Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

William Lancer wasn’t sure what to expect when he heard a knock at midnight.

It had been a long, frigid winter day. William sat in his patchy old armchair by the window, a blanket over his knees and a hot cup of tea on the end table beside him. He thumbed through the pages of Howl’s Moving Castle, rereading it for what must have been the ninth time. 

The school days dragged on this time of year, the students growing restless with Christmas three days out. William’s sleep was just as restless. An ache would spread through his legs and back as the day wore on, unaided by the numerous holes in the school building which let the wind cut through with its biting chill. That cold had seeped into his bones and never seemed to abate. 

No amount of reconstruction to the school ever seemed enough. The moment the holes were patched up, another ghost would barrel through, setting their progress back. A tedious song and dance, a never-ending cycle that came with living in Amity, surrounded by the ever-present chill of the ghosts that haunted it.

A shiver ran down William’s spine. He set his book down on his lap and grabbed his cup of tea, holding it in both hands. He drank in the relaxing scent of chamomile and the warmth of the steam.

 It did little to banish the chill from his bones.

William sometimes thought of moving away from Amity Park. Leaving the ghosts behind, finding somewhere warm where the only things lurking in the night had four paws and a hunger for trash. 

William remembered visiting his grandfather in Arizona when he was a child. The heat only let up when the sun set, but he could never enjoy sitting outside on the porch. The coyotes were common where his grandfather lived, and their howls always frightened him. No matter how much his grandfather assured him the coyotes would stay away— that they were more afraid of him— William didn’t trust those beasts in the dark.

He missed those coyotes now. Amity used to have them; he would hear them lurking in the woods on the outskirts of town, and sometimes see one’s eyes glinting in the dark when they wandered into the suburbs he grew up in. William couldn’t remember the last time he heard them howl, though. Before the ghosts, surely. 

Most creatures, and people, simply learned to adapt. William had too, in a way. It was a requirement to keep living in the town he’d always called home. Anything and anyone who couldn’t adapt had long-since left.

But it was nights like tonight, when the cold was deeper than bone, after a long day spent in a classroom with a hole in the ceiling, and a drive home with a duct-taped window on the passenger side, when the doubts crept in and those warm Arizona nights called to him.

William sighed. He knew he’d never leave Amity. He was born in this town and he’d die here, whether the ghosts took him before his time or not.

William glanced at the clock over his bookshelf. It was just past midnight now. He should’ve been in bed hours ago, but it was easy to get lost in his reading. He couldn’t say he regretted it, though he might think differently in the morning when his bleary eyes struggled to open.

With another heavy sigh, William set his book aside on the end table and grabbed his cup of tea. Taking a sip, William grimaced at the gritty last few dregs. It was too late to pour another cup.

William was halfway to his kitchen when he heard the first knock.

At first he thought he imagined it. It was easy to hear things in Amity. Half the time, the strange sounds outside William's window weren’t even his imagination. Just last week, a ghost owl had torn through the garbage cans on the corner, making an awful racket before Phantom swooped in and chased it off.

Still, William doubted himself. He paused where he stood, empty mug in hand, and strained his ears for any sounds of ghost activity.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, he heard it again— a distinct knock from the other side of the door.

William slowly followed it, his mind racing to think of who might visit him at such a late hour. It had been months since he hung out with Tetslaff, and even longer since he saw his sister. Both had a tendency to drop by unannounced, but never so late in the evening. After all, Jane Tetslaff had to be awake just as early as William the next morning, and his sister lived all the way on the east coast.

Perhaps he should ignore it. Perhaps he should turn back to the kitchen and head to bed. Chock it up to the eccentricities of Amity and push it from his mind.

The clock seemed too loud in the silence, a steady tick against the sound of the wind rattling the windows.

William's curiosity won out.

Cautiously, the green glint of ghosts dancing through his mind, William approached the front door. The metal bit with cold beneath his hand.

He opened the door slowly, peering through the crack. The streetlight outside glowed brighter than usual, casting strange shadows along the steps.

Just as William's eyes adjusted, the light shifted. It wasn't the streetlight or anything festive. The light lived, moving with a slight form that jumped as he pulled the door open wider.

Phantom.

Despite how many times William had seen the ghost boy rocket through his classroom walls, he had never been so close to him before. Never when he stood still, with luminous eyes turned to face the teacher with a fear the living reserved for his kind.

Phantom stood on William's doorstep, half turned away with his hands tightly clutching his chest. He had one foot on the lower step, as though prepared to leave.

Words failed William. He could only stare, his mouth slightly ajar, as he took in the sight. 

The ghost boy on his doorstep, staring back at him with wide, terrified eyes.

Chapter Text

William's eyes traveled down, as though searching for an explanation. Needing something, if only to know his eyes were playing tricks on him.

He saw ectoplasm then, dark green splatters that covered William’s ratty old doormat, smeared in the shape of footprints. More droplets covered the stone step itself, coalescing beneath a pair of stained boots. As he watched, more ectoplasm dripped, running in languid trails down Phantom's body. His gloves, normally so white, were now a toxic green.

"I-I'm sorry," Phantom said, his voice strained and high, echoing in the silence. William's eyes snapped to his face, finding more green smears across his cheeks. "I shouldn't have come here. I-I'll go."

He turned to leave, his legs wobbling dangerously. 

"Wait—"

William spoke before he could think. He reached out, his heart pounding, fear lancing through him at the thought of Phantom leaving.

William couldn't say why. Phantom was a ghost— a strong one, who had proven time and time again that he could fend for himself. How many times had William watched, helpless, as the ghost boy fought a ghost many times his own size? How many times had Phantom thrown his weight around, a smile on his lips as though nothing came more naturally to him than a brawl?

Yet here the ghost boy stood, looking utterly helpless. Injured, he could only assume. Lost.

He could have been one of William's own students, were it not for the glow.

Phantom paused, turning to look at him with his brow quirked. The surprised expression did nothing to hide the deep bruising beneath his bright eyes.

Fear sliced through William, soaking into him like the chill that cut through the open door. What did he say? What did he do? 

Phantom stared back, waiting and watching. He shook slightly, his eyes half-lidded with an exhaustion that did not belong on such a youthful face.

"Wait," William repeated, shuffling uncomfortably under the ghost's sharp gaze. "Do… do you need help?"

William knew the answer to that question, but he had to ask it. He could barely wrap his head around the situation as it was.

Phantom didn’t answer right away. He licked his lips with a green tongue, his eyes shifting nervously. "Yes?" Phantom finally said, and it sounded more like a question than anything. He still seemed poised to flee at any moment.

William's hands were shaking, though he couldn't say when they started to. The more he looked at Phantom, the more his own fear latched onto the gory trickles down the ghost’s front. He couldn't see what had caused Phantom to lose so much ectoplasm, but he was clutching his chest as though worried letting go might cause him to come apart.

Could a ghost bleed out?

William didn't want to find out the answer to that question. Stepping aside, he held the door open and gestured for Phantom to enter.

The ghost boy paused, looking past William to the room behind. For one fleeting moment he thought that the ghost would vanish and run, but Phantom simply took in a deep breath and let it out shakily. He took a step that was just as shaky, bringing the chill across the threshold and into William’s home. The moment the boy was inside, William moved to shut the door behind him. Though Phantom did his best to hide it, he didn’t miss the flinch the ghost made at the motion.

"I'm sorry about the, um… ectoplasm," Phantom said in little more than a whisper.

William's eyes trailed over the green droplets. It would probably stain the wood, but he found that was a miniscule concern in his mind right now.

"That's alright," William said. "Is there anything that, I mean— how can I help?”

William would not claim to know much about ghosts. Casper High might see its fair share of ghost attacks, but that hardly equated to knowledge. No amount of fights told William how ghosts behaved when they were at ease. He had seen Phantom relaxing on rooftops before, but a passing glance at those small moments did not compare to the quiet, subdued ghost before him now. 

Phantom took another deep breath, an oddly human gesture that did not sit well in William's belly. The ghost looked down his front, pulling one hand away to stare at his glove with a grimace.

"I just need somewhere to hide for a while. And— and some bandages." His voice cracked as he spoke, and William's heart squeezed. 

"I have some supplies in the bathroom," he offered. 

William turned and set his mug down on the table by the door, moving to lead across the living room, and only pausing when Phantom did not immediately follow. The ghost hadn't moved at all from his spot just inside the doorway, and a small puddle of ectoplasm was starting to form beneath his feet.

Phantom needed more help than he was willing to admit, that much was certain. The ghost could barely stand. The fact that he was walking at all felt dangerous.

Taking a deep breath of his own, steeling his nerves, William offered Phantom a shaking hand. 

That fear still gripped him. It was all William could do not to flinch back when the ghost put his own gloved hand in his. It wasn't as cold as he expected. It was small.

Slowly, carefully, William led Phantom to his bathroom. The ghost kept his distance for the first few shaky steps, but by the time they reached the hallway, he was leaning into William, letting the teacher support his weight.

William had carried cats heavier than this boy.

It was awkward maneuvering the pair of them through the bathroom door, but William managed the best he could without bumping the injured ghost against the frame. He carefully lowered him onto the toilet seat and began rooting through the cabinet below the sink.

Phantom was quiet as William found the first aid kit wedged in the back of the cabinet. He had never used the kit before; William wasn't even sure when he purchased it. The kit was still wrapped in its original plastic and he swallowed down a swear as he quickly dug a pair of scissors out of the top drawer and cut it open. He nervously glanced at Phantom, finding the ghost doubled over with his hands still splayed across his front. 

William's hands couldn't move fast enough.

There had been a few instances in his teaching career where he needed to help bandage student injuries, but nothing in William’s memory felt similar to this. The ectoplasm dripping onto the bathroom floor was comparable enough to blood, and he had never seen so much of it all at once.

William grabbed practically half of the box's contents, unsure what to expect of the wound. With Phantom’s host of enemies, it could be anything from a burn to a stab. The ectoplasm suggested a puncture or gash of some kind, but William wouldn’t pretend to know the first thing about ghost anatomy and how they handled specific injuries.

Despite all the fights he had seen Phantom partake in, William never once imagined grievous injury. It had never even occurred to him that the ghost could be injured— not like this.

Phantom tensed as William moved closer with the supplies, his eyes narrowing warily. The ghost sitting on William’s toilet seat could have destroyed him in an instant if he wanted to. Phantom had all of the power to rip him from this mortal coil, but the ghost simply sat, hunched between a floral shower curtain and a stack of fluffy towels, as out of place as anything could be.

William might have laughed with incredulity, were the sight not so alarming.

“If you’ll let me see the wound, I can try my best to help,” he offered gently.

Phantom’s eyes stretched wide and he scooted back farther on the toilet seat, quickly shaking his head. “It’s— it’s fine. If you could just, um, leave the supplies, I can handle it,” he said.

William frowned. He still couldn’t quite see the injury marring Phantom’s chest, but now that they were in the bright lighting of his bathroom he had a much better look. There were tattered, torn edges to Phantom’s jumpsuit peeking out from beneath his fingers, with his hands the only thing keeping the fabric close to his chest. Ectoplasm dripped freely from beneath his stained gloves, and when he shifted them William caught a brief glance of a dark line underneath.

“That injury looks severe,” he said, pointing unnecessarily to the dark green mess. “I don’t know a lot about first aid, but I can’t imagine a cut like that is easy to deal with on your own.”

Phantom grimaced. He scooted even further back, as though he could simply phase through the toilet tank and slip away…

William had to remind himself that that was a very real possibility. He inched back at the thought, worried that the ghost boy might flee if he felt too crowded.

What would happen if he did? Where did Phantom usually go when he was injured? Was he usually injured? Who helped him if he was?

“I can handle this,” Phantom said, his shaky voice echoing much more in the enclosed bathroom than it had outside. “I’m used to this.”

William swallowed a lump in his throat at the answer. It was a lonely, dark admission that had every caring instinct within him roaring with outrage. When Phantom made to grab the bandages with one of his ectoplasm-soaked gloves, William refused to let go.

“I don’t know why you came here for help, but I am here to help all the same,” he said with more conviction than he felt. “You could barely stand a moment ago; I’m not going to watch you bandage yourself when I can do something to help.”

Phantom shook his head again, his mouth in an awful, pained grimace that showed William two sharp fangs. 

“I don’t need help fixing this,” Phantom said desperately. He was rocking a bit now, still clutching his chest as though he might lose himself if he let go.

Something was… wrong. It wasn't just the ectoplasm. It was everything. The quaver to Phantom's voice, the way he flinched whenever William moved. The ghost heaved with strange breaths William wasn’t sure he needed, and he grimaced and shook with each rapid rise and fall of his chest.

William didn’t know much about ghosts, but he had seen enough people in crisis to know when someone was on the verge of a panic attack. 

William knelt down on the bathroom floor, ignoring the pained protests of his knees. He opened one of the packets of gauze and reluctantly held it out to Phantom. If the ghost would not let him help directly, he would have to meet him halfway. The longer he waited, trying to get Phantom to accept his help, the worse things could become. 

He was still bleeding. If William could call it blood, then he was still bleeding.

The gesture seemed to startle Phantom out of whatever cloying thoughts had driven his breaths to quicken. He stared at the gauze, his luminous eyes flickering to William before landing back on the bundle.

William said nothing, only offering a sad frown as Phantom reached with one hand and took the gauze.

“Th-thanks,” he croaked out. The words were rough with emotion, though echoed all the same.

Phantom gave him one last nervous glance before pressing the gauze right to his chest, pillowing his hands over it. 

The material soaked through within moments.

Phantom shifted to move the gauze aside, but William threw out his hand to make him stop. Phantom’s eyes locked onto the sudden movement, alive with fear.

“Wait, keep the gauze there,” William instructed. "Press the new gauze on top and keep applying pressure.”

He handed Phantom more of the gauze, receiving a calculating look in turn.

“Th–thanks,” Phantom muttered. He followed the instructions, pressing the fresh gauze on top. 

It soaked through almost as quickly as the first, and a third pad of gauze followed. All William could do was watch that stain of green creep through.

"Do you, um… could I get some water?" Phantom asked.

He licked his lips nervously, both hands still pressing firm against his chest. It was a bit surprising, hearing a ghost ask for something as crucial to life as water, but what more was it on top of everything else? 

William stood with a groan and a loud pop in his knees. "Of course," he said. "Just hold that gauze, and I'll be right back."

Phantom nodded, the ghost of a smile curving his lips.

William hesitated at the bathroom door before heading to the kitchen. He didn't like leaving the ghost boy alone where he couldn't see him, and William couldn't say if that had more to do with fear for or of him.

A sickly line of ectoplasm dripped down the hall from the door and William carefully stepped over it. He would have to try and clean it later, but right now doing so was the last thing on his mind. 

The silence in the kitchen pressed in on William's ears. The cabinets opened with too-loud snaps and the glasses clinked noisily. William took more time than was necessary to pick a glass, eventually settling on a plastic one in the back that his sister had given him. With the state Phantom was in, he figured he ought not tempt fate by handing him something that could shatter.

William's mind drifted as the cup filled with water, his thoughts scattered and unfocused. He jumped severely when there was a thump from the bathroom, whipping his head around to stare down the hall.

Only silence greeted him. If William hadn't personally escorted Phantom to his bathroom, he would have thought the house empty.

Eerie wasn't a strong enough word.

For one fleeting moment William considered picking up his cell phone and calling the Fentons. It would probably be the smart thing to do, letting someone with far more experience handle such a strange situation.

The thought was gone with a shake of William's head. He turned off the tap and picked up the cup of water, staring down into it with a sick sense of guilt coiling in his stomach.

For all the fear he felt, Phantom had shown just as much in his wide, glowing eyes.

With a heavy sigh, William carried the cup down the hall. He took slow, careful steps, straining his ears for any sound. When he was just outside the bathroom door, William heard another thump and a pained hiss.

"Phantom?" he tentatively asked. William could feel a chill on the door knob before his hand even closed around it.

"Phantom?" he asked again, turning the doorknob.

The knob stuck halfway, locked.

William sucked in a sharp breath. He definitely didn't turn the lock himself. William was pretty sure he hadn't even shut the door all the way…

Feeling anxiety bubble up his throat, William knocked on the door. "Phantom? Is everything alright?" he asked, trying his best to quell the nervous edge to his voice. 

Another hiss on the other side of the door, followed by too long of a pause. William raised his hand, about to knock again when Phantom finally answered.

"I–I'm alright. Don't come in."

William glanced between the water glass in his hand and the door. Phantom had asked him to grab it, and yet… 

A cold feeling that had nothing to do with the chill radiating from the door settled into William's bones. 

He grasped the doorknob more firmly, leaning close to the wood so that his voice would carry. "Phantom, please open the door,” he said more urgently.

Silence. A shuffling sound. A gasp.

"You need help. I can help you, just please open this door."

A sigh. A long pause.

"I'm sorry. I— I just need some time."

Phantom's voice shook. Were it not for the tinny echo to it, William could have imagined one of his students on the other side of that door. 

It was strange. For all the power Phantom possessed, he seemed remarkably… small. Vulnerable. A fearful prey animal, hunkered in the grooves of an old den. William wanted nothing more than to reach, to pry, but he knew that nothing good came from pushing a cornered animal— or a stubborn, scared kid.

He sighed and set the cup of water down on the floor against the wall. Straightening back up, Lancer felt exhaustion weighing every inch of his body down.

"I'm here if you need help," was all he could bring himself to say.

There was no answer through the door, not that William expected one. Phantom could float away through the wall for all he knew, and he'd be powerless to stop him. 

All William could do was walk back down the hall, stepping around the spots of ectoplasm. Against the droop of his eyelids and the heavy weight of his feet, William dragged himself into the kitchen and grabbed the coffee pot.

William sat back down in his chair, feeling for all the world lost as for what to do. There was nothing easy or simple about living in Amity, but that didn’t make the twists and turns in the road any less perilous to navigate. 

He considered reading some more to keep his mind busy, though when William picked up his book his eyes could hardly decipher any of the words on the pages. He found himself straining to listen for any sounds from the bathroom, his imagination crafting a haunted house’s worth of creaks and groans, far more than any his ears actually heard. 

Shuffles. Quiet gasps. William tensed with each little sound.

Powerless wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the feeling twisting knives in his belly.

William still wasn’t sure what to make of the situation, or how to feel about the conflicting emotions squeezing at his chest. The fear of a ghost warring with the miserable expression on Phantom’s face and the persistent quaver in his voice.

Chapter Text

It was quiet. A silence William would normally embrace, glad for the respite to his aching head, but it was a quiet that did not belong. Just minutes ago, William had heard Phantom, all shuffling movements, soft thumps, and muffled gasps as he used whatever medical supplies he needed.

William couldn’t say when those sounds died away.

He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing, his legs carrying him down the hall, against every base instinct telling him to listen to the furious beat of his heart, the primitive part of his brain that recognized the wrongness of a ghost, and run.

William’s hand was on the bathroom door once more, though he flinched at the bite of cold before resting it firm. Frost crept out from beneath the door, and every hair on the back of William’s neck stood on end. 

William nearly gave into his instincts to flee. It took everything in him to swallow down the lump in his throat and knock on the bathroom door.

He waited for a response. For the telltale sound of shuffling, or for Phantom’s nervous voice to drift through the wood, asking him not to enter.

It never came. The silence remained, pressing against William’s ears, an awful pressure.

Knocking once more, William took a deep breath and said, “Phantom? Are you all right?”

He strained his ears, flinching at the chill as he leaned closer to the door.

At first he couldn’t hear anything beyond his own anxious breaths, now misting in the cold. The blood pumping in his ears, alongside the awful tattoo of his heart.

Just when William was about to pull his ear away from the door, he heard a broken, keening sound.

“Phantom?” he asked more urgently, his heart skipping a beat.

It wasn’t just the keening. There was a ragged sort of rasp to the sound, like a wounded animal struggling to stand.

The frost continued to seep from beneath the door, licking fractals that reached out to William’s socked feet.

