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Chapter Text

"Grief is like a really awkward conversation with yourself. You don't know what to say, so you just make awkward jokes and hope the other person gets it." – Chris Rock

"Can we hurry this up?" Tucker begs, drawing the collar of his fully zipped coat closer to his chin. "It's freezing out here!"

I picked the warmest day I could, but it is late January. It probably won't really warm up until March, and I can't wait that long.

I spent too much time working up the courage to do this. I need to do it now.

After school, I switched to ghost-form and flew Sam and Tucker out into the woods just outside of town. There's something out here I want to show them.

Something I should have showed them three-and-a-half years ago.

"You keep forgetting that you're the only one who can't get cold," Tucker whines.

"Sorry," I say. "I just need to do this before I lose my nerve." Again. This is the third time I swore to myself that I would do this. Third time's the charm, as they say.

"What are you doing, anyway?" Sam asks.

I take a deep, fortifying breath. "You'll see."

A thick layer of snow crunches under our feet as I lead them to the spot. I halt in my tracks, and my best friends follow suit when we're close enough. I don't know how close I can get without being affected, and I'm not willing to find out.

I gesture with one hand to the small pile of rocks. "There it is."

I hear nothing until Sam asks, "What are we looking at?"

"Those rocks," I reply with my heart in my throat.

Tucker gawks at me in disbelief. "You brought us out here in the freezing cold for rocks?"

I bite back an angry retort. Tucker's about to feel bad enough about that comment. I breathe in and out again. "It's my grave."

Dead silence. No pun intended.

"I retract my previous comment," Tucker says tightly.

"You… Y-you don't…" Sam stammers before gulping and trying again. "How…can you have a grave? You-you don't have a…" She waves her hand toward me. "Your body's right here!"

If I don't keep my eyes on my makeshift tombstone, I'll never get the truth out. I stick my hands in my jumpsuit pockets so my friends can't see them shaking. "The day of the accident, I felt this…this pull. Leading me back to the lab. Once you guys went home, I went down there and turned off the Portal. Inside I found…" My stomach swirls and my meager pulse races at the memory. "I wouldn't call it my body. 'Remains' would be a better word. I think of it as a snake shedding its skin. It was, like, all my skin and hair on this…limp husk."

Sam makes a broken sound on one side of me. Tucker stifles a disgusted noise on the other.

I continue, speaking through the lump that has wedged itself into my throat. "I couldn't let anyone find it. No one was home yet, so I seized the opportunity. Flying was a little tricky, but I got a handle on it quickly enough. I brought my remains and a shovel out here and-and I started digging." I turn my face to the cloudy sky, lost in the memory of the day I died. "It started raining on my way here. I remember being glad because the raindrops hid the tears on my face. Until I realized that everything looked green because my tears were made of ectoplasm. I broke down hard after that. Though, looking back, I'm not sure if it was because I'd just buried my own remains or because of the whole 'ghosts get emotional at their graves' thing. We all know how I was at Reaper's graveyard in the Ghost Zone."

There's a small sob on my right. A sniffle follows.

I turn that way and panic. "Sam, don't cry!" I take her red face in my hands and brush my thumbs over her damp cheeks. "Your tears might freeze on you!"

Sam scowls and smacks my hand away. "You should have thought of that before you showed us your grave! Which you dug yourself!" She sniffs and swipes the backs of her black mittens over her eyes. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I know I should have told you guys sooner," I confess. "But, we were all so scared and-and then it just…never felt right to bring all that back up."

Tucker punches my arm hard enough that it would have hurt if I were in human-form. His green eyes shine with unshed tears. "Bullshit! If you wanted to," he flails his hands in the direction of my grave, "do that on your own, whatever. It's your corpse. But, you still could have told us."

Properly shamed, I lower my gaze. "I'm sorry. It's just that I know you guys blame yourselves for what happened to me, no matter what I say, and…I didn't wanna make you feel worse."

Sam tosses her hands at her sides. "Why tell us now?" she asks mournfully.

I keep my eyes on the ground and absently kick at the snow. "After my dad became a ghost," I still can't say 'died,' "he made me a tombstone. It has my living name on it, so I'm not going to mark my grave with it, but it…touched something in me. I ended up showing him my grave, and I've been thinking about it ever since."

My friends struggle to contain their emotions and find something to say. Tucker speaks first, shyly jabbing his toe at the ground. "Could we…pay our respects?"

That nails me right in the chest. In a good way. "Of course," I say. "Thank you."

They don't ask me to join them as they approach my grave. They know what happened when I was at the grave Reaper made me at Shadowed Passing, also known as their lair.

My friends huddle together at my grave, speaking in low tones. I probably shouldn't be watching, but the scene brings me a warm, content feeling.

People are visiting my grave. That's never happened before. Well, technically it has, but that visit to Shadowed Passing was different.

That grave was a tribute to my afterlife, something that Reaper provides for everyone who dies and becomes a ghost.

This is my grave. And, people are visiting it, paying their respects.

Not even Dad did this when I showed it to him, but that could have been because he had just died and I was a sobbing wreck over it among other things. It's very possible that he visited on his own.

Despite the reawakened grief permeating the air, I feel a smile on my lips.

A few days later, Sam is dragging me up to her room. Tucker is on my heels. Both of them look equal parts eager and nervous. They were that way at school, too.

"Will you guys just tell me what this is about?" I ask.

"You'll understand once you see it," Tucker says unhelpfully.

Once we're in Sam's bedroom, Tucker shuts the door behind us. Even with adequate lighting, the deep purple walls and black and gray furniture make Sam's bedroom seem darker than the rest of the mansion. Which, of course, is the point.

Sam reaches under her bed and grunts as she climbs to her feet with a large object in her hands. Whatever's hidden beneath the dreidel-patterned wrapping paper - "We only had leftovers from Hannukah," Sam explains when I question it - must be heavy.

Tucker nudges his elbow against mine. "We considered giving this to you on your birthday, but we decided that we didn't wanna wait that long."

Sam says to me, "Remember when I got the meth from one of my goth friends?" Don't ask. Let's just call it an ill-fated attempt at ghost stuff we didn't understand. "His girlfriend makes this type of thing. Their policy is 'I won't ask questions if you won't.'"

"You have really weird friends, Sam," I comment as I take the quite heavy object from her. "And, that's coming from me."

Sam rolls her eyes. "Just open your present, weirdo."

I observe my highly suspicious gift. It has a square bottom but is round on the top. I estimate that it's more than two feet in length and over a foot in width and is thicker than our textbooks. I balance it on one arm to tear off the wrapping paper, revealing a light gray stone underneath. Still confused, I keep ripping the paper until…

The design is simple but elegant. There is a carved border of intricate swirls and roses along each side. The text in the center is carved into a beautiful calligraphy.

Danny Phantom

Our Hero

The gravity of my gift hits me full force. My eyes water, and I choke down sobs but am powerless against the teardrops that fall one by one. They roll down my cheeks, drip off my chin, and land on this polished stone that means everything to me.

Just like when Dad gave me a tombstone.

But, this one… This one doesn't have my living name on it. I can use it.

Tucker's voice holds a note of triumph. "I told you he'd cry."

"We felt bad that you had to make your grave by yourself," Sam explains. "So, we both chipped in and bought you a tombstone."

I grapple with my emotions as I turn my blurry gaze from one person to the other. "You guys… You don't know what this means to me."

In hindsight, I should have known that someone would find my grave eventually. Now that it's been properly marked, that is. Still, I never thought it would take one day and one hiker who decided to brave the elements.

My mom and sister demanded to know why Dad and I never told them. Of course, it's not Dad's fault that I swore him to secrecy, though Mom and Jazz were a little more understanding when I told them the whole story. Jazz held me and sniffled against me, and Mom wept in Dad's arms.

That was two days ago. Currently, I am debating spending the rest of the school day invisible even though most of these people don't know who I really am.

Danny Phantom's recently discovered grave is all anyone's talking about. All day long, I am unable to tune out the musings of my peers.

"I hear it doesn't even have a date on it. How long do you think it's been there?"

"My girlfriend and I went to check it out. It even has 'Danny Phantom' written on it. That can't be the name he was born with, can it?"

"My brother hikes out there all the time. He says it just showed up out of nowhere the other day!"

"Do you think Phantom's really buried there?"

I am losing my goddamn mind.

Hence why Dash slamming me against my locker despite us being friends now threatens to push me over the edge. I rub my bruised arm and shoulder and bare my teeth at him. "What was that for?"

Dash opens his mouth. At the last minute, he remembers that the hallway isn't empty and leans in to whisper, "For not telling me you had a grave, Fenton!"

Yeah. I'm fed up. I grab him by the jacket and angle him so that his ear is close to my mouth. I speak quietly enough that I can barely hear my own voice. "If you had to bury your own remains, you wouldn't tell people either."

The color drains from Dash's face. I shove him off of me and get moving when the warning bell rings.

I don't see Dash again until lunch, when he grabs me by the arm on my way to the cafeteria. He drags me into the janitor's closet and closes the door behind us.

"Listen, man," he says. "I'm sorry if I brought up anything. I just feel like-like I could've been visiting it all this time? I mean, you're my pal and even before that, you were, like, my idol and-and you know… I don't know."

I sigh and pull my fingers through my hair. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just that everyone keeps talking about it and… I'm happy that I have a proper grave, that I have a real marker for it. But, every time I hear someone speculate about where it came from and how it got there and blah blah blah, I…I flashback to…when I put it there." I shiver and suddenly feel like skipping lunch. "It wasn't pleasant, as you can imagine."

Dash cringes in sympathy.

I stick my hands in my pants pockets and toe the tiled floor. "I can take you there after school if you want."

I end up bringing Valerie and Paulina as well. They both cornered me when they had the chance, so as Phantom, I conjured two duplicates to help me carry them and Dash. I remove the duplicates once we're close enough, and we walk the rest of the way. It's been a few days since the last real snowfall, but the ground is still blanketed with white and a little slippery in some places.

"So, like, a skin sack?" Valerie asks after I explain what exactly I buried three-and-a-half years ago.

My breath fogs when I blow it out. "Basically."

Besides me, Paulina is a little green around the gills. "And, you just…picked it up?"

I try not to be offended. "I'm a ghost. We're protective of our corpses. Or, remains, in my case. Yeah, it sounds gross, and I'm sure I wouldn't have touched it if I'd found it when I was alive. But…i-it's just different, okay?"

"Dude," Dash says on my other side, "that's fucked up. Not the ghost and corpse thing. That-that kind of makes sense. But," he waves his arms around, "this whole thing? With you burying…yourself? That's fucked up."

"Yeah," is all I say.

The silence that follows is tense, and it will only get more tense once we reach our destination. Soon my grave comes into view.

I gasp and run the rest of the way, ignoring my friends calling after me. I stop far enough away that close proximity won't affect me and stare with my mouth hanging open.

Flowers. There are flowers at my grave. Seven singles and two bouquets. Three of the singles and one of the bouquets died in the cold. The rest are still vibrant, so they must be fake.

People left flowers. At my grave. They came all the way out here just to leave me flowers.

"Well," Valerie quips when everyone catches up to me. She pats me on the shoulder. "Somebody likes you."

"Why bother leaving flowers?" Dash asks. "It's, like, ten degrees out here."

Paulina shrugs. "I guess that's why some of them are fake."

My friends are humans. They can't comprehend how incredible this feels. To know that people care enough to seek out my grave and leave tributes.

Now the sun is shining in my core and blissful content is surging through my veins.

I take one shaky step forward, but my knees give out, landing me crouched down in the snow.

Valerie is at my side in an instant. "Danny? You okay?"

My vision is tinted green and my laughter is choked. "People left me flowers!"

Valerie frowns cautiously. "So, that's, like, a big deal for ghosts?"

Still giggling, I sniff and swipe my finger under my damp eyes.

Dash steps forward and observes my well-loved grave with his arms crossed over his chest. "I wished I'd known that ahead of time. I would have brought some."

"Me too," Valerie adds. "You gotta tell us these things, Danny."

"I didn't even know," I say.

"I brought something."

My head jerks around to stare up at Paulina, whose already red face darkens further as she reaches into her backpack with a shy smile. She pulls out a tulip with a long green stem and bright pink petals. Obviously fake.

Valerie glares enviously and Dash tosses his hands at his sides and says, "The hell, Paulina? You couldn't have brought something for us?"

Paulina shrugs. "I didn't know Danny would bring all of us here. And, anyway," she adds cattily while strolling past us, "why didn't you guys think to bring something?"

They don't answer.

I watch in pure joy as Paulina steps up to my grave and kneels down to gently place her tribute directly in front of the tombstone sticking up out of the ground. Ectoplasm falls from my eyes, creating pale green streaks on my light gray face. Yet, the smile on my trembling lips is true.

I check on my grave every day. There isn't always something new placed there, but when there is, I snatch it up quickly so that my proximity to my grave doesn't have time to affect me. I keep everything in my lair. Except the dead flowers, which sadden me more than I would have expected them to. I felt better once Sam offered to use them for compost in her greenhouse.

People have caught on to the fact that I am keeping their tributes, as they have started leaving me other things in addition to the flowers. Food, stuffed animals, space-themed trinkets because it's no secret that I love the stars and planets. The Box Ghost - I know it was him - left me a plastic box with kittens on it. One person even left me a pocket-sized bible. I tried reading it to be polite, but I zoned out almost immediately. (No offense, Jesus.)

Hearing my classmates muse about my grave still makes me uncomfortable, but now that the shock has worn off, it's a little more bearable. Even so, when my peers discuss what they're going to leave for Phantom, I sometimes have to bite my tongue so I don't tell them that I hate peanut butter or that I like the blue one better or other things of that nature.

Then I kick myself for being picky when these people are going out of their way to leave nice things for me at my grave. Even the tributes I don't care for are deeply appreciated.

It must be like this for all ghosts. After discovering my first tributes, I flew to Dad's grave in Kreuger Cemetery and left him a rose I sculpted with my ice powers. That night, he phased into the living room with a big toothy grin and a proclamation of "Look what someone left at my grave!" When I revealed who left it, he gave me a hug so painful that I had to switch to ghost-form to recover.

He hasn't quite gotten a handle on his newfound strength yet. I'm glad I could make him feel better after he accidentally dislocated Mom's shoulder while dragging her down to the lab.

My girlfriend was pretty peeved that I never told her I had a grave. Now, however, she sends me a text asking me to meet her at my grave in an hour. Curious, I abandon my science homework and fly to the forest, where my girlfriend is waiting near my grave. She keeps her distance from it, as while she wouldn't react as strongly as I would, she'd still be emotionally compromised if she got too close.

Mira Scott has been dead for about a year and a half. She's two years older than me and is also rounder and roughly six inches shorter. Her skin is bright green, and her long tangled hair is a much darker shade. With her denim jacket, skirt that ends just above her knees, and signature purple and black striped beanie, she is dressed more for a cool spring day than the middle of winter. But, of course, she is a ghost, so it doesn't matter.

There is a plastic container in her hands. When I land in front of her, I nod to it and ask, "Whatcha got there?"

She holds up the container proudly. "I finally perfected my lasagna recipe."

"It wasn't perfect already? It was pretty good the last time I had it."

Mira raises an eyebrow with an amused smirk. "Are you sure you aren't blinded by the fact that we had sex for the first time that night?"

I tap my finger to my chin, considering this while pretending my face didn't just turn green. "That's actually a valid question."

Mira rolls her eyes. "Anyway, I brought a big piece for you. I was just gonna leave it at your grave, but I wasn't sure when you would pick it up."

My heart skips as I watch her walk up to my grave and quickly set the container down before scurrying back to me.

I welcome her by pulling her against me and kissing her soft lips. "Thank you," I say. "Maybe I could come to your grave and leave you something?"

Mira's core is in her eyes as she says, "I'd like that."

"But, first," I add cheekily, "I am kind of hungry."

Mira reaches into the pseudo-dimension known as pocketspace and whips out two plastic forks. "I thought you might say that."

I laugh and swoop in to grab the container then return to Mira's side. Then I switch to human-form and pull my arm around her, leading her away from my grave in case anyone else stops by.

Mira frowns at me. "You wanna do this in human-form? Are you sure?"

"How often do I get to date you as Fenton?" I counter. As far as everyone knows, Mira is Danny Phantom's girlfriend. "Outside of closed doors, I mean." I wink at her. "I'm feeling a little dangerous."

Mira gives me a smug, sexy look. "Aren't you always?"

We sit down to share the lasagna. This transitions to us feeding each other and giggling.

Then making out.

Then taking our clothes off.

Best. Picnic. Ever.

In addition to being one of my teachers, Eileen Merryweather is my imprinted ghost mother. Not that the majority of Casper High is aware of this.

She was one of many victims of the Salem Witch Trials, so as far as I know, she never got a proper burial. After classes let out for the day and my classmates have left the room, I close the door and walk up to her desk. She stands up, knowing that this is what we do when we need to discuss ghost stuff.

Although her spectral status is an open secret, she continues to use a human disguise while teaching, and she remains in the form of a black woman with a head of dark curls while we talk.

"Do you have a grave, Mama?" I ask. "Like, an actual grave? In this realm, I mean."

Eileen blows a stray curl out of her face and places her hands on her hips. "Yes and no. There's a memorial plaque in Salem dedicated to all the victims of the Witch Trials. I've always considered that to be my tombstone."

So, that's a no, then. I suspected as much, but it still makes me sad. Mama left a bouquet of milk chocolate roses at my grave the other night. I was hoping to leave something at hers.

I finger the straps of my backpack. "Do you want a real grave? Sam knows someone who makes decorative tombstones. That's how she and Tucker got mine. Maybe I could-"

Eileen holds up a faux human hand with a gentle smile. "That's sweet, Danny. But, it's not necessary. The plaque is enough for me. Besides, there's a road paved over where they buried me now. Might be a little inconvenient to have a tombstone there."

She's not wrong, but I'm still disappointed. "Can you at least tell me where the plaque is? I'd like to pay my respects."

Based on her expression, I think she would give me a hug if there weren't cameras in the room and I was in ghost-form.

I imprinted on two ghosts, but I also got imprinted on by a sweet little boy who died of SIDS at the tender age of three months. Bub, formerly Anthony Pierce, is a spirit with gray skin a shade lighter than my ghost-form's, white hair, the smallest fangs you've ever seen, and vibrant red eyes with reptilian pupils.

My hands are wrapped around my son's ankles, and his small hands are pressed against my head for support while he rides on my shoulders. This is completely unnecessary, seeing as Bub can fly, but shut up and let me be a dad.

I'm still hesitant about letting Bub visit my grave, but I figure that it's better for him to get this kind of experience when I'm with him rather than when I'm not. Ghost children develop better when they are able to roam at their leisure, so there's a strong chance of Bub stumbling across my grave without me if he went looking on his own.

"Remember," I say to him as I walk up to the spot. "Spirits can get really emotional at the graves of people they know. Don't be scared if you feel sad or angry out of nowhere, okay?"

"Okay, Daddy," Bub chirps above me.

I stop a safe distance away, and Bub leaps off of me and on to the ground. There was a heavy snowfall - enough to cancel school for the day, hence why I'm here at one 'o clock in the afternoon - and Bub is up to his chest in the sparkling white mass. He could easily phase through or fly over it, but he chooses to charge right through it on his short eighteen-month-old legs. In one hand, he carries a light brown flower he made out of clay, holding it by the blackened stem. My son's Obsession is art, and he recently discovered that he could use his fire powers as a kiln. He's still working out the kinks.

My skin prickles with apprehension when Bub stops in front of my tombstone. I watch, prepped to intervene, as he sends out a small puff of flame from his free hand to melt away the snow for a better look. He sets down the flower and runs back to me with his arms up and a big smile, continuing to barrel through the snow.

"I did it, Daddy!" he shouts.

"Yeah, you did!" I reply, crouching down to let him run into my arms as relief floods me. "I was worried my grave would make you sad. I know I get really sad at your grave."

Bub pulls back enough to gaze at me with curious red eyes. "Why?"

"Because I love you." I position him so that I can hold him as I stand. When did he get this big? I used to cradle him in one arm with ease, and now I need both arms. "And, because I don't like that you had to die for me to find you."

Bub frowns deeply and lowers his head, looking up at me through his bangs. "I didn't get sad at your grave. Does that mean I don't love you?"

A tiny chuckle escapes me, and I press my lips to his bangs. "I think it just means that you're a little young for this sort of thing."

Another theory, one that breaks my heart with its realism, is that my son has so little memory of living that he will never react to a grave the way someone who died at even a few years older would. He may as well have been Zone-born.

I banish the theory to the deep recesses of my mind and vow to make a trip to Nashville, Tennessee and leave flowers at my child's grave, even if he'll probably never find them.

That night, my Ghost Sense goes off on my way to my usual grave check. I don't expect anyone to leave me anything in this weather, but I find that I've become more protective of the spot since marking it. Must be another ghost thing.

No ghost with any real morality would tamper with a grave, regardless of whose it is, but the knowledge that an unknown specter is this close puts me on edge.

Until I see who it is.

The demon has a lean, wiry build and stands at roughly eight feet, though they appear to be crouched at my grave. Their bald pale blue-gray head shines under the moonlight. When I land, they turn their head toward me, their wholly green eyes welcoming.

I mentioned that I imprinted on two ghosts. Eileen is one. Reaper is the other.

"I'm surprised to see you out in the open like this," I comment. "I thought you didn't like being seen by mortals."

Reaper smooths out their ankle-length black skirt as they rise to their incredible height. They spread their arms. "Apart from the forest creatures, do you see any mortals?"

Fair enough. "What brings you to Earth, Grim?"

Reaper steps away from my grave, and I float to their eye level. "When you informed me that you had officially marked your place of rest," they explain, "I desired to bring you something."

Their words warm me. At my last visit to their lair, I was practically fizzing with glee over how many people cared enough to leave tributes. I confess that I spent a solid twenty minutes babbling about it.

"Thanks," I say. "But, how did you know where I was buried?"

Reaper snorts a little and place their hand over their core. "I am the Ancient of Death, yet you ask how I knew where a ghost was buried."

Cold creeps over my face, and I force a toothy grin.

Reaper shakes their head in amusement. "Will you need assistance in taking it?"

Their tribute, they mean. "Actually, I figured out that if I do it super fast," I swoop in, grab the tribute, and return to my parent in a heartbeat, "I can grab it no problem!"

I hold up Reaper's tribute to my face. It is a small beaker with some kind of red liquid in it and a note with instructions taped to it. The instructions end with the words I hope this assists with your studies. -Grim. I swirl the beaker around and watch purple bubbles form and pop. I remove the lid and take a whiff. It smells bitter but floral, as if someone set a garden on fire and liquified the ashen remains.

I raise an eyebrow at my parent. "What is this?"

"It is a tonic derived from midnight lilies, devil's breath, and blood blossoms."

I slam the lid back on. Goosebumps shoot up my arms. "Aren't blood blossoms, like, super poisonous for us? Also…super extinct?"

Reaper blinks at my questions. "I am surprised that you are familiar with Earthen blood blossoms."

"There was this whole time travel thing- Wait. Earthen blood blossoms? Are they different in the Ghost Zone?"

"Quite," Reaper says. "Many years ago, around your imprinted mother's time, a gardener from the Infinite Realms sought to share his bounty with the Earthen town he grew up in. He planted a plethora of seeds, but alas, they all died off in the juxtaposing atmosphere. Except the blood blossoms, which mutated in a way that caused them to become hazardous for our kind."

I grit my teeth in sympathy. "Yeesh. Poor guy."

"Indeed. Fortunately, as you have stated, the earthen variants are no longer a threat." Reaper points to the beaker. "As such, your tonic is perfectly safe. It is meant to promote brain activity, specifically focus. Something I know you have been struggling with as of late."

I clutch the beaker against my chest. "A lot's been happening lately. I'll definitely give this a shot."

Reaper nods with a smile. "Very good. If you find its effects satisfactory, I can teach you how to make it yourself."

Two new voices stop me from thanking my grim once more. We turn invisible as two human men brave the snow to walk up to my grave. They approach my tombstone, and Reaper and I listen to their conversation.

One sweeps snow out of the way with his boot. "I don't see anything. How 'bout you, Shawn?"

His companion, Shawn, crouches down to dig his mittened hands through the snow. "Nope. Nothing tonight, Brayden." He stands up and swipes his hands together, brushing off the snow. "Either Phantom grabbed whatever was here, or the weather scared everyone off." He shivers and runs his hands up and down his arms. "Can't say I blame them."

"Hey, you know how much stuff we've pilfered!" Brayden says. "I still can't believe everyone's just leaving it all for a ghost! No offense to Phantom, but what use does a ghost have for home-cooked meals and energy drinks? Or, any meals or drinks, for that matter?"

Shawn shrugs. "I don't know, man. If you ask me, we're doing Phantom a favor by taking it."

Rage like I've never felt has been building in me throughout their conversation. My chest heaves with heavy breaths that vibrate in my throat, creating soft, animalistic growls with each exhale. I release one hand from the beaker and flex my fingers, letting burning green energy waft over the unseen digits.

I sweep my hand through the air, sending out a wave that knocks both humans on their asses with pained shouts. When they curse in shock and pick themselves up, I plant my feet on the snow, drop the invisibility, and bare my teeth while growling louder.

Both humans go pale. Shawn lets out a string of curses while Brayden stammers, "W-w-we weren't doing anything!"

I hold up a glowing green fist. "Come near my grave again," my voice deepens to a monstrous pitch, "and I'll make sure you don't do anything."

They take off screaming after that. Two silver blasts nail them in their backs and send them flying forward. I watch them scramble to their feet and book it.

Calming down now, I look up at Reaper, whose hand is still glowing silver. This is the first time I've seen genuine hatred in their normally kind green eyes. They wait until the humans disappear from sight before letting their ecto-energy fade and lowering their hand. "Wretched fools," they say like a curse.

Now that the rage has passed, embarrassment is settling in. I rub the back of my neck. "Sorry I got all…feral there," I say to my parent. "I don't know what came over me."

"On the contrary, I would have been concerned had you not reacted the way you did." Reaper points to the beaker still wrapped in my fingers. "Your tributes are yours and yours alone. They are offerings made in honor of your life and as such are precious. You are the only one who should be doing with them as you see fit."

In other words, more ghost stuff. "But, I let Sam use the dead flowers for compost, and I felt fine."

"You say that you let her do this, which implies that you gave her permission." Reaper glares in the direction the humans went. "Those heathens did not have your permission. That is the difference, Danny Phantom."

Makes sense. I fly back to Reaper's eye level. "I've been wondering. What is it with ghosts and graves? I never really thought about my own until I marked it. Now I keep checking on it. I'm not even looking for tributes. I just- I just wanna make sure it's okay."

Reaper smiles in understanding. "A ghost's place of rest is a monument to their life. Whether it be underground, in an urn, or wherever their body lies. You see, Danny Phantom, though the soul is cleaved from the body after death, a connection remains. A spirit's place of rest is sacred because the spirit's body is sacred. In fact, desecrating a corpse or remains is a terrible crime in the Infinite Realms and is met with punishment of the highest order."

"Okay," I say, processing the information. "But, why did I feel so much more protective of my place of rest after marking it?"

Reaper frowns and cups their chin in their hand. "That I cannot say. Perhaps it has something to do with your being half-human. Regardless of the reason," they place their hands on my arms, "I never again want to hear you apologize for defending your grave. It is a natural reaction that stems from your death, and it is not something to feel shamed by."

"Aright, Grim. Next time," I add with a wink, "I'll just blast them to smithereens."

Reaper laughs and kisses my forehead.

The next morning, I take a teaspoon of the tonic as instructed. It tastes like burnt soap, but I am laser-focused at school and even complete my barely-started English report in only a few hours. I can't wait to tell Reaper.

Chapter Text

"I was a little taken aback when I got my receipt from the funeral parlor. On the bottom it read 'Thank you. Please come again.'"- Unknown

The sexton - I looked it up, and that is his actual job title - of Kreuger Cemetery asked me if I want to move my grave there. I haven't given him an answer yet. Reaper's tonic helps me avoid dwelling on it during class, but it's on my mind any time I don't have notes to take or worksheets to do or pork chops to punch.

Yes, you heard that right. Dad tried cooking with his Ghost Rays, and it went as well as could be expected. I ended up flying to the mall to pick up dinner from the Chinese place in the food court.

We all sit at the dinner table with our styrofoam containers - Dad included, as he still enjoys eating even though he no longer has to - and I explain my internal conflict between bites of fried rice and sesame chicken.

"I think you should do it," Dad says. "Then you and I can be in the same cemetery. Maybe you can even ask for a spot next to mine!"

Mom pauses with part of an egg roll halfway to her mouth. "Wouldn't it raise questions if he asked for a plot beside a…former ghost hunter?" It's getting easier to talk about Dad's death, but we still have our moments.

Dad's blue lips curl upward. "Not necessarily. We did denounce our animosity with Phantom last year. Who's to say we didn't become friends with him as well?"

"It's not about the plot," I say. "It's more about my…you know."

Jazz folds her hands on the table. "For obvious reasons, that particular branch of psychology is not something I'm familiar with. But, my understanding is that a ghost's corpse is the most precious thing they have. Correct?"

I nod and cut into another piece of chicken. "Reaper even used the word 'sacred' and said that spirits still harbor connections to their bodies. I was talking to Vlad about it the other day, and he said that he once saw a ghost go completely insane because their body was being used to assuage some nutjob's libido." I shudder at the thought. "If you know what I mean."

Mom grimaces and holds up a hand. "Danny, please don't say things like that at the dinner table."

Dad twirls lo mein noodles on his fork and frowns at her. "I'm gonna play devil's advocate and remind you that we're having a casual conversation about corpses."

"Regardless," Mom counters, "there should be a limit."

"Sorry, Mom," I say. "But, you get the idea."

Jazz points at me with a forkful of general Tso's chicken. "But, you would be moving your remains by choice, right? And, they would be handled by people who would treat them with respect."

"Yeah." I dig my fork into my rice. "But, my biggest concern is that, well…my remains aren't, like, normal? I told you what was left behind. How am I supposed to explain that only my insides are gone?"

Mom looks like she wants to reprimand my choice of dinner talk again but makes the conscious choice to keep the momentum going. "Why do you have to let anyone see it? Just say that it's gruesome and you don't want people looking at it."

"Won't that just invite questions about how I died?" I counter.

"Sweetheart, Danny Phantom has been flying around for three-and-a-half years," she reminds me. "That's plenty of time for a body to decay. No one would question that."

She has a point. I chew on some rice while mentally going over everything that's been said. After I swallow, "I guess it would be nice to be in a real cemetery instead of a random spot in the woods. Do you think they'd let me keep my tombstone?"

"Why wouldn't they?" Jazz asks. She adds cheekily, "You've got an advantage most dead guys don't, little brother. You actually have a say!"

Heh. I do, don't I?

"Hand it over, SquarePants!" I shout at my target.

He stops mid-air and turns around to scream, "Never! I, the Box Ghost-"

I stop too. "-would be getting wrecked right now if he wasn't holding something I need kept in one piece."

Boxy smirks and holds up the box like a trophy. It is a metallic black container that is about a foot long and six inches wide and tall. My signature white D-with-a-P-inside symbol is painted on the lid and surrounded by the neon green pentagram that was added to my insignia by accident later on. My birth parents made it for me, and I'd very much like to get it back.

"You need this in one piece, do you?" He presses it against his chest, and that's on me for revealing that it's the perfect shield. "Have you discovered the wonders of the cubic or, in this case, rectangular containment unit?"

I stomp on my temper as hard as I can, but with that particular box in his hands, my fury is leaking out. "I'm not in the mood, Lawrence. Just give me the box."

"My apologies, wielder of the cylindrical container. But, once a box in the hands of the Box Ghost-"

"It's my coffin, asshole!" I scream because fuck this.

Box Ghost opens and closes his mouth like a suffocating fish before uttering, "What?"

I groan loudly and run my hands over my face. "I'm moving my grave, and since they're not already in a coffin, I'm gonna put my remains in that box your holding so no one will see them."

Box Ghost looks from me to the coffin to me again, rinse and repeat. "But, you… Aren't you still… How would you even fit in this?"

"Let's just say that there's a reason I used the word 'remains' and not 'body.'" I hold out my hands while he pales at the plethora of implications. "Just give me my coffin, and I'll pretend this never happened."

Box Ghost floats toward me and lets me yank my coffin out of his grasp. "I-I didn't know…" he stammers.

"It's fine," I say tiredly. I tuck my coffin under one arm and make a shooing motion with my free hand. "Just go rob a cardboard factory or something and let me box up what's left of me in peace."

He flies away with a guilty nod.

It is then that I hear the murmurs and note with a sinking feeling that my chase had taken me closer to the ground than I realized. Civilians are looking up at me in a blend of horror and pity and looking away when I make eye contact.

This can only mean that, by the end of the day, the whole town will know that what's left of Danny Phantom's human body can fit into what is essentially a glorified shoe box.

Great…

I made it perfectly clear that I don't want some ceremony. I just want to rebury my remains on my own and mark the spot with the tombstone given to me by, as I called them, "some very important people."

Naturally, Danny Phantom shoveling himself a six-foot hole in the ground has caught some attention.

Throughout the process, I have to deal with the morbidly curious standing outside of the gate - the plot offered to me is at the edge of the graveyard - and watching me work. They go away when I growl at them, but I am too preoccupied to notice them before I hear their murmurs.

"Good god, it's true! That's a fucking shoe box!"

"Dude, I don't even wanna know what happened to him."

"Poor Phantom. His death must have been horrible!"

I refuse to tell the onlookers that I folded up my literally dead skin all nice and pretty and placed it into my small coffin with the gentleness of a mother putting her newborn baby to bed. I simply restrain myself from whacking these people with my shovel.

Sam and Tucker's appearance, I can tolerate. They won't whisper about me like they think I can't hear.

"You doing okay, Danny?" Sam asks carefully.

I continue digging, floating over my half-dug hole. "As okay as I can. It's nice to…have a real place, you know? Instead of some random, meaningless spot in the woods. I just wish people wouldn't come by every five seconds to stare at me."

"Is that a hint?" Tucker asks.

I manage a small smile for my friends. "No. You guys are the exception to the rule. That being said, you might wanna vamoose. Just so nobody thinks I'm accepting visitors. I'd really rather be alone for this."

My friends leave me be, and I finish burying my remains without incident. Unlike the first time I did this sort of thing, I leap back to a safe distance as soon as I'm finished so that no emotional breakdowns can occur.

And yet, as I stand a few feet from my new grave with the shovel clutched in both hands like a lifeline, I feel the dampness on my cheeks and wonder how long I've been crying. I sigh out a frigid, shuddering breath.

The temperature of it tells me that it's less of a real breath and more of a Ghost Sense.

The head of the shovel stabs the ground with a cathartic thunk. I sniff and swipe the back of my glove over my face. I don't need anybody seeing me like this, least of all one of my enemies.

Fortunately, the vampiric ghost in a flowing white cape who lands a few feet away is my former enemy.

I lean my elbow on the handle of the shovel, aiming for casualness even though I'm certain he can tell I was just crying. "What's up?"

Vlad Plasmius pulls something out from behind his back. It's a crystalline black rose that probably cost more than my college fund. Unless he stole it, which is also possible. "I was hoping to christen your new grave, if that's alright."

My heart pounds as I gaze at the rose in a new way. My first tribute at my new grave, and it's something so beautiful. I blink away a fresh wave of tears. "Thank you," I croak out. I clear my throat. "Do it fast so you won't flip out or anything."

"I do not 'flip out' at your grave, Daniel." Nevertheless, Vlad shoots to my tombstone, places the rose in front of it, and sprints back to my side.

My curiosity gets the better of me. "How do you react to my grave?"

Vlad frowns deeply and turns away, crossing his arms and drumming his fingers against one of them.

Shame permeates me. "I'm sorry. Should I not have asked?"

He takes a deep breath and continues not looking at me. "The first time was at Shadowed Passing. I was… I think that was when it started to sink in just how much I'd wronged you. I was at your grave in the forest a few days ago, and…" He shrugs. "The guilt is still there, though isn't the force it was initially."

I startle him by resting my hand on his back under his cape. "I saw your grave at Shadowed Passing, too. It made me feel really disappointed because-because you were my enemy at the time and…I kept thinking about how you shouldn't have been." Vlad nods in a grim acceptance, but I'm not done yet. "I saw it again the night of my reckoning." AKA, my halfa puberty. "When you were crying in front of it. By then, I'd seen how kind you could be. I felt…hopeful. For who you could become."

That gets a smile out of him.

"Vlad," I say when it occurs to me, "do you have a grave? Did you…leave anything behind when you became a halfa?"

The other day, I called Danielle to ask the same questions, seeing as we're both halfas. She reminded me that she never actually died, as she was a half-ghost from birth. She has no desire for a grave, but I have been thinking about the other halfa in my life.

Who answers me with a cautious frown. "There was…a remnant. And, I did bury it, yes."

"Where is it?"

Vlad glances down at my hopeful expression then sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "It doesn't matter."

His response shocks me. "Of course it matters! I wanna pay my respects."

Vlad tosses his hands in the air and turns on me with pain masquerading as irritation. "Is there anything to respect, Daniel? It's not even a real corpse!"

I squint at him and turn away in mock indignation. "By that logic, no one should respect my grave, either."

Vlad groans and massages his head. "I didn't mean it that way. You are worth respecting."

The way he said that breaks my heart. "And…you're not?"

If I hadn't been watching for that flash of sorrow, I would miss it when he chuckles and places his fingers demurely to his chest. "Of course I'm worth respecting! Have you been living in a cave?"

"Don't do that," I warn. "Don't hide behind a facade. I've been there, Vlad. I know how much it hurts."

That flash lasts a moment longer this time before getting covered up. "I didn't come here for a therapy session. I left you a tribute. You're welcome." He takes a bow. "Now I shall bid you adieu."

As soon as he's gone, I call Sam and ask her to put me in contact with a certain goth friend of hers.

I land on Vlad's doorstep two days later and revert to human-form. The two-foot stone wrapped in shining blue paper feels heavier in this form, but I can manage it just fine while I contort my arms to ring the doorbell. I readjust my hold while I wait.

When the door opens, I swallow a loud, irritated groan. I had been expecting Vlad. Not his stupid boyfriend.

Hutch Blairman is a former human with blue skin, yellow eyes, a pink feather boa bright enough to cause seizures, and too much free time. The man has been a pain in my butt since the day we met, when he filmed from the bushes like the total creep that he is.

Frankly, I don't know what Vlad sees in him.

Blairman gasps at the sight of me and folds his hands against his cheek. "Cereal Boy! What a glorious surprise!"

That's another thing. I bear an unfortunate resemblance to some kid in an old commercial, and Blairman keeps reminding me despite the fact that he knows damn well what my name is. If I knew he was here, I would have stayed in ghost-form. At least then, he refers to me exclusively as "Phantom."

Better than him revealing my secret, I guess.

"What brings you here, Cereal Boy?" Blairman goes on. He presses his fists to his chest with a manic grin. "Are you finally going to give me those headshots I've been asking for?"

That is yet another thing. Blairman's Obsession is movies, and he keeps demanding that I star in one of his.

"No," I say cheekily. "But, I would be more than happy to shoot a head."

Should I be threatening the romantic partner of the guy I need to talk to? No. Do I care? Also no.

Luckily, Blairman is used to my responses and merely huffs and crosses his arms. "Well, if it's not a box of headshots, then what is that huge thing in your arms?"

"It's for Vlad. Is he around?"

Blairman chuckles and twirls his hand upward. "It's his house, so I should think so." In the blink of an eye, he is behind me and pushing me into the foyer. "Come in, my budding star! Don't be shy!"

Maybe if I keep staring at the Packers memorabilia behind the glass cases lining the walls, Blairman will think I can't see him. A stupid idea, but one that brings me a speck of comfort until Blairman closes the over-sized doors and ushers me into the kitchen. His hands have an iron grip on my sides, and his chin is on top of my head.

Another Thing Number 3: Personal space. Blairman does not know what that is.

"Vladimir!" Blairman sing-songs. "I hope you don't mind if our friend here joins us for dinner!"

Dinner? This just got a whole lot more awkward. "Sorry," I say. "Are you guys on a date? I can come back later."

Vlad had been stirring something in a pot on the stove but pauses to look over his shoulder at me. The smell of garlic and tomatoes fills the air as Vlad sighs and turns around to scowl at me. I've seen him in casual clothes before, but it's rare enough that seeing him in an untucked t-shirt and jeans and with his hair down throws me off.

Until Vlad says, "This better be important, Daniel. As you've ascertained, Hutch and I are on a date, and your face sends his Obsession into overdrive."

"Don't remind me," I grumble.

Blairman scoffs but releases me.

"Really," I say, "I can go."

Vlad waves me off. "You may as well tell us why you're here and whether or not it has something to do with that package you're holding. Just give me a moment to drain the pasta before it overcooks."

Blairman bounces on the balls of his feet. "Can he join us for dinner? Please?" When Vlad deepens his scowl, Blairman decides to place his hands on my stomach. "Come on! He's a growing boy. He's probably starving!"

I spin out of his grip and snarl through gritted teeth. "I'm. Not. Hungry."

My stomach chooses that moment to rumble very loudly because a horde of ectopi made me skip lunch.

Blairman points to me with a smug grin. "See? The poor kid needs food!"

Vlad looks up at the ceiling, praying for strength. Then he says to Blairman, "He eats in another room." While Blairman pumps his fist in triumph, Vlad adds to me, "Assuming his reason for being here truly is that important."

"It is," I say with certainty.

Vlad makes me do the dishes, which is honestly fair. I do feel bad about spoiling his date, and I'm hoping my gift will make up for it.

The boyfriends are waiting for me on the couch in the living room. My gift for Vlad is untouched on the armchair where I left it.

Vlad sits his elbow on the couch's armrest and props his chin on top of his knuckles. "So, what's this about, Daniel?" He gestures with his freehand to the wrapped object on the chair. "Hutch tells me that thing is meant for me?"

"Yeah," I say. I walk over to pick up and hand it to him. "Maybe it'll make up for my intrusion."

Vlad considers the gift resting on his lap, and his boyfriend laughs and says to me, "Perish the thought, Cereal Boy! Why, your gorgeous face positively lights up the room! It's that natural 'boy next door' vibe you've got going on. That sort of thing isn't as common as you might think."

Vlad sighs through his nose and gestures to Blairman while speaking to me. "You see what you do to him?"

"Isn't he always like that?" I ask.

Vlad smirks and hums a laugh. There is genuine affection in his tone. "That's just how he gets when something triggers his Obsession. You'd be surprised how sweet he can be."

He takes Blairman's hand in what I guess is an act of solidarity, but it results in the two of them gazing into each other's eyes.

Which is not something I need to see so soon after eating. "Hello?" I wave my hands at either side of my head. "Still here!"

Vlad rolls his eyes at me, but Blairman is on my side in this. At least enough so that he gives Vlad's arm a shake and says, "Open it! Don't keep us all in suspense."

Vlad moves to rip off the wrapping paper, and a thought crashes into me and makes me want to tear the gift away from him. Does Blairman know about-

It's too late. Vlad is already staring open-mouthed at the polished gray tombstone in his lap. It is bordered by series of carved swirls and waves, and like my own, the words are carved in calligraphy.

Vlad Plasmius

Once a Foe

Now a Friend

"What…is this?" Vlad asks dumbly.

"It's a tombstone," I reply. "For you."

I gauge Blairman's reaction. He leans against Vlad and smiles at the tombstone. "Aw, that's sweet."

I blow out a relieved breath as Vlad sniffles and dabs his finger under his eyes.

Then Blairman drops the bomb. "It's a shame you don't have a grave to mark. This truly is a lovely piece. Where did you get it, Cereal Boy?"

He. Doesn't. Know.

The pasta and meatballs I just ate are heavy in my stomach, and Vlad is white as a sheet.

"I'm sorry!" I say, slamming my hands on the end table. The lamp rattles with the force of my panic. I'm making it worse, but I can't stop myself. "By the time I realized he might not know, you were already-"

Vlad holds up a hand. "I-it's alright, Daniel. I suppose he was going to find out eventually."

"Find out what?" Blairman asks. He is sitting up straight and glancing from person to person in fear and confusion. "What's going on?"

I feel like the worst person alive as Vlad takes a deep breath and drums his fingers on the tombstone. "There…might have been…something to bury after I died." He turns to me with an appraising eye. "Can I assume it was the same thing you had?"

"A skin sack?" I ask.

Vlad grimaces. "Not the words I would have chosen, but yes."

"Skin…sack?" Blairman says quietly, his eyes practically bugged out of his head. He shoots to his feet with a gasp and points to me. "Your grave! I heard you had a grave and-and that you moved it to a cemetery. I-I thought it was some kind of publicity stunt! You're telling me that you actually have something buried there?"

My heart aches as I keep my eyes locked on the table beneath me.

I listen as Blairman paces the room and exclaims, "Why am I just now hearing about this? Vlad! I've known you since you first became a ghost! Why didn't I know about this?"

The tombstone is abandoned on the couch as Vlad gets up and rushes to his boyfriend's side. "I had to bury my own remains, Hutch! It was the worst day of my life at that point."

"You buried them yourself?" Blairman's next words sound choked. "You had twenty-four years say something. I understand having secrets, but-but something like this? Keeping it from me?"

"I didn't mean to cause any problems." I also didn't mean for those words to come out of my mouth, but they cause the couple to remember that I'm in the room.

A large but slender hand rests on my back. "You've done nothing wrong," Vlad tells me. "Hutch is right. I should have told him about this ages ago."

I finally look up. Vlad's face is lowered in shame. Blairman is sniffling and dabbing his eyes with his boa.

"Where is it?" Blairman asks Vlad. "Your grave."

Vlad sounds fifty years older when he picks the tombstone up off the couch and says to me, "Up for a short flight, little badger?"

If the circumstances were different, I would taunt Vlad relentlessly for choosing to bury his remains within walking distance of Lambeau Field. Are we sure his Obsession is love and not the Packers?

Then again, he does love the Packers.

Any overturned dirt that might have been there when Vlad first made the grave has long-since sprouted grass. The area is pretty open, and there isn't even a makeshift marker like the rocks I once used. Since Vlad cries at his grave like I do at mine - albeit, not nearly as hysterical - he is careful to stay behind the spot while he phases his tombstone into the ground enough that it won't get knocked over easily. Then he flies over it to join us in standing a few feet away from the spot.

Here's hoping that three ghosts staring at a mysterious grave outside of a football stadium doesn't attract too much attention.

"I'm sorry I didn't bring a tribute," Blairman says, resting his head on Vlad's shoulder with his hands in his pockets. "I was so overwhelmed that it didn't even cross my mind."

Vlad wraps his arm around Blairman and kisses the top of his head. "I'm just sorry I never told you it was here."

Blairman shrugs. "It is what it is." He straightens. "I'd like to at least pay it a visit."

We watch him walk up to the tombstone and drop to one knee in front of it.

I look up when Vlad says suddenly, "Thank you for this, Daniel." He smiles a little. "I didn't even know I wanted a marker for it."

"I know the feeling," I say. "You are worth respecting, by the way. At least, now you are. You're better. That's why I picked the saying I did for your tombstone."

"Epitaph."

"What?"

Vlad's arms are crossed over his chest as he blinks quickly and clears his throat. "The 'saying' you are referring to is called an epitaph."

I smile at him. "Good to know."

Blairman stands up and speed walks to Vlad. He is still sniffling, and his eyes are rimmed with green as he kisses Vlad on the lips and throws his arms around the halfa. Vlad returns to the embrace with a content smile.

Now seems like a fantastic time for me to visit Vlad's grave.

I step up to the spot and let it all surge over me. The bitterness is still there as I recall all the horrible things he's done to me and my family. Like I told Vlad, the feeling mostly stems from the day we met, how we were laughing and carrying on while making dinner for my family and how much I genuinely liked him before learning the truth.

That bitterness…isn't as strong as it once was.

Vlad's been through a lot. The accident that gave him his powers. The ever-present fear that comes with being a half-ghost in a human world that can't possibly understand. His reckoning that ended in so much bloodshed that the government wrote it off as a terrorist attack. How he survived that kind of guilt, I don't know, but he bent over backwards to make sure my reckoning didn't end the same way.

Even if some of the actions he took were…misguided at best.

Most notably, most horrifically, the man survived being vivisected twice. Once directly before my reckoning, and once right before Dad died. The second time, his tormentors actually removed parts of him before help came. A shudder rakes through me at the memory of working with Dad to get everything reattached and in the right place.

There's been a heaviness in Vlad's gait ever since. I'm almost certain he has PTSD, but the man is too stubborn to have that confirmed.

That's why I wanted him to have a tombstone. He's been through hell, he's caused hell, and he's worked so hard to better himself. And more recently, he's been struggling to cope with…with everything. I can see it in his eyes, in those smiles that don't quite reach them.

I know that look. I've seen it in the mirror too many times.

There's something small and cold moving down my cheek. A tear. I actually shed a tear over Vlad's death. I'm mourning. I've never done that at his grave before.

A smile pulls at my lips. I walk back to the happy couple, who have released each other but hold hands as I approach. I don't wipe the line of ectoplasm off my cheek until I know Vlad has seen it.

He needs to know that his boyfriend isn't the only one who loves him.