned stern. “You aren't off the hook, you know.”

Danny's mood soured. He pulled away and sat back. “Sorry,” he grumbled. 

She raised an eyebrow. 

He huffed. “I'm just — I was mad, okay? I didn't want to ick my bad mood all over everyone.”

“That's no excuse for not answering your phone.”

He pulled his knees to his chest and ducked his head so he could tug on his horns. He mumbled, “I didn't wanna hear from Dad.”

His mother was quiet. “He's trying, you know.”

“No, he's not,” Danny spat. 

“I think…” She frowned, contemplative. “I think he doesn't know how to try, yet.”

Danny glared at the wall. 

“Will you give him a chance?”

The muscles in his cheeks bunched up. He scrubbed at his face and swiped his thumbs over his eyes. His mother was waiting patiently when he glanced at her, so he sighed and tipped to lean into her shoulder. “I'm just tired, Mom. I'm so fucking tired of the — I thought it would stop. I thought you would both stop, but he just…” He sniffled. “It's like it doesn't matter. He doesn't care.”

“He cares about you,” she said. “More than anything.”

“Well, he's doing it wrong,” Danny gowled.

“I know.” His mother stroked his hair. “I know, sweetheart. We'll get through this.” 

Danny clutched her other shoulder, pulled himself closer, and buried his face in her shirt. Bitter tears came. He cried, and a distant part of him marveled that he was crying to his mom, honest and open. She knew. She knew and she loved him and he could taste it, dense in the air. It was as real as her hand in his hair. It only faltered when her fingers brushed one of his horns, and her hand twitched away. 

“You can touch,” Danny mumbled into her shirt. He didn't want to hide anymore. He didn't want to hide anything. 

Tentatively, his mother's hand returned. He could barely feel her fingers on the keratin of his small white horns — the horns that sealed his fate as a freak. The horns that he was beginning to like. 

She ran her finger to the base where they met his scalp, and then explored the skin that was still so sensitive. His shoulders drooped, loose and easy, and he pressed his head up into her hand. She chuckled. Her touch relaxed him enough that he was only distantly embarrassed. He gripped her other hand when she found his in his lap, and Danny realized that she had only ever touched his claws clinically before. Now she held his hand without caution or reservation.  

“My little ghost boy,” she murmured.

“Not little,” Danny grumbled. 

She rested her cheek against his head. “My mistake. You're my big, scary, strong ghost boy.”

Danny whined vaguely, even as his heart and core swelled with appreciation. 

“You protect us so well. And —” her voice quivered, “I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry that you have to.”

“No, no,” Danny raised his head and found her eyes. “No, Mom, I love it. I love to protect you. Everyone. I always have.”

She swallowed back disbelief. “Really?”

“Really. I never want to stop. I just want…” He looked away and wilted. 

His mother pulled him in once more. “I know.” She rubbed his back. “I know.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Danny whispered.

“Right now?” She offered a small smile. “I think a snack might be in order.”

Danny glanced at the door anxiously.

His mother stroked his cheek. “Honey, you can't simply avoid him.”

Danny pasted on a grin. “Ghosts are great at avoiding people.”

She gave him her signature no-nonsense glare. 

Danny smiled dazzlingly and vanished.

Chapter Text

It was true that Danny couldn’t avoid his father forever, but he was perfectly capable of avoiding him for the next three days, at least. Jazz was getting irritated at him, and his mother kept giving him Looks, but Danny was stubborn. He wasn’t afraid of his father or anything like that; he simply didn’t feel like talking to him. Impending conversations were for losers. No, thank you. 

Danny tried not to worry about the fact that he was worrying about it every other minute of the day. 

And so, distractions. He spent Friday at Sam’s house and Saturday at Tucker’s, and now he was taking a little break at Skulk and Lurk, sitting at a corner table nursing a caramel iced latte. He glanced at the opening door, and grinned. Spike was walking into the shop. Danny was inordinately relieved to have another person to distract him. He waved, but Spike was looking at his shoes as he crossed the bookstore-slash-cafe. Damnit. Danny propped his chin on one hand to wait while Spike mumbled through the motions of ordering a coffee. 

The goth upperclassman didn't talk to Danny much, but as far Danny could tell, that was a hell of a lot more than he talked to anyone else. The relationship started during Danny's Sophomore year, shortly after Danny came out as goth. It was unclear whether Spike approached Danny or the other way around, but somehow, they ended up enjoying each other's company in sporadic fits and starts. They didn't bother with small talk. Their interactions were mostly awkward silences peppered with surprisingly personal dialogue, and it had gone on like that for quite a while now. Danny couldn't be sure, but he suspected that they were good friends. 

As such, it was only prudent for him to call out, “Hey, Spike!” when his friend finished his exchange with the barista. Spike was a bit of a vampire when it came to invitations, so Danny beckoned him over and used one foot to push out the other chair at his table. 

Spike looked up from his shoes with a start, before his face softened as he recognized Danny. He picked his way around the armchairs and book-laden display tables, skillfully avoiding the other patrons until he made it to Danny's corner table and slipped into the seat. 

“Hey, D-danny,” Spike mumbled. 

“Hey,” Danny smiled, “what's up?”

Spike's shoulder twitched with a shrug. He took an experimental sip of his coffee, then resolved to blow on it instead. 

Danny nodded amicably. “Yeah, I feel that.” He spied a notebook sticking out of Spike’s bag. “You doing some writing?”

Spike followed his gaze, then nodded. 

“Poem?”

Spike shook his head. “Short story.”

“Cool!” Danny leaned forward. “What’s it about?”

A tiny smile lit Spike’s face. “Y-you’ll have to wait and see.”

“Aw, no fair.”

Spike smiled a little wider, which wasn’t much, and sipped his coffee. Danny sighed and drank his own. The only problem with Spike was that he categorically did not supply conversation. Usually, Danny had enough for the both of them, a technique that relied on spitting out whatever spontaneous thought came to mind. Today, unfortunately, most of Danny’s spontaneous thoughts were about the one thing he didn’t want to think about. Danny scowled. 

“What’s wrong?”

Danny sucked on his straw and grumbled, “Nothing.” 

Spike raised an eyebrow.

Danny massaged his forehead. “Okay, fine.” Spike was really twisting his arm. “It’s just… my dad.”

Spike sipped his coffee.

“You know how some people are like, ‘I hate black people, except for you. You’re cool.’”

Spike winced. “Yeah.”

“That’s basically my dad at me, right now.”

“You’re not b-black.”

Danny laughed. “No, I’m… it doesn’t matter. The point is, I came out to my parents a few weeks ago, and that was basically my dad’s response. I thought, if he didn’t hate me for it, it would change his view, you know? But it’s like he doesn’t care.” Danny felt his face getting hot. “He still hates other people like me, but he doesn’t care at all that I’m one of those people. And it’s not like he’s ignoring it! I’ve literally done so much ghost stuff right in front of him, and he’s like, ‘Wow, that’s neat!’” Danny burst out with an alarmingly good Jack Fenton impression. He let out a blustery sigh and scrubbed at his eyes. 

“Wait.” Danny glanced up to see a confused frown on Spike’s face. “Ghost stuff? I thought you were gay.”

“Oh.” Danny turned bright red. “Uh, no. I mean — not that I — I’m, uh.” Danny tugged at his horns, then made up his mind. “I’m, well. I’m Phantom. I guess we never talked about it.” 

Spike looked Danny square in the face, which was unusual for him. “You’re…”

Danny scratched the back of his neck. “I can transform.”

Spike stared.

“Like a magical girl anime.”

The confusion cleared, and Spike finally looked away and nodded vaguely. “Cool,” he mumbled. Then, “Th-thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“K-keeping the town safe. And shit.” He shrugged.

“Oh.” Danny looked down, embarrassed. He’d never been thanked for his self-imposed duties before. “No prob.”

The conversation with Spike seemed to loosened something in Danny. He left Skulk and Lurk feeling less anxious and more determined, like maybe he could finally talk to his father without imploding. 

The alley next to the shop was excellent cover to discreetly transform. He flew home. The family sedan and the GAV were both in the driveway, which meant everyone except his sister was in the house. 

Danny wasn’t about to seek his father out, but he had a feeling that his father would come to him if he left himself out as bait. According to his mother, his father had been as anxious as Danny had been. Unlike Danny, his father wasn’t one to avoid problems. He liked to confront things directly and often tactlessly. Danny knew this about him. And so, he wasn’t surprised at all when his father approached the living room with uncharacteristic quiet as Danny sat on the couch, watching a Friends rerun. 

Danny wasn’t really seeing the TV, but he was pretending to with every ounce of conviction he could muster. 

His father perched on the other end of the couch with unusual care. He sat for several long moments before awkwardly trying for a casual, “Hey there, Danno. Can we talk?”

Danny reached for the remote and dropped the volume on the TV to a low hum. He took a breath, kneading the couch cushion with blunted claws, and turned to face his father. “Yeah.”

His father wore his nervousness plainly on his face. “I wanted to apologize.”

Tight lipped, Danny said, “Yeah?”

His father looked down at his hands. “I’ll be honest, I’m still not really sure what I did wrong.” 

Danny pinned him with a hard look. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but he had — foolishly, he realized — been expecting his father to have at least a cursory understanding of the problem. Danny stopped himself from chewing his lip as he mulled over how to explain. 

Slowly, he said, “I’m basically a ghost.” Saying it aloud made his stomach flip, despite how open he’d been. “You still hate ghosts.”

“Not you, of course!” his father nearly shouted with earnestness. “I could never hate you. You’re my son.” He looked like the very prospect might make him cry.

Danny balled his fists. “Don’t you realize how screwed up that is?!”

Affronted, “I won’t apologize for loving my son.”

“That’s not —” Danny growled and tugged at his horns. “I’m a ghost, Dad!”

“You’re my son.”

“And a ghost. You don’t get to —” Danny took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “You have to pick one: you either hate me, or you stop hating ghosts.”

Against all expectation, his father’s face slackened with understanding.

Danny didn’t have the energy to celebrate getting through his father’s thick skull. He grit his teeth to hold back another growl, and stomped away to go hide in his room. 

One hour and one mixtape later, Danny’s ghostly awareness alerted him to a presence approaching his bedroom door. Dread pooled in his gut. He’d given his father an ultimatum, and frankly, he didn’t know which option he would choose. Danny knew that his father loved him, but hating ghosts had been a part of Jack’s identity for decades. Danny couldn’t imagine him simply giving up that ironclad conviction. 

Some vindictive part of Danny was hoping Jack would choose the bad ending, just so Danny could hate him properly in return. It would be so much simpler than this uneasy anxiety. Of course, the rest of him was desperate for his father to change, as unlikely as that felt. Either way, Danny was about to get his answer.

He tiredly tugged down his headphones to rest around his neck. Moments later, a knock. 

“Yeah?” Danny called.

“It’s me,” came his father’s voice.

Danny already knew. Everyone had a unique presence to his ghost sense, and his father was no exception. Some brief telekinesis unlatched the door. Danny rolled over and propped his head on one arm. 

The door creaked open. His father’s bulk took up most of the doorway. “Hey there,” he said.

“What?”

His father fiddled with his hands. “I was wondering… do you have any ghost friends?”

Danny’s brain stuttered to a halt. He was expecting an apology. He was expecting to get thrown out. He was not expecting whatever this was. “Uh. I guess.”

His father took a deep breath. “Do you think I could meet ‘em?”

Danny’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“Well, you’re the only — the only ghost I know. So I thought, maybe, if you know any — any other friendly ones, I’d like to meet them.”

Danny was short circuiting. “Uh. I’ll, um.” He swallowed. “I’ll ask.”

His father gave him a weak smile. “Okay.”

“Yeah.” 

“Alright, I’ll just,” his father stuck a thumb over his shoulder.

“Okay.”

“Do you want to come down for dinner in a bit?”

Danny nodded absently. “Sure.” Today was Sunday, after all.

His father smiled a little wider, a little lopsided. “Alright. I’ll see you downstairs.” Meaningfully, with a pulse of affection Danny could feel in the air, he said, “Love you, son.”

“Love you, too.”

His father shut the door.

Danny rolled onto his back, and began to cry. 

Dinner that night was chicken, broccoli, and mashed potatoes. 

The meal was mostly quiet, aside from some idle chatter about tomorrow's plans and some comments on how pleasant the weather had been. High seventies, clear skies. Good stargazing, Danny mentioned. He was planning to go to the park. Maybe the family would take a few blankets and join him. There were probably some citronella candles in the garage. 

They'd make an evening of it. 

It would be nice.