The sobs continued, broken and desperate and entirely too human. 

Just a couple of days ago one of William’s students lost their grandmother, and in her distress the girl had broken down. William remembered comforting her with soft words that could hardly dull the hurt. Her sobs had been the same, desperate and choked with frantic emotion that couldn’t escape her mouth quick enough.

William could just imagine Phantom now, his arms still wrapped around his wounded chest, lost in whatever thoughts ripped those sobs from his throat.

Why had William even left him alone? 

William gripped the doorknob, hissing against the chill. “Phantom? Are you okay?” He put his hip against the door, gritting his teeth.

Few things in his home were new, and the lock to the bathroom door was no exception. It did the trick well enough, but buckled all too easily with some light force. Tetslaff had proved as much when she jokingly kneed the door and got a little more than she bargained for when it sprung open.

William had shrieked then, high enough to have Jane laughing just as soon as she stammered out an apology and slammed the door shut. William swore then to replace the lock as soon as possible.

That had been four years ago. Lancer was glad for it now.

With a deep breath, William threw his weight against the door. It crashed open easily with the crunch of splintering ice, and William gasped when a wave of cold air struck him in the face. His feet slipped on the ice-streaked tile, and he had to grab the doorframe to keep his balance. For a moment William clung there, staring, as the cold seeped down into his chest, more fear than feeling.

The curtain around the bathtub had been pulled aside, and Phantom had moved from the toilet seat to lay in the basin of the tub. His head lolled over the rim, eyes squeezed uncomfortably shut. William moved, ice crunching under his feet, and one luminous eye squinted open to stare at him. The glow had dulled, a hazy green.

“Dear god,” William murmured. He carefully picked his way around the ice, every inch of him shaking— cold and frayed nerves weaving together in an awful tapestry. Phantom followed his progress, shakily lifting his head to watch. 

The boy’s chest rose and fell with shaky breaths. He had one hand clutched against his chest with a scrap of ectoplasm-green gauze pressed there. William stumbled to the side of the tub, spotting a needle and thread in Phantom’s other hand. The metal of the needle had a sheen of green ectoplasm on it, and the thread tied to its end trailed sickeningly to Phantom’s chest. The ghost followed William’s line of sight, his half-lidded eyes widening slightly in fear.

The boy tried his best to sit up, but failed to grab purchase on the edge of the tub. He slid against the side of the basin, hissing. His hand still clutched at his chest like a lifeline.

“I can fix this,” Phantom warbled out.

William grimaced. He took another tentative step towards the tub, kneeling down beside it. The ache in his knees went ignored, all of his focus pinned on Phantom.

“You need help.” It wasn’t a question this time. It was clear to William, now more than ever, that Phantom was much worse off than he cared to show. “Could I at least… Call someone? The hospital maybe?”

William wasn’t sure if the hospital would even accept a ghost, but surely it had to be a better option than this.

Phantom’s eyes went wide, his face going white. He stumbled back, shoulder slamming into the side of the tub, and let out a pained gasp. “N–no. I–I can’t. Please, they— you can’t call the hospital. They’d just tell the Fentons, or–or the GIW, or—”

“Shh, shh alright— alright, no hospital,” William said quickly. His heart pounded against his ribs, fear gripping his chest at the sheer terror in Phantom’s voice.

The ghost boy settled back, his eyes flitting back and forth as he searched William’s face. “N–no hospital?” he said quietly.

“No hospital,” William affirmed with a resigned sigh. His eyes dragged over the strewn supplies of the first aid kit, knowing exactly what he would have to do. “But you still need help. I–I can help you.”

Phantom tensed, the glow of his eyes flashing. The boy slowly shook his head. He winced, but held his glare. “No… no, I don’t,” he said, the words a tired, slurred whine.

William tentatively reached out. He moved slowly, carefully, and placed the back of his hand against Phantom’s forehead. William wasn’t sure what he expected, but still jumped with surprise against the biting chill. He noticed Phantom stiffen when he moved. The ghost’s eyes bored into him, wide with fear.

“You’re not fine,” William said. He kept his voice low, like soothing a stray. He took advantage of the close proximity to get a better look at Phantom’s wound, noticing for the first time how torn and ragged his suit was.

Phantom tried to scooch away again, but didn’t get very far. He curled in on himself, leaning back against the tub and letting his head hit the rim with a dull thud. He swallowed, let out a shaky breath. His lips quivered.

“You don’t want to help with this,” the ghost whispered.

Lancer felt something at his center crack, splintering like the ice underfoot. He’d seen Phantom fight ferocious creatures, fly through the skies at breakneck speeds, and laugh like it was all a game. He was a ghost, something there but removed a step back from the people that walked Amity’s streets with solid steps. A creature himself. Something inhuman, the Fentons had said time and time again.

The fear in Phantom’s eyes spoke volumes otherwise.

William scanned the bathroom, eyes locking onto the first aid kit. Phantom had left it on the toilet seat, with supplies strewn out around the box. Thick globs of ectoplasm covered most of it, dripping down the sides. William grimaced, but forced himself to reach in and grab another packet of gauze. If he was going to do this, he couldn’t shy away from touching ectoplasm now.

William paused, gave himself several seconds to breathe and steady his hands. He turned back to the ghost in his bathtub, clutching the gauze a little too tightly.

“I want to help you,” he said carefully. Forced calm. “If I try to touch you right now, will you stay put?”

There was another question on the tip of William’s tongue, one that begged to know if Phantom might cause him any harm, but he swallowed it down. 

Phantom’s jaw dropped open. He stuttered out something of a half-hearted response, before shutting his mouth and giving a lazy shake of his head. “You don’t want to help,” he then said, with all of the finality of someone reading fact.

“How do you know that?” William asked. He settled back in front of the tub and leaned over the edge, holding the gauze in one hand, and showing the palm of his other in a placating gesture.

Phantom leaned back further still, scooting towards the faucet. “Experience,” the ghost bit out.

The answer wasn’t anything new, but it still niggled at a corner of William’s mind, wrong. 

“Do you often ask humans for help?” he couldn’t help but ask, driven by the same insatiable curiosity that dragged him into teaching.

Phantom wrinkled his nose and, between the expression and his current position, crammed into the corner of the tub, William couldn’t help but be reminded of a feral kitten.

“No,” was Phantom’s terse reply.

“But you came here,” William said. A statement, not a question.

Phantom glared at him, defiant, but there was far too much fatigue there. His eyes slipped shut for a little too long, his head tipping, before Phantom sat back upright with a little start and a hiss.

Tentatively, William extended a hand. He watched as one slit green eye followed his movements, but refused to back down now. He reached for Phantom’s hand, carefully plucking the needle from between his fingers. The ghost let out a whine of protest. He made an uncoordinated grab for the needle, every muscle going tense.

It was only with the needle in hand, the thread running from it, that William realized that neither item came from his first aid kit. The needle was thicker than one ought to be for stitches, more like a sewing needle than anything, and the thread… It wasn’t thread at all. The material was thicker and a bit waxy, more like fishing line than anything. Green fishing line that seemed to glow just a little bit. William immediately regretted not grabbing gloves, but it was too late now. He couldn’t drop the needle and expect Phantom’s thin trust to hold.

“What is this?” he asked, lifting the needle a bit to try and see where the line was connected. On one end it met Phantom’s chest, just below his green glove, while the other seemed to end in a spool that had fallen into the tub.

Phantom followed his gaze to the green spool. Grimaced. For a moment William didn’t think he'd get an answer, until Phantom muttered a quiet, “...Ectoline.”

The word itched at William’s mind, familiar. It sounded like something the Fentons might make— and it was just that. William could distinctly remember Jack Fenton swinging a lime green fishing rod, shouting aloud about his new and improved ‘ectoline’. There had been a massive spool of the stuff on the reel.

“Did you get this from the Fentons?” William asked, careful not to sound accusatory. It wasn’t really his business where Phantom got his gear, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. 

Why would a ghost want things made by ghost hunters? 

Phantom didn’t answer this time, instead looking away. It was as good an answer as anything, and William jotted it down on the growing list in his mind. Details and observations, one odd step at a time.

He adjusted the needle in his hand, willing away the shake in his fingers. “Can I see the injury?” William asked.

Phantom didn’t move his hand right away. He gripped the gauze a little tighter, staring down at his ectoplasm-soaked glove. He seemed to mull it over before letting out a weary sigh. William found himself holding his breath as the ghost finally pulled the gauze away from his chest.

A stone sank into the pit of William’s stomach, as cold as the ice that skirted around Phantom. Though the boy’s suit had been raggedly torn at the front, the wound down his sternum was not as organic. It sliced down his center, deliberate and clean. Phantom had already stitched part of the incision— because that was what it had to be, an incision— but his skin separated towards the top, showing a dark green mess of… muscle? Tendons? Matter? Whatever ghosts could claim to have. 

“Shit…” William said, the word slipping out without permission.

Phantom flinched back as though struck, and William was quick to apologize, holding his palms out placatingly. “Sorry, sorry, I— I wasn’t expecting…” He took a deep breath. Let it go shakily. 

Phantom adjusted his position, careful to not pull on the line still tied to his chest. He slumped against the side of the tub, drooping eyes still locked on William, wary. Ectoplasm dripped sluggishly from the wound, and William knew he couldn’t hesitate for much longer. He awkwardly fumbled with the packet of fresh gauze before carefully pressing it to the seeping wound.

William felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His stomach roiled, sick with the wet feel of ectoplasm against his fingers. He forced it all down. Forced the needle closer, swallowing down a lump in his throat.

“I’ve never done something like this,” William said. A warning, however late.

The corner of Phantom’s mouth lifted in a half-hearted smile, and in it William saw some of the ghost boy he was used to seeing. “You ever sewn?” the boy asked.

Bile rose in William’s throat, scorching his esophagus as he swallowed again. “Y–yes.”

“Same thing.”

Far from, William thought, but he didn’t have the heart to press the matter. His jaw clamped shut, teeth anchored together as he brought the needle to where Phantom had left off. About halfway up the cut, several inches down from his collarbone. The ghost’s pale skin had a sickly tinge to it around the open wound, with old white scars and flecks of ectoplasm dotting every visible inch.

“You don’t gotta… d–do this,” Phantom said, slurred and drawn out. The ghost looked ready to pass out at any second now, and William wasn’t sure if he wanted to find out if ghosts even could become unconscious.

The first bite of the needle through Phantom’s skin had William’s vision tunneling. He felt miles away from his own hands, watching distantly as the sharp metal glided through glowing flesh. It was easier than he expected. It pulled through with just a little tug, and in the motion William could imagine he really was pulling thread through strips of leather—

Were it not for a whimper from Phantom. Were it not for the ectoplasm, drip-drip-dripping down his front. The scent of it hung heavy in the air, nearly as sickening as the sight itself.

William adjusted the gauze, trying his best to apply pressure as he put another hole through Phantom’s skin. He did his best to ignore the way Phantom flinched. Mumbled quiet reassurances, imagining he was helping a student and not a ghost. Just any other child that had come to him asking for help.

“Nearly there,” William said, feeling the need to say something— anything. Whatever could cover the drip of ectoplasm, the blood pounding in William’s ears, and the ragged, shallow breaths that left Phantom.

He tried to ignore the way Phantom slumped further against the tub, his arm falling to his side. The ghost’s eyes fluttered shut, his whimpers fading out.

By the time William finished the last suture, Phantom was hardly conscious. His eyes didn’t even follow William’s hands when he reached for the first aid kit, pulled out the small pair of scissors, and cut the line to tie it off. The stitches weren’t perfect— a grizzly, unprofessional mess more than anything— but they held. William was quick to grab more gauze. To grab bandages and, on an afterthought, some antiseptic.

Phantom let out one keening whine when William dabbed at the wound with the antiseptic. His eyes were no longer open, but he could see them moving restlessly beneath his eyelids. Up this close, William noticed freckles dotting the ghost boy’s face, ghosting along dark bags beneath his eyes. 

William didn’t know much about first aid, but he did what felt right. Covered the wound in gauze and held Phantom upright as he wrapped bandages around his torso, over the wound— and over his suit. It looked a mess, with ectoplasm already staining half of the bandages. William honestly wasn’t sure if he’d done more harm or good, though he supposed only time would tell.

He’s a ghost, William repeated over and over again in his mind. He’s a ghost. You can’t kill what’s already dead.

It sounded a little too much like a lie.

Chapter Text

Carefully, slowly, William wiped the worst of the ectoplasm off of Phantom with a damp towel. The ghost didn’t protest. Didn’t give any fuss when William helped lift him up and out of the tub, an arm slung carefully around his side. The ghost leaned heavily against him, hardly awake. 

Against every better judgement William had to keep far from the ghosts of Amity, he found himself leading Phantom out of the bathroom and carefully up the stairs towards his guest room. The ghost didn’t fight it, didn’t so much as question where they were going. His feet dragged, pulled along.

There wasn’t much to William’s guest room. Just a bed, a dresser, a nightstand, a mirror. The bare essentials his sister needed on the rare chance she came to visit. It had been a couple of years since her last stay, but William tried his best to keep the space clean. There had been a point in their lives when Agatha stayed with him far more frequently, needing a place to lay her head. 

He guided Phantom to the side of the bed. “You can stay here for the night,” William said.

He wasn’t entirely sure that Phantom heard. His glow had diminished, his movements languid and slow. The ghost sank against the pillows, curling up into a ball. In a jerky motion, William reached for the blanket and pulled it over him.

The bed was queen-sized, nothing particularly large, but it swallowed up Phantom’s slight frame. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” he said awkwardly, taking a step back and towards the door.

What would a ghost even need? Ectoplasm? Sustenance of some kind?

Perhaps pain killers might not be a terrible idea, if human bandages did the job…

William hesitated with his hand on the doorknob, watching the rise and fall of Phantom’s chest. Still breathing, slow but steady. Odd.

He left the door open, hurrying into the kitchen to grab a glass of water and a few aspirin. It wasn’t much— might not even be useful to the ghost, truly— but William figured that if there was anything else Phantom needed, he could simply ask.

…That was, assuming the ghost stuck around come morning. 

The thought sent a jolt of fear through William, either outcome a fearful thing. Part of him hoped that the ghost would slip away in the night, take his care out of William’s hands, but…

Another part of him dreaded that possibility. For all the grief the ghost had already given him, for all the uncertainty of his care, William knew that Phantom would not leave his mind if the ghost disappeared. That he’d worry, curiosity and guilt eating at him in equal measure.

William let out another long, weary sigh. 

With a shake of his head, it doing nothing to clear his uneasy conscience, William slipped back into the bedroom and carefully set the water and aspirin down on the nightstand beside Phantom. He forced himself not to linger. Not to stare. 

It took everything in William to shut the door behind him. He slumped back against it, staring down the steps. Bile rose in his chest as he truly took in the ectoplasm stains he could see in the livingroom, leading to the bathroom door. 

His hands were no less stained, each dyed green-green-green with streaks and blotches of drying ectoplasm.

William found himself hurrying down the steps, tossing the medical supplies off of the toilet seat, and upending the contents of his stomach into the bowl. He coughed, murmuring a few choice swears. 

William’s head buzzed. He stared at the stains along the tub, fighting down another wave of nausea at the overpowering scent of petrichor and citrus that hung in the air.

Flushing the toilet, William rose shakily to his feet and stumbled over to the sink. He couldn’t wash his hands enough times to remove the cloying, tacky feel of ectoplasm on his skin. He scrubbed until his hands were red and raw, and even then the feeling persisted.

He kept thinking of the ectoplasm on the floor. How difficult it would probably be to remove. William’s mind strayed to the cleaners he kept below the kitchen cupboard— and the thick pair of rubber gloves he stashed there as well.

William took one step out of the bathroom and nearly jumped out of his skin when something moved in the corner of his eye. He pressed his back against the wall, his heart rabbiting furiously against his ribs—

Letting out a shaky sigh of exasperation when he caught sight of two golden eyes and a coat of patchy red-and-white fur.

“Radio,” he said with a sigh.

The cat must have been hiding until now, William was sure. He sniffed curiously at the ectoplasm stains on the floor, pausing to lift his head and offer William a friendly mrrp of acknowledgement. The cat padded over the stains, headed for the stairs— for the guest bedroom door, no doubt.

William was quick to scoop the cat up into his arms. “No you don’t. The guest room is off limits right now,” William said.

Radio made a low, irritable sound in his throat as he squirmed in William’s grip. He tightened his hold, hefting the cat up the stairs, down the short hall, and over to his own bedroom door. He just barely managed to deposit the cat on the bed when Radio hissed.

”None of that,” William scolded. “Stay here. I need to clean up the floor.” He gave Radio a pat on the head before slipping back out the door, shutting it quickly before the cat could follow after.

William took his sweet time grabbing his gloves and cleaning supplies from the kitchen. He honestly wasn’t even sure where to start. The ectoplasm went clear from the bathroom to the front door, and fatigue dragged at William’s eyelids at the thought of all the scrubbing it would take. How much time it would take.

Leaning back into the kitchen, William checked the clock, blanching when he saw it was already two in the morning. Even if he went to bed now, William was looking at maybe a couple of hours of sleep— assuming he could find any rest at all. 

A headache was blossoming between his ears, and William had to stifle a jaw-cracking yawn. Perhaps he needed to call out today…

It might be for the best, in any case. Regardless of whether or not Phantom was still there in the morning, William didn’t feel that he had the energy or mental fortitude to spend the night scrubbing at ghost blood, only to stroll into school a couple of hours later with nothing but a short lunch break of reprieve. 

He pinched at his tear ducts. Took a long, calming breath. William pulled the gloves over his hands and grabbed the bottle of cleaner. 

He started outside first, hurriedly tossing the welcome mat and scrubbing the worst of what hit the stone. William couldn’t hold back a hysteric, incredulous laugh as he jumped when a car rumbled past. It wasn’t exactly uncommon, having ectoplasm stains here and there from ghost fights, but this? Actually having a ghost in his home, with evidence of their stay on the front porch?

It felt criminal, somehow. Insane.

William’s hands were already shaking again by the time he moved onto the livingroom, shutting the door behind him and locking the deadbolt for good measure. He moved across the floor in a slow crawl, dragging his sponge and bucket of water with him. William got up twice to empty the bucket, feeling he might be sick again when the water got a little too green.

Both times he tried to wash the worst of it off of his rubber gloves. They had been yellow when he started, but now his gloves had a sickly lime color to them. 

They reminded William a little too much of Phantom’s.

By the time William finished scrubbing the hallway, his legs and arms were shaking. He sat back on his heels, letting out an exhausted sigh. His eyes stung with tiredness, every inch of him wanting nothing more than to sink into his bed and stay there for the foreseeable future.

He stared into the bathroom, grimacing at just how much more there was to do. Streaks of ectoplasm dripped down the sides of the tub and toilet, with puddles of it pooling in between the cracks of the tiles below.

William tossed his sponge into the bucket of green water. He stood up with a pang in his knees, pressed his hands to his lower back, and groaned when his joints popped.

“A later problem…” he murmured to himself. William dumped the bucket of water one last time, before filling it to soak. He ripped off the dirty gloves, dropping them into the bucket. 

William washed his hands two more times, still feeling Phantom’s ectoplasm on his skin.

His eyes wandered to the clock, widening when he saw that it was now four thirty in the morning. He'd have to call the school before long. If William set an alarm, maybe he'd manage an hour of sleep before then.

Radio meowed loudly when William opened his bedroom door, trying to slip between his legs. He shooed the cat away with a tap of his foot and a yawn. 

“You can go out later,” William said. “Not tonight.”

The cat let out another impatient meow, pawing at the closed door, but William ignored him. He stumbled over to his bed, scooped up the alarm clock on his nightstand, and set an alarm.

William sat down on the edge of the bed and threw his shirt onto the floor. He grabbed something clean. Something without ectoplasm stains along the hem. 

He should probably slip into the half bath to brush his teeth, but the mere thought of getting up now felt unbearable. William sighed, falling back onto the mattress. 

He heard a little mrrp as Radio hopped up onto the bed beside him. Felt the cat lay against his arm and scratched his fingers through soft hair.

William shut his eyes with another sigh…

Beep beep beep. 

William groaned, rolling over. He’d only just shut his eyes, how was the alarm already going off?

Beep beep beep.

William groped around for the alarm clock, hitting the snooze.

“Ugh…”

It took everything in William to force himself into a sitting position. He rubbed at his eyes and let out a jaw-cracking yawn. He glanced at the clock, startling at the time.

Radio meowed reproachfully. William could hear him pacing, pawing at the door to be let out.

Why was the door shut in the first place?

It hit him then. William’s eyes flew open, adrenaline making a jittery home in his chest.

Phantom.

William got up shakily and grabbed his phone. He dialed the school office, his eyes never once leaving the door.

“...Yes, uh, hi Katherine. William here. Unfortunately I won't be able to make it in today. I was feeling a bit under the weather last night, and it's only gotten worse.”

“Oh, so sorry to hear that. Thomas was able to come in after all today, so we should have a substitute ready. I hope you feel better soon,” Katherine said, and her genuine concern made William’s insides squirm. “If you could, please let us know by this evening if you’ll need a substitute for tomorrow as well.”

William nodded, letting out a relieved sigh. “Yes. Yes, I'll do that,” he agreed easily. 

“Perfect. Was there anything else you needed?”

William shook his head, before remembering that she couldn't see him. “No— no, that's fine. Thanks, Katherine.”

“Anytime. Get well soon.”

“Thanks.”

William set his phone back down on his nightstand, running a hand down his face. He considered rolling straight back into bed, but forced himself to his feet. 

“Not yet,” he sighed exasperatedly at Radio, nudging him away from the door. With bleary eyes and dragging feet, William went to check on Phantom. 

He opened the bedroom door just a crack, hardly daring to breathe. William peered around the door, squinting to see. It wasn’t difficult to find Phantom. Though his glow was still dimmer than it ought to be, he illuminated the dark bedroom like a bioluminescent plant. William didn’t think he had moved an inch. Phantom remained in the position he fell asleep in, his white hair splayed across the pillow.

William watched the gentle rise and fall of the blanket, unsettled. Why would a ghost breathe, even asleep?

Hell, did all ghosts sleep?

Shaking his head, William banished the thought. He shut the door as gently as he could, creeping back to his own bedroom. Radio nearly made a break for it, but William was quick to scoop the cat up and toss him onto the bed.

He sank onto the old mattress beside the cat, staring without seeing at the door. For all the desperate fatigue driving a spike through his skull and blearing his eyes, William’s mind was a restless thing. A caged animal desperate to claw its way free.

He fell back against his pillow and tried his best to let his mind wander, shaking away the grizzly green stains of ectoplasm. The image of Phantom’s chest rising and falling, like any other child’s.

William rolled over, pulling his pillow over his head. He needed rest. He needed to fall back to sleep.

It didn’t come easily, with what little sleep found him interrupted by green stains, ghostly glows, and open wounds.

Chapter Text

William awoke to Radio’s paws on his chest, the cat meowing in his face. He groaned, trying to shoo him away, but Radio was persistent. He put a paw on his collarbone, claws digging in slightly.

“Alright, alright,” he said, sitting up.

Radio leapt off of the bed and hurried to the door, still meowing impatiently as William fumbled for a clean set of clothes. The cat shot off like a bullet the moment the door opened, paused briefly to sniff at the guest bedroom door, before trotting down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

Good to see his priorities were in order.

William, however, stopped in the hall. He hesitated, working up his nerve, before carefully turning the knob and pulling the door open just a crack.

Phantom was still there, William realized with a jolt. He had half-convinced himself that the ghost would disappear after a few hours of rest, and yet Phantom had hardly moved at all. The boy had curled in on himself slightly in a fetal position, arms curled protectively around the wound at his middle.

William moved to close the door, content to keep his distance, but stopped dead when Phantom rolled onto his back with a small whimper. The ghost’s face scrunched up before burrowing into the pillow with another soft cry.

William found his feet moving without thinking. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, only hesitating when he was close enough to see a sharp fang poking out from Phantom’s upper lip. He stopped dead in his tracks then, torn between the desire to help, and every primal instinct in him begging William to flee.

Before he could decide one way or another, however, Phantom shifted again. He took in a sharp breath before one luminous green eye snapped open. 

William couldn’t help but flinch, taking a step back. Phantom jolted in response, scrambling upright with his eyes locked on William.

In a blink, he was gone.

William’s heart leapt into his throat. He closed the distance between him and the beside, looking frantically for where the ghost had gone. The blanket had fallen to the mattress, leaving only a small smear of ectoplasm and rumpled sheets to show that Phantom was ever there.

“No,” William murmured, eyes lingering on the green stain before searching the open air. “Phantom? Phantom, you don’t have to—”

A hissing sound came from the far end of the bed. William spun around, eyes widening when he found the ghost boy splayed out on the edge of the mattress. He clutched at his chest, panting heavily. William wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but Phantom seemed a little paler than before. He almost seemed to flicker, with a brighter light popping at his center, spilling into an odd ring of sorts, before disappearing altogether.

Phantom shut his eyes tight, muttering something under his breath that William didn’t quite catch.

William hardly dared move. He hardly dared breathe. He stared, transfixed by his unlikely visitor. Fearful that any sudden movement might have him disappearing again.

William wouldn’t pretend to know much about the physiology of a ghost, their base needs, or how their powers worked. Still, he wondered if Phantom’s weakened state made using his powers much more difficult. Like a runner with a sprained ankle, or a singer with a strained voice. The ghost kept breathing heavily, eyes shut tight with his hand over the bandages wrapped around his torso.

Taking a deep breath, hoping he wasn’t making a terrible mistake, William asked, “Phantom, uh, do you know where you are?”

The ghost boy’s eyes snapped open, locking onto William once more. Twin balls of toxic green fire, each as cold as any winter night. Every one of the ghost’s muscles— if a ghost could claim to have muscle— tensed. One of his eyes winced, pain clear.

“I–I’m not going to hurt you,” William said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. Doing the best to suppress the quaver in his voice. “Do you remember where you are?”

Phantom’s eyes flickered, scanning William up and down before wandering the room around them. Slowly, hesitantly, Phantom nodded.

William let out an uneasy breath, and a shiver ran the course of his spine. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad you’re alright, after the… well, after everything.”

Phantom’s eyes narrowed, the comment seeming to puzzle him. He remained crouched against the bed, holding himself up on one elbow. William could see his arm trembling with the effort. 

It didn’t stop him from meeting William’s eyes with a calculating glare. For all the trust that Phantom had decided to bestow upon William last night, it seemed that he still held no trust for humans.

William wondered, not for the first time, who or what had given Phantom his injuries. 

He had a few guesses. One stronger than the others, though he was loath to imagine it.

Even as William watched, the fight drained from Phantom. The boy sank steadily down, labored breaths shaking away the snarl from his lips. 

With a shaky, resigned sigh, William moved to the end of the bed and reached out a hand. He placed it gently on Phantom’s shoulder, forcing down a flinch when the boy recoiled at the contact. The boy let out another gasp of pain, his form flickering into invisibility once more. It startled William, but not for long. He could still feel Phantom’s cold shoulder under his hand, even if he couldn’t see him.

Phantom flickered back onto the visible spectrum, looking worse for wear. His already pale skin had a sickly pallor to it, his gaze adopting the listless, unfocused quality it had from the night before. 

“Mr. Lancer?” Phantom mumbled, the name an absolute jolt to his senses.

“Y–yes,” he said shakily. “Why don’t you lie back down?”

Phantom blinked, slow and tired. He gave another nod, and William awkwardly helped the ghost scoot back over to the pillows.

“Drink some of that water,” William said, noticing that Phantom hadn’t touched the glass. The pain meds sat beside it still, forgotten. 

Phantom settled back under the blankets, nestling into the pillows. He reached for the glass of water, grabbing it with two hands like a small child.

William scooted back towards the door, Keeping his eyes on Phantom the whole time. Unwilling to put his back to a ghost. “Call if you need anything,” he said hurriedly, slipping out the door and shutting it tight behind him.

~*~

William moved in a daze for a long while, filling Radio’s bowl with food and grabbing a couple of protein bars for a meager breakfast. His jaw felt like stone, chewing without tasting.

When his phone buzzed with a text, William nearly fell out of his seat in alarm. He fumbled for it, grimacing when Tetslaff’s name popped up in his notifications.

Jane: sick again? What happened to taking those supplements I recommended?

William’s eyes wandered to the kitchen counter where he kept the vitamins Jane had forced into his hands last November. He’d spent that fall sick as a dog, following a nasty cold up with an even worse flu, and she’d been adamant on him taking better care of himself.

He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he opened any of those bottles. 

William: Enough of the kids have been sick lately that it seemed inevitable.

William: I should be back in class tomorrow.

He hoped so, in any case.

Jane: you better be

Jane: otherwise I’m gonna have to come whip you into shape

William ran a hand down his face, staring up at the ceiling. Testlaff was a good friend, but sometimes she had a tendency to treat her coworkers like the kids under their care.

William: See you tomorrow, Jane.

~*~

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough, in William’s humble opinion. He felt as though he’d already spent hours sitting at the dining table with a lukewarm cup of coffee in his hands, but the clock had barely inched forward an hour. The morning was still young. Radio’s breakfast was long-gone, and the cat wasted no time in leaving to scamper back upstairs. He could just imagine the cat sitting by the guest room door, pawing at it in the hopes it might spring open.

Better that door than the mess of a bathroom…

William jolted at the thought, abandoning his coffee to race to the bathroom. The door was still shut, just as he’d left it. 

The bathroom, too, was just the same.

“Great Gatsby…” 

Now was as good a time as any to fix the mess.

As loath as William was to touch more ectoplasm, it felt good to occupy his mind for a while. He kept the faucet of the tub running almost constantly, scrubbing over each inch of the ectoplasm stains until they were… mostly gone. There was still a faint trace, a dull green stain William didn’t think that any amount of scrubbing would remove.

He might have to ask the Fentons what supplies they used to remove ectoplasm stains. For now, however, it would do.

He’d just have to remember to wear some sandals into the shower for awhile.

With the bathroom finished, William decided that he couldn’t put off checking on Phantom any longer. He dragged his feet upstairs— jolting when he saw that the guest room’s door lay ajar. 

“Radio,” William said exasperatedly. He threw open the door the rest of the way, ready to rush inside and— froze. 

William wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to happen. For Phantom to hurt his cat? For his cat to hurt Phantom? Certainly, he didn’t expect the two to share the same space well. William had never seen cats get close to ghosts. Had only ever seen feral ones run away with a hiss and their tails puffed out when the ghosts came to call.

And yet…

Phantom sat up on the bed, awake with the blanket draped over his legs, and a familiar cat curled over his knees. His hand hovered over Radio, mid-pet, but Phantom pulled it back the moment his eyes landed on William.

Radio did not take kindly to that. His eyes snapped open, his head twisting around to give Phantom a reproachful meow.
“Uh— sorry,” the ghost boy said. “Is–is this your cat?”

William nodded dumbly, not entirely sure what to say. He watched as Radio lifted up on his front paws, arching his back into Phantom’s hand. “Y—yes,” he finally managed. “His name is Radio. He… seems to like you?”

It came out much more like a question than a statement, incredulousness twisting into the words.

Phantom smiled sheepishly, shoulders hunched as he sank back against the pillows. “Uh… yeah, he does. I think. He just kind of came through the door and I wasn’t really sure what to do. Most cats don’t really like me.”

That just confirmed William’s suspicions. With how acute a cat’s senses were, each far more powerful than any human’s, he didn’t doubt that they were far more sensitive to the aura ghosts emitted. 

Yet if Radio felt any of the aura that surrounded Phantom, he paid it no mind. The cat seemed perfectly content to lay in Phantom’s lap, purring when he resumed stroking his fur. Radio was a friendly cat in general, always happy to approach any guests that William brought home. He supposed it wasn’t that far of a stretch that his cat saw Phantom as any other person with hands to pet him.

Maybe how a cat felt about ghosts had less to do with their senses, and much more to do with personality.

“Was there something you needed?” Phantom asked awkwardly, dragging William from his thoughts.

He blinked, focus snapping back to the matter at hand. “Uh, sorry, no. I was just surprised to see the door open and wanted to check on things. Was there… anything you needed?” His eyes wandered to the end table beside the bed, noticing that Phantom had drunk all of the water and taken the pain meds.

Phantom shook his head, stammering out a hurried, “N–no. No thank you, I’m fine.”

Before William could say anything else, the ghost carefully scooped Radio up in his hands, setting him on the bed beside him. He patted Radio between the ears, smiling when the cat meowed, before phasing through the blankets and floating up into the air.

“I, uh… I should probably go. Th–thanks for helping me.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but didn’t really follow through with his words. The ghost simply floated in place, staring down at Radio as the cat tried to bat at his boots.

William’s mouth moved before he could even think. “Wait,” he said, raising a hand.

Phantom looked up at him, eyes shining with something he couldn’t quite place. “What is it?” the ghost asked.

William stared at the bandages still wrapped around Phantom’s torso. A stain of ectoplasm ran down the front, the injury underneath far from healed. William wasn’t sure how long it would take for a ghost to heal from an injury like Phantom’s, but if he were human… Well, if he were human, William supposed that an injury of that nature would have rendered him a ghost in the end.

But ghost or not, that stain of ectoplasm spoke of healing. Of needing more care. Of changing bandages, and keeping a wound clean so it could properly mend.

Could a ghost get an infection, he wondered? 

“You don’t need to go if you still need to rest,” William said carefully. 

Perhaps he was insane for allowing Phantom to stay, but it felt like the right thing to do. Something William needed to do, if only to make sure the ghost left without ectoplasm stains down his front.

“Really?” Phantom asked, and William didn’t miss the surprise in his tone— the hope.

It squeezed at William’s chest, his mind made up now more than ever. He nodded, taking a steadying breath. “Yes. I can’t imagine it’s safe for you to go wandering around with a cut like that,” he said.

Phantom gave a hesitant nod. “Yeah it’s probably not,” he said, glancing at the window with a grimace.

It stirred another question, William’s mind wandering past the window to the streets beyond it. “Where do you usually… stay when you’re injured like this?” he asked, carefully stepping around the word live.

Phantom sank down to the mattress, his legs folding and coalescing into a wispy tail. The change didn’t seem to bother Radio, who happily clambered back onto Phantom’s lap as if nothing had changed at all. The ghost’s hand fell back into his fur, almost absently, and William heard the rumble of more purring starting back up.

Phantom didn’t answer right away, refusing to meet William’s eyes. When he did respond, the ghost spoke carefully. Quietly. “I’m cool with staying here for now. If–if that’s alright? Just a day or… two, maybe? I have a place to stay, but I don’t think it would be safe right now. I–I can go if it’s any trouble, though, really.”

William swallowed thickly, well and truly out of his depth. “It’s no trouble,” he said. Phantom met his eyes then, and William noticed a watery sheen around his lashes. “I won’t be home tomorrow, I have work, but even then you’re welcome to stay and, erm, rest. Until you feel better.” 

“And it’s really no trouble?” Phantom asked, as if waiting for a trick— for William to rip the offer away.

He sighed. “I think Radio would enjoy a little company while I’m out,” he said. If Phantom wouldn’t accept this small gesture for himself, perhaps pivoting matters would help.

Phantom blinked, eyes trailing back down to the cat in his lap. A small smile pulled at his lips. “Okay.”

Chapter Text

William couldn’t remember ever having a more awkward conversation inside his own home. He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself now, skirting around the shut guest bedroom door and trying his best to keep his mind distracted. He busied himself with cleaning the kitchen for a while, wiping over the same spots without paying much attention. When the bottle of cleaner ran out, William decided to give himself some time to read.

He sat back down in his recliner, grabbed his copy of Howl’s Moving Castle, and got settled.

…

The words all blurred together. He reread each sentence, absorbing only a few words. His leg bounced with restless energy all the while, and William found himself jumping uneasily at every little sound from outside.

Perhaps he should have tried to go into work today…

With a sigh, William set the book aside and went back into the kitchen to fix himself a meal. He wasn’t great at cooking on the best of days, least of all when he was this distracted. Far too preoccupied to keep anything from burning on the stove. 

As soon as he opened the pantry, Radio’s soft footsteps came trotting down the stairs. The cat stayed just long enough to scarf down his dinner while William ate a small bowl of cereal. In a flash, the cat was heading back upstairs, presumably to the guest bedroom.

At least someone seemed to be in good spirits, William mused.

With the sun setting and William stir-crazy with unease, he decided it was time to check on Phantom once again. To change his bandages while he was at it, if the ghost would allow him to. William still doubted that a ghost could get something like an infection, but he didn’t exactly want to test that theory out.

William half-expected to find Phantom asleep, resting, but instead watched as the ghost jumped away from the dresser in alarm the moment the door opened. He must have been exploring, looking at what was in the drawers. A curious teenager.

“Sorry,” Phantom was quick to say, scurrying back to the bed and sitting down.

How strange, how much Phantom reminded William of his students.

“It’s alright,” he assured, seeing no harm in it. 

There wasn’t much of anything valuable in the guest room, save for the cottage painting over the bed that his sister had given him to decorate. Other than that, the room was sparse, if not a bit bland. He supposed there really wasn’t much for Phantom to do cooped up in his guest room, after all. 

“If you want something to do, I have plenty of books. I could let you borrow some,” William offered. “I’m not sure what you like to read, but I can find something.”

Phantom seemed to perk up at that, sitting up straighter. “Yeah? Um, that would be cool,” he said.

William nodded in assent. “I’ll see what I can find,” he said with a smile. Then, remembering why he came to the room in the first place, William lifted the first aid kit he’d grabbed from the bathroom on his way up. “Though first, if you’ll let me, I’d like to check on your wound.”

Phantom hunched back in on himself, excitement gone. He nervously twiddled his fingers, looking away. “Uh, that’s really not necessary,” he said. “It’s fine. It— it’ll heal on its own.”

William frowned, not entirely convinced. “May I at least check? Your bandages look like they could use changing.”

Phantom opened his mouth to argue, but shut it as he looked down. There was no hiding the green smear across his bandages. “...Okay,” he said with a tired sigh.

The ghost shuffled over to the edge of the bed, legs swung over the side. Radio followed him, meowing for more pets all the while. Pets that Phantom readily gave him as he sat rigid, allowing William to unwind the bandages across his front. 

He let the old bandages fall to the floor in a pile, pulling them out of Radio’s reach when the cat tried to bat at them with a paw. When the last of the gauze pulled away, William couldn’t quite suppress a grimace. The gash certainly looked better than yesterday, but that had more to do with the stitches holding it together. The skin itself was mottled with dark, angry bruising. Ectoplasm weeped from the wound, running sluggishly to the edges of Phantom’s torn suit. 

“How does it feel?” William asked.

“B–better. It’ll heal fast, don’t worry about it,” Phantom stammered out.

Again with that reassurance. As if his pain now wasn’t enough of a concern.

William reached for some fresh gauze and antiseptic. “How often are you injured like this?” he couldn’t help but ask. Phantom seemed entirely too confident in his healing abilities for this to be a rare occurence. Everything the ghost implied spoke of this being the norm.

Phantom shrugged in answer, looking away pointedly. 

That alone was enough of an answer, one William didn’t like to consider. He shifted his focus back to the gauze in his hands, murmuring an apology before moving to clean the wound.

Throughout it all, Radio stayed at Phantom’s side, purring contently. The ghost’s hand ran endlessly through the cat’s fur, a welcome distraction he was sure.

William wondered if Phantom might make a habit of visiting him when he was injured, if only to visit Radio. It was an odd thought, that Phantom might prefer a human home and living company when hurt. Though… maybe it wasn’t that odd. After all, William had never really seen Phantom act friendly with other ghosts before— not humanoid ones, in any case. He’d seen the ghost boy playing with a large green dog before, and sometimes hanging out with the ghost crows that lined the roof of Nasty Burger on quiet nights, but nothing more than that. No one he could talk to. No one like him.

Perhaps ghosts were just like that, inclined to fight in place of conversation. It certainly seemed that way based on his observations of Amity’s ghosts, although from what William could remember, Phantom was rarely the first to throw a punch.

William had so many questions for the ghost boy. Too many prying ones that he didn’t feel comfortable voicing. He wasn’t sure if Phantom would give him any answers.

Wasn’t sure he wanted them, in any case.

Radio rolled over onto his side, kicking Phantom’s hip with his leg, and the boy chuckled. A tiny thing, but oh how it made William’s heart swell. He kept imagining his students. Kept putting Phantom in their place, just like any other child. Just a boy taken before his time. One who seemed to have the world against him— or at the very least an entire town.

“All done,” William finally said, tying off his wandering thoughts with the last bit of bandage. This time no ectoplasm seeped through the material, but he wouldn’t be surprised if the bandages were green again by evening.

Phantom twisted, observing William’s handiwork with a pleased grin.

“Thanks, Mr. Lancer,” he said.

The name came as a jolt again. Yet another oddity that William had no answer for— that he needed an answer for this time.

“It’s really no trouble, but… how do you know my name?” he couldn’t help but ask.

It seemed like an easy enough question, and yet… Phantom hesitated. His eyes went wide, his shoulders hunching back around his pointed ears. When the boy finally spoke, he wouldn’t meet William’s eyes.

“I heard some of your students use it. D–during a ghost attack,” he mumbled very quickly.

That made sense, William reasoned. He could think of a few occasions where both students and coworkers had shouted for him in the midst of a ghost attack. 

Still, though, William couldn’t quite shake the sense that Phantom wasn’t being truthful. He’d seen far too many students lie to him to not immediately pick up on the nervous body language.

But why would Phantom lie about how he found out about his name? Did he make a habit of snooping around the school, hiding out of sight? Ghosts could turn invisible, after all. Perhaps there were entire lessons where Phantom floated in his classroom, unseen. It was an unsettling thought, being watched by a ghost just out of sight, yet William couldn’t find any real harm in the notion. Perhaps Phantom wanted to learn, like any curious child.

Whatever the case may be, William decided not to push.

“That makes sense,” he said aloud, taking note of how Phantom relaxed the moment he got an answer. “I’ll go grab those books then,” he added, slapping his knees and standing back up.

“Th–thank you. I really appreciate it,” Phantom said, nodding quickly.

William offered him a smile. “Anything to encourage kids to read.”

William caught a puzzled look on Phantom’s face as he turned to leave. “Ghost, not a kid…” Phantom mumbled under his breath.

A kid ghost, William thought.

A kid. 

The word turned so readily in William’s mind, and yet it still startled him to really consider it. To call Phantom a child, when he was…

But he was a child, wasn’t he? Phantom was small, with rounded youthful cheeks and large, bright eyes. How many times had William called him ghost boy in his head? Focused more on the buffer of ghost rather than on what followed it.

Phantom wasn’t just like his students, he could have been one of them. Might have been. He was just a kid, taken before his time, and there was nothing in William’s power to change that fact.

Yet Phantom still hurt. He still bled, in what way he could. 

Whatever Phantom said, he had come to him for help. This child came to a teacher in his time of need, seeking the bare minimum, and William needed to do more than that.

A few books were the least he could do. 

~*~

William spent a long while standing in front of his bookshelf, eyeing each spine. He tried to think of the sort of books his freshmen liked to read. Tried to think of anything that wouldn’t put a teenage boy to sleep. His eyes bounced from book to book, many of them classics that piqued his own interest, but that his students dreaded reading each year. 

His eyes wandered to the end of the shelf, to a few choice romances with pictures of men kissing on the covers. 

Certainly not.

On the shelf below, however, William did find some good options. He plucked them each into a small pile, collecting Jurassic Park, The Hobbit, and Watership Down in turn. The last thing he grabbed, more an impulse than anything, was a beat up old copy of The Last Unicorn tucked in on the far end of the shelf. In his experience, many boys didn’t feel comfortable enough in their masculinity to enjoy stories about unicorns, but it was a favorite all the same. Perhaps Phantom might enjoy it as well.

With his small pile of books, William turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen to grab Phantom some more water. He’d have to ask the ghost if he preferred something else— tea or juice, maybe. But for now, water would do. 

It wasn’t until he had the glass in hand, ready to head back upstairs, however, when William’s eyes settled on the pantry door. 

Would Phantom like something to eat?

William was pretty sure he’d seen the ghost boy eating fries outside the Nasty Burger once or twice. He wouldn’t even be the only ghost William had seen exhibiting that behavior. The same ghost crows that loitered around the Nasty Burger with Phantom were known for swooping on unsuspecting passerby to steal fries, hamburgers, and anything else they could get their beaks on. 

He was pretty sure that was half the reason Phantom stuck around, just to keep them in check.

In any case, it probably wouldn’t hurt to grab the ghost boy a snack. Worst came to worst, he could always put the granola bars back in the pantry.

William carefully balanced the books in one hand as he pushed the guest room door open. He found Phantom lying on his back with Radio across his lap, staring up at the ceiling. As soon as the ghost heard him enter, Phantom shot up straight, carefully placing his hands on Radio to keep the cat steady.

“I brought you some things,” William said, nodding to the items in his hands.

Phantom tipped his head to the side like a curious dog, brows rising when William set the water glass and granola bars down on the nightstand.

“I don’t suppose a ghost needs to eat, but I imagine it has some novelty,” he said in explanation.

Phantom didn’t respond right away, making a sort of thoughtful humming noise in his throat. “A lot of ghosts think it’s fun— to eat human food, that is,” he admitted. “Th–thank you.”

Phantom’s focus then shifted to the small stack of books that William offered him. He set the first couple aside, grinned at The Hobbit, before settling on the last book in his hands. That beat up copy of The Last Unicorn; he stared at the cover as though transfixed.

“My sister always wanted me to read this,” Phantom said, more to himself than to William. “We used to watch the movie a lot when we were little. Then she found the book in the library and read it in like a day.”

Ice flooded William’s veins. A timeline jumped into his mind, one that Phantom slotted uncomfortably into. He knew that Phantom had died. Knew that the boy must have been young when it happened. He knew this, but William had never let himself dwell on any details. 

William tried to think of when The Last Unicorn movie came out, realizing with a sinking dread that for Phantom to have watched it while he was young, the boy’s life had begun, and ended, far more recently than he ever dared to think. There was no distant gray period where Phantom lived in the 50’s, or 60’s, a child born and passed before William even entered the world. 

No, this had been far too recent. The 80’s— the 90’s, even, perhaps.

They had talked about Phantom in the teacher’s lounge more than once, speculating if there was any chance that one of them might have taught Phantom when he was alive. It was a discussion that never went very far, each of them a little too uncomfortable at the prospect of facing a ghostly echo of one of their students. One that haunted their city, hunted by ghosts and humans alike.

Did the boy still have family in Amity Park? Did they know who Phantom was before?

William thought of what else Phantom had just said. He mentioned a sister. 

William knew that, logically, Phantom must have had a family before his passing. Every child needed parents, after all. It wasn’t so much of a stretch to imagine Phantom had a sister. That he might have family that outlived him. People who cared about him then, and perhaps even now.

Did they know?

“Is… everything alright?” Phantom asked.

The ghost boy was looking at William apprehensively, with the book clutched awkwardly to his chest. There was fear in that body language, clear as day.

“It–it’s nothing,” William was quick to say. “I was just a little lost in my head.” He swallowed, making a quick decision. “Your… your sister, do you still see her at all?”

Phantom went impossibly paler, his eyes wide. “Uh, I mean, I…” The book creaked a little in his tight grip as Phantom looked away. 

William regretted the question immediately. “You don’t have to give an answer,” he said, taking a step back towards the door to give Phantom more space. “My sister gave me that book is all.”

Phantom nodded mutely, but still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, I… I guess I’ll try reading it finally,” he said, staring down at the unicorn on the cover before opening it to a random page and shoving his nose into the book. 

As clear a sign as any that the conversation was over.

William was happy to take that for what it was, glad to have an excuse to slip out of the room and leave Phantom be.

“Just call me if you need anything,” he said at the door. “I’m going to leave the door open a bit so Radio can come and go if he needs to.”

Phantom nodded, but still didn’t look up. It at least seemed that he had readjusted his focus on the book, jumping to the first page rather than a spot in the middle.

It was a start.

Chapter Text

Morning came quicker than William would have liked. Pale light flooded through his window, the sky gray with the promise of more snow. William sat up, groaning.

There was no getting out of work today.

He took his time showering and getting dressed, dragging out the minutes of peace and collecting his thoughts as best he could.

Was he really about to leave his home, and cat, alone with a ghost?

Radio usually found his way into William’s room at night, curled up near his pillow, but the cat had kept his distance this time around. William wasn’t surprised to find him trotting out from the guest room, tail held high as he meowed reproachfully for his breakfast.

William leaned into the guest room to check on Phantom. The ghost boy was fast asleep, wispy white hair splayed out over the pillow and the blanket pulled up to his nose. He thought of waking Phantom to tell him he’d be leaving soon for work, but quickly decided against it.

Even if ghosts did not need sleep for their… physical health, William supposed it must still do some good for a restless mind.

Radio meowed again and William was quick to shush him, shooing the cat down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Breakfast— for him and Radio— and a note for Phantom. An easy plan for the morning.

William tapped a pen against the table as he ate some eggs and toast with one hand. He thought of the best things to put down on paper for Phantom. Basic house rules, some contact information, and where he stashed the aspirin, to start. 

Phantom, 

I’ll be gone most of the day for work. I’ve left my cell number below just in case. You’re welcome to take anything you need from the kitchen— the cups are over the toaster, and the aspirin is in the drawer above the coffee maker. 

Radio has been fed for the morning, but there are cat treats on the counter. Please do not give him more than two. He is on a diet.

The remote is on the coffee table if you’d like to watch any television, but please do not touch the work computer in my bedroom.

I should be back around five.

-William Lancer 

William reread the note several times, nodding approvingly.

With the paper in hand, he went back upstairs and quietly stepped into the guest room. William kept his eyes on Phantom’s sleeping form as he set the note on the nightstand beside him.

Without the green glow of Phantom’s eyes, the dark bags beneath them stood out much more. Sickly and tired, a feature that didn't belong on such a young face.

William shook his head, quickly slipping out of the guest room. Radio passed him in the hall, arching to rub his side against William’s leg.

“Keep an eye on him,” he whispered, scratching the cat’s rump.

~*~

The smell of snow hung in the air, the wind battering William’s windshield as he drove to work. He made good time, making sure to avoid East Street. He didn’t expect the fissure in the road there to get fixed for at least another couple of weeks. Not with bad weather on the horizon, and the holidays upon them.

A half dozen cars were already at the school, with the art teacher, Ms. Farley, stepping out of her car as William pulled into the space across from her. He gave the woman a wave, receiving one in kind before she pulled the scarf around her throat tight and hurried inside.

William headed straight for his classroom, up the stairs and down the hall on the left. It wasn’t until he sat down behind his desk, preparing for the day, that he realized he’d left a folder of papers at home.

“Not again…” he mumbled to himself, running a hand down his face.

His students wouldn’t be upset, at least. There were quite a few D’s and F’s in that stack of tests that William was sure his students would be happy not to head home for the holidays with.

No matter.

William reached for a different folder on his desk, one with a sticky note from the substitute, Mrs. Riley. He thumbed through the papers inside, reading off the notes she left while he was gone.

Three absences, he noted off the top. Kwan had left earlier in the week on a vacation with his family, while Stephanie’s parents called in to say their daughter was sick. The third…

Daniel Fenton. William wasn’t at all surprised. There was no reason listed for his absence— rarely was. The boy would surely have a colorful excuse. He’d need one this time, missing the entire period for the second day in a row.

…That thought turned William’s annoyance slightly, the emotion curling into concern. He grabbed a sticky note, writing down a reminder to call the Fenton parents later. Just in case.

There wasn’t much to the substitute’s notes beyond that. She had them turn in homework, gave them a worksheet, and put on a film for the duration of class. A simple day, other than one note of Dash Baxter harassing a couple of students. William didn’t even need to read Foley and Manson’s names to know who.

He added another line to his sticky note. It was about time that Mr. Baxter’s parents had another phone call.

With that out of the way, William settled into his chair, pulling his lesson sheets in front of him. With any luck, he’d have about an hour of peace before—

Knock knock.

William stared up at the ceiling, begging whatever higher power— or ghost— was up there to give him strength. 

He didn’t get a chance to reply, watching instead as the door turned and Tetslaff let herself in.

“Glad to see you back in action, Will. I half-expected you to sleep through winter break entirely,” she said with a grin.

William rolled his eyes. “It was just a bit of a bug. I don’t exactly want to get anyone sick before the holidays,” he lied easily.

Jane laughed, folding her arms. “That won’t do. A few germs won’t hurt the kids. If anything, it’ll toughen up their immune systems.”

“Before winter break?” William deadpanned. “Now that’s just cruel, even for you.”

The woman threw her head back in a cackle. One that was short-lived before she seemed to fix William with a searching look. “You sure you’re feeling alright though, Will? I know what I just said, and I’m glad you came in, but you’re lookin’ a little green around the gills.”

William ran a hand down his face, sighing. “I just didn’t sleep well,” he admitted. That, at least, wasn’t a lie.

With Phantom still residing in his guest room, William didn’t really expect to get any worthwhile sleep for the foreseeable future.

Jane hummed noncommittally, eyes roving over the classroom. “Well, alright then. I should be heading down to the gym and getting ready for class,” she said. “Just ‘cause the weather’s getting worse doesn’t mean I won’t keep the kids busy running laps in the gym.”

She grinned wickedly and William, not for the first time, found himself glad that he wasn’t a student under her tutelage. Tetslaff was a great coworker— a friend, even— but the woman could be absolutely ruthless when it came to fitness.

She had a hand on the door, turned to leave, but paused. “Take care of yourself, Will. I’d see about doing something over the holidays, but I’m fixing to visit my girl right before New Year’s.” She grinned. 

Right. William had almost forgotten that she started dating again.

“It’s alright,” he said easily. “We can make time after the New Year.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she said, pointing meaningfully. “We’ll make a night of it, out on the town. Maybe find you a date before Valentines?”

William groaned. “Goodbye, Jane,” he said.

He could hear her cackling laugh even as the door shut, carrying down the hall. William couldn’t help but smile to himself, his spirits lifted ever so slightly.

…It slipped into a frown just as quickly, chased away by memories of ectoplasm stains and—

Beep. 

An announcement over the speakers. An urgent meeting to the auditorium, demanding all faculty be present. 

Unease sunk into William’s bones. He had a bad feeling.

~*~

“What’s this all about?” William heard Ms. Farley ask someone in the hallway just outside the auditorium. A tall man he was pretty sure worked as a substitute. 

“I’m not entirely sure,” the man replied. “My kids were talking something about ghosts before I left the house. Might be related?”

“Maybe…”

“The Fentons were on the news this morning,” a third voice chimed in. A squat woman that worked in the cafeteria; William was pretty sure her name was Janice. 

“Yeah? Well, I wonder what they’re prattling on about this time.”

The Fentons being on the news wasn’t anything new, not with their proclivity for the dramatics, and their insistence on ghost-related PSAs, but now? William didn’t like the timing at all.

What were the odds that Phantom, their white whale of a target, was involved?

Too high for William’s liking, surely.

The auditorium doors opened and William filed in behind the other teachers. Most of the faculty had already gathered, and William caught Tetslaff hovering by the first row of seats with her arms crossed. He walked over to her, trying to read the stony expression on her face.

“Something about the Fentons?” he whispered.

Jane nodded, not looking at him. Her eyes were locked on the door, watching the rest of their coworkers file in. “Something like that.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but shut it when Principal Ishiyama entered the room.

Despite her short stature, Ishiyama held a commanding presence. She cleared her throat for calm and, when all eyes turned to her, cut straight to the chase.

“As many of you are already aware, there has been a recent… incident.” She paused, eyes gliding over her staff before continuing. “Daniel Fenton has been reported missing. His parents claim that it was a kidnapping orchestrated by ghosts— by Phantom, much more specifically.

A sick swoop of dread fell into William’s belly. He flexed his hands nervously, palms damp with sweat.

“The ghost boy?” Mr. Falluca asked.

Ishiyama nodded. “Yes, unfortunately,” she said with a sigh.

“Why would a ghost want a ghost hunter’s son?” someone asked. One of the lunch staff, William was pretty sure.

“We don’t have all of the answers right now. I normally wouldn’t take much stock in what the Fentons have to say about ghosts, not with all of the false alarms they’ve raised recently, but I fear they may have… given the ghost a reason to retaliate this time,” Ishiyama said carefully.

“A reason?” It was Jane who asked it, her eyes flickering to William before settling more firmly on Ishiyama.

The principal nodded, her expression darkening. “From what Madeline Fenton has said, they managed to capture Phantom a couple of days ago. Their son has been missing ever since the ghost escaped.”

“Well I heard they didn’t even report the boy missing until today,” one of the janitors, a woman named Molly, said. 

“What?”

Too many people spoke up all at once, their voices bleeding together in an awful din. 

“...you can’t think they deserve this?” someone said.

“Do you really think they were gracious hosts with their lab rat of a ghost?” another person spat back.

The words washed over William, his ears ringing. He thought of the clinical gash down Phantom’s front. Of the fear swimming in the boy’s eyes, and the way he flinched when William got a little too close.

He thought of the Fentons aiming skyward, shouting about tearing, and ripping, and cutting with a promise behind it all.

“Will?”

William nearly jumped out of his skin, caught off guard when a hand settled on his shoulder. He looked up at Tetslaff, forcing a shaky grin onto his face when he saw her brows furrowed in concern.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Just— still a bit off from yesterday, I suppose.”

Jane’s eyes narrowed, and William knew without asking that she didn’t believe a word of it. But Jane didn’t push, instead giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“It’s important that we keep the students calm,” Principal Ishiyama urged. “We’re going to continue the school day as planned. Just one more day before break, and hopefully all of this will have blown over by the time class resumes.” She paused to let her words sink in, nodding when a few teachers murmured their assent. “Alright. I’ll let you all get back to your classrooms now. If the alarms go off at all today, if we see any ghosts, follow proper protocol as necessary.”

William nodded mutely, not sure he caught a single word.

Chapter Text

By the time William’s students began to file into his classroom, he could feel the unease that came with them. Too many students walked in with their heads together, whispering urgently.

Tucker Foley and Samantha Manson were among the last to arrive.

Both walked slowly, eyes downcast. Tucker’s hat was askew, his glasses barely hiding dark bags beneath his eyes. Samantha’s eyes were just as dark, made all the more so with the absence of any makeup. He’d never seen the pair of them look quite so… tired. Despondent.

He rarely saw the two of them without their third, after all.

Class went by in a haze for William. He decided to keep things simple, playing the second half of the film that the substitute had started and asking his students to write a short essay describing its themes. His desk didn’t face the old box television, leaving William with nothing but the flicker of changing lights and audio that he only half-heard. He tried to keep himself busy instead, working on a lesson plan for once the holidays were over.

…It didn’t hold his attention. Nothing seemed to, and William’s leg restlessly bounced with each swell of music and every bit of dialogue.

His students, for their part, seemed just as distracted. Dash, Paulina, and Star were clearly passing notes, thinking they were subtle. Mikey had fallen asleep entirely, he was pretty sure. Samantha and Tucker had inched their desks closer together, whispering something back and forth.

Normally, William would try to restore order. To encourage them to focus on the film and their work.

He had none of that energy now.

The bell came unexpectedly, making William jump in his seat. He hurried to turn the lