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Chapter Text

The first thing the Creature knew was green.

The cold, wet, lurid green of the ectoplasm that nurtured him, that caused his stitched-together body to adhere to itself, his limbs to attach and function in tandem where once only dead flesh lay inert.

Of course, he didn’t know the word green at the time.  Nor wet, nor cold.

All he knew was the sudden weight of his body when the ectoplasm began draining away, and the strange sights visible outside of the glass tank he had been revived within.

A man stood outside the tank, staring back at him.

The Creature did not recognize the man.  The man made some sounds, waited a moment, then when there was no response moved his face in some way, an expression the Creature would later come to recognize as disgust and disappointment, and turned away.

Leaning forward, the Creature placed his hands on the curving inside of the tank’s wall, surprised when resistance was met and he didn’t go through.

A moment later, the relative quiet of the laboratory was broken by a crashing sound as the Creature fell through the glass of the tank.  The man turned back, seeing that the Creature had fallen to the ground, his foot having caught in one of the tubes running from the tank to the ectoplasm reservoir and pulled it loose, causing ectoplasm to spill out across the floor.

The glass, however, was still intact.

The Creature looked up at him with mismatched eyes.  The man stared back, horror warring with curiosity.

“What… did you do?” the man asked.

The Creature did not reply, simply stared back, trying to understand the strange sounds the man made.

“Daniel?”

No response.  No recognition.

That expression returned.  Disgust.  Disappointment.

The man turned away.  He raised a hand, nearly swiping through the delicate instruments and experiments filling the room in his frustration, but managed to hold himself back.

The boy had returned wrong.  Empty.  But he had returned, and he was his .  Vladimir could work with this.  And if that little trick with the tank was any indication of further abilities…

Oh yes, he could very much work with this.

The Creature came to know himself as Phantom.  That was what his Creator called him.  Creator, or Vladimir as he overheard others calling him, taught him many things in those first weeks.

How to lift and carry.  How to measure.  How to clean.

And other things, once Creator tested Phantom’s powers.  He taught Phantom to float and move silently and invisible just behind him, to seek out information when they visited the houses of various well-to-do citizens, and to bring it back without anyone being the wiser.

Their lives were… almost peaceful, despite the odd errands Creator sent him on, until the inevitable day when Phantom was first seen by others.  

It had been unintentional, a slip of attention leading to his invisibility dropping as he inspected the front window of a toy shop.

A small star-model was displayed, several bands of metal interlaced into a sphere with tiny star-shaped holes punched out so that a candle placed in the center would shine out and project a pattern of the night sky.

Phantom didn’t know exactly what it was about the model, but it captivated him.  He could almost envision just how the stars would look when the device was lit, could almost pull names of the constellations within from some memory that he didn’t have.  

He didn’t realize that in his fascination he had let his invisibility slip until the first scream rang out.

He jumped in shock, hovering in the air, which just caused more screaming.  The sounds pierced his sensitive ears, feeling like ice picks driving deep into his head.  Even with his hands over them, he could still feel the screams pervading the air.

Panicking, he spun around, trying to understand why everyone was screaming.  Why he was in such pain.  Monster?  No, he wasn’t…  No, no, no, he wasn’t going to hurt them!  He wasn’t!  But he couldn’t get the words out, found them catching in his throat.  He still had problems with them.

Creator.  He would know why the people were screaming.  He would protect him, could ease the pain from the piercing screaming.

The first thrown rock jolted Phantom into movement, and he retreated a few more meters into the air.  Why?  Why did these people seek to hurt him?  He hadn’t done anything.  More rocks followed the first, striking his limbs and torso and causing all-too-vivid ectoplasm to fall in drops to the ground.

Still panicking, he finally flickered back out of sight and fled.

Phantom hid himself in a corner of the laboratory, clutching his arm where a particularly sharp rock had caught at the stitches.  His limbs were usually well-attached, but they tended to loosen some when he was upset.  Coming apart at the seams was more literal for him than just descriptive.

He huddled in the growing pool of ectoplasm, unsure of what he should do, clutching his forearm as it pulled at the stitching and came loose.

With his keen hearing, he could hear the sound of the mob even through the laboratory’s walls and door.  The sound of the pounding upon the door was nearly deafening.  Had they followed the dripping ectoplasm?

Vladimir passed him as he went to the door, pausing a moment as he saw the fear and injuries.  The man’s eyes narrowed and Phantom shrank back.  He didn’t like to make his Creator upset.  He tended to yell and rant, and threw glassware which Phantom had to clean up later.

The pounding came again and Vladimir continued to the door.

Phantom tried not to overhear the angry accusations and demands coming from the door, interspersed with the smooth and calming manipulation of his Creator, bringing the mob down from rabid panic to their usual general suspicion.

The door closed, the mob left, and for several long moments, Phantom continued to sit in the corner, listening to silence.

Footsteps, and he looked up, seeing his Creator’s anger and disappointment.

“Get up, and pull yourself back together.  We have work to do.”

Phantom flinched at the chill tone, but did so, holding the arm against the stump and willing the ectoplasm to knit itself back together.

He followed his Creator, listening to the increasingly angry diatribe about the idiotic public and about people who could not appreciate genius right in front of their faces.

He almost avoided that anger being directed toward himself, but a fumbled, dropped, and broken flask snapped his Creator’s attention to him.

“And you.  You… monstrosity of failure, you empty husk, you stupid, damned creature .  How dare you allow yourself to be seen?  I have cared for you, taught you, trained you, and you repay me by leading those ignorant masses to my doorstep.”

Phantom froze where he was starting to pick up the pieces of the broken flask, ectoplasm dripping from where he reflexively tightened his grip on the shard and cut himself as he stared up at Vladimir.

He knew he was different.  Knew he was wrong somehow.  Little more than a shell compared to the living, experienced humans all around him in the city.  Tonight had simply reinforced that.  But to hear such vitriol, such loathing, from his own Creator?

His lips trembled, a strange wetness filling his eyes.  What… what was this?  He lifted a hand, wiping some of the liquid onto it and staring, nearly forgetting the anger of his Creator, who had started pacing and gesticulating widely, still ranting about the utter failure that was his creation.

Phantom felt trapped.  He didn’t know what to do.  He just… he had just been looking at the star-model, and… and now he was bleeding and leaking and everyone was so angry with him…

Turning, he stumbled to his feet, not noticing Vladimir’s angry turn toward him as he nearly tripped over more laboratory equipment before managing to get into the air and turn intangible.

Flickering out of visibility, Phantom fled once again, this time away from the only place that was familiar, and out into the dark and lonely night.

Chapter Text

Phantom had no way to know where he was going, nor any reason to try and go somewhere specific.  He had been nowhere except the laboratory and town he was fleeing, and all that was in his head was that he had to get away.  He had to get far away from the furious and disappointed gaze of his Creator and the sharp rocks and fearful screams of the humans.

But… was he even anything away from his creator?  Without direction, without commands, what was he?  He was an abomination, a creation of ectoplasm and flesh.  Absent purpose, was he only destined to be feared by any who saw him?

The only person he had ever spoken to was his creator.

What would he even say to anyone else?  How could he soothe them, convince them that he did not mean them harm?

He continued flying, neither knowing where he was going, nor realizing that his path was following a subtle draw.  He was pulled, irresistibly and unconsciously, away from the town in which he lived with his Creator, and to the outskirts of a specific and distant city.

The sun was rising when he finally slowed down.  Exhaustion pulled at him like gravity didn’t, phasing him out of invisibility and putting him in danger of being seen.  So, before he could cause another scene like the one back… not home, it wasn’t home, it had never really felt like home , just… a place.  His place, perhaps, at the side of his Creator, but… not somewhere that seemed comfortable and reliable like how so many people at those parties had described their homes as he watched and listened, invisible and unseen.

Before he could cause a scene here, wherever here was, he descended into a forest at the edge of the small city.  Finding a suitable tree where he couldn’t easily be seen from the ground, he curled up against the trunk on one of the branches and eventually fell asleep.

Phantom’s body was stiff in the morning, protesting the unconventional sleeping place with creaks and groans and a bit of ectoplasm seeping from his seams.  He knew it would ease soon enough, once he got moving.

Taking care to remain invisible, he slipped down from the branch, letting himself float silently down to the forest floor.

In the sun-light, his actions of the day before seemed foolish.

Why had he run?  

Of course his Creator had been mad at him; he had caused problems, he had done bad.  He should have simply stayed and accepted it, and he would not now be alone and lost in a strange location.

The depths of the forest were strange to him, more used to the streets and buildings of humanity, and at first he held himself carefully invisible, not wanting to draw the attention of anyone or thing which may be lurking nearby as he walked.

Eventually, though, with the warmth and sunlight filtering through the branches of the trees above, dappling the ground with gold and green and shadow and light, he forgot to keep the invisibility in place.

He was so entranced by wandering through the woods and witnessing everything he could that he didn’t notice the end of the forest until he had stepped out into the open.

Phantom froze and immediately turned invisible, all too aware of what had happened the last time he had been seen by people.  The lack of immediate screaming or yelling was reassuring, though, and after looking around to ascertain that no one had seen him after all, he relaxed, though he still held onto his invisibility.

The forest came up to the edge of a small city.  The houses here at the edge of it were spread further apart than where he fled from, most of them having patches of plants and gardens surrounding them.

The yard surrounding the nearest house, however, was bare.  The ground almost seemed to be anathema to plant growth, leaving only hard-packed dirt surrounding the silent building.

Phantom stepped closer, drawn to the house in curiosity.  It seemed… sad.  Grieving.  Like it was simply waiting for its end, and just going through the motions of life until then.

He walked around it, trying to peer into the windows but unable to see anything past the thick, closed curtains.

The house had a porch on the front, and Phantom floated up onto it, landing silently and walking up to the door.  Trying to peer into the window next to the door, his foot hit a discarded tool sitting on the porch, causing it to rattle.

“Hello?”

He froze.  Someone was on the porch, someone he hadn’t noticed.  He turned slowly to look, glad he was still invisible, and spotted the speaker.

It was a young woman with red hair, sitting in a chair on the porch and staring out at… nothing? 

“Is someone there?” she asked.  “I’m sorry, I can’t see you.  My parents are away right now, but I can pass a message on to them?”

There was something… familiar about her, impossible as it seemed.  Still invisible, Phantom floated slowly closer to her.

She frowned, shivering a bit, and turned her head as if looking… or perhaps listening, for something.  “Hello?  I can… sense someone’s there, but I don’t hear you?”

Phantom floated backward, startled.  She could… sense him?  “S… sorry,” he said.  He hadn’t meant to speak, hated how his words always stumbled out, how he could never seem to get his mouth to make the shapes and actions everyone else seemed to find easy.  Nevermind the danger of making his presence known at all.

But… if she couldn’t see, then she wouldn’t be frightened by not seeing anyone paired with a disembodied voice.

And… perhaps… she wouldn’t be frightened by his appearance, either?

“I’m sorry,” he tried again.  “I’m, uh… I’m l-lost.”

She startled at his words, startling Phantom in turn, who hit one of the porch’s pillars as he flew back from her, making an audible thump .

“Oh!” she exclaimed, then, “wait!  I didn’t mean to startle you.  You just… You sound like someone I used to know.”  She fell silent for a moment, then spoke again.  “You’re lost, you said?”

“Y-yes.”

“I’m sorry for that.  I could have my parents look for yours when they get home?  I’m sure they would be able to help you.”

That seemed like a bad idea, for a few reasons.  One, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to his Creator in the first place.  Two, how was he going to explain the distance between here, wherever here was, and the city he had fled from?

And three…

“Demon!”

“Get away from our daughter, you monster!”

Phantom jumped and spun around, realizing with a start that he had dropped his invisibility in the perceived safety of the woman being blind.  Two new people, a tall, heavy-set man and a slender woman, were bearing down on him, running toward the house and porch with weapons clutched in their hands and yelling.

He didn’t flee immediately, struck again by some strange, impossible chord of familiarity.

“What?”  The young woman on the porch exclaimed.  “What are they talking about?  Who are you?”

Phantom was jolted from his inaction by the bolt of a… crossbow? hitting the side of the house inches away from his head.  “I’m sor-sorry,” he managed, and launched into the air, turning invisible and intangible as he fled back toward the forest.

Chapter Text

Phantom knew he couldn’t let himself be seen again.  Any time he tried to approach someone, it seemed that his appearance was too terrible for anyone to bear.

Anyone except his Creator.

He never should have fled, no matter the anger that had been directed toward him.  At least there, in the laboratory and mansion, he had been safe.

Here, at the edge of the forest, carefully skirting around the town and keeping to the shadows, he was not safe.

And yet… he found himself reluctant to leave the town behind.  There was something about it, about that young woman… She was familiar somehow, and there was no reason why she should have been.  He had never known someone like her, or like the man and woman who had come to her defense.

He was just a husk, a constructed monster with enough sapience to think and learn.  And… to feel.  Yes, he had emotions, too, despite what his Creator sometimes insisted.  It was just that he had no reference for those emotions.  He did not know the words to describe what he was feeling, just that the emotions would tighten his chest and throat, or leak from his eyes, or make something in him buzz and soar and revel in the feeling, depending on their type.

Perhaps instead of trying to approach people, he should simply watch.  Not watch them for his Creator, looking for signs of weakness and exploitable flaws, but just… watch.  Learn.

He continued walking, and eventually the forest curved around a flat, grass-covered lawn studded with rock plates sticking out of the ground at regular intervals.

A graveyard, the word came to him.

He paused, looking out over it.

He knew he was built from the parts of others’ bodies.  Resurrected from someone who had once been alive and human.  Ghostly pieces stitched to what had been whomever he once was.

It was a strange kinship, knowing that underneath those stones were the dead and decayed bodies of so many people.  People who had loved and feared and hated and laughed.

His attention was drawn by movement at the edge of the graveyard.  A teenager, dark-complexioned and riding some sort of wheeled contraption Phantom hadn’t seen before.

The tools he wore in belts crossing over his back and shoulders suggested he was some sort of inventor, though young.

Phantom took a step back, further into the protection of the forest’s shadows, but didn’t entirely flee.  There was something about the youth, similar to what he had felt from the young woman, that was familiar .

He watched as he approached the gravestones, passing between them and heading purposefully toward one in particular.  It was near the forest, one of the newer ones, and Phantom took yet another step back, even invisible as he was, to ensure he wasn’t detected.

The teen stopped at one of the gravestones and sat in front of it.  He pulled out a small gadget of some sort from one of his belts and started describing it, explaining what it did and what it was for.  Phantom looked around the graveyard for who he might be talking to, but saw no one.  He could only conclude that the boy was talking to the grave, and to the unhearing person lying dead underneath.

It was… sweet, in a way, and sad.

Phantom found himself listening, enjoying the cadence of the explanation, even if he didn’t understand exactly what was being explained.  It felt right, to sit and listen, to give this youth his attention while he harnessed the world and technology around him.

He was still sitting there, hidden within the shadows of the forest, when the teen finally finished speaking and returned to his small vehicle.  Phantom continued sitting where he was for several minutes afterward, before finally stirring and cautiously stepping out of the forest and into the graveyard.  He wanted… no, he needed to see whose name was on that gravestone.

He remained invisible as he stepped closer and up to the carved stone, finally coming in front of it and kneeling before it to look.

The name there was clear, the marker only a few years old at most.

Daniel Fenton.

Beloved Son and Brother.

Judging by the years on the tombstone, Daniel had been 14 when he died.

Phantom didn’t know who that was, but… the name rang within him somehow.  That nagging familiarity that had been following him through this entire city settling in his chest in a tight ball of… some sort of emotion that he couldn’t put words to.  The name… he had heard it before… but where?  When?

His attention was pulled away from the grave by the sound of someone opening the gate to the graveyard and stepping through.

Making sure he was invisible, Phantom retreated again, watching the newcomer.  Another teenager, this one a girl with black hair and clothes, her general air one of careful disinterest toward the world around her.  It was a mask, he knew, though he didn’t know how he could know that.

And she, too, went directly toward the gravestone of Daniel Fenton.

Phantom floated cautiously closer, watching.

The teen wiped some tears from her eyes and bent down, placing a small cluster of some sort of dark purple, nearly black, flowers on the gravesite.

She didn’t say much, just stood, staring at the gravestone.

It was… sad.

He wanted to soothe her.  To tell her that… that what?  What could he tell her about a child he didn’t even know?  About someone so strangely familiar that his gaze kept returning to where he knew the name was carved into the gravestone even when he couldn’t see it from his position at the edge of the forest.

Phantom slowly floated forward, invisible, staring at the teen.  Any thought of remaining unseen and only watching had fled his mind.

She was as familiar as the boy had been, strangely, and he had to wonder just what it was that pulled at him so strongly about the people in this city.

Slowly, carefully, Phantom landed.  He hesitated for a moment, then dropped his invisibility.  He remained several meters from her still, not wanting to scare the teen, but… he needed to comfort her.

His first “hey” was too quiet to be heard.  He swallowed and tried again.  “H-hey.”

She whipped her head up and around to stare at him, her gaze at first suspicious and angry at being interrupted, but quickly shifting to confusion and fear as she processed what she was seeing.

Phantom held his hands up, trying to make himself seem as unthreatening as possible.  “I just… i want… w-wanted to… I wanted to s-say sorry.  For your, uh, y-your loss.”

She stared, and for a moment he dared to hope that she wouldn’t be terrified of him as everyone else had been so far.  He kept his gaze carefully held to the side, not wanting her to feel like he was staring her down.

“Danny?”

His eyes snapped up, staring at her as the name wrapped familiarly around him, catching in his chest and throat.

The teen shook her head.  “No.  No, you’re dead.  You can’t…” she pointed at him accusingly, voice shaking with horror and disbelief.  “Danny.  Is.  Dead.  You’re not real.  You’re a monster.  You’re…”

He took a step toward her, reaching out with a hand and trying futilely to get the words past his throat to ask her what she meant, but she stumbled backward away from him, still shaking her head.

“You’re not real,” she repeated, tears welling and falling down her cheeks, before turning and fleeing.

Phantom did not follow her.

After a moment of silent stillness, feeling more alone than he ever had in his brief resurrected life, Phantom turned and faded back into the comforting darkness of the forest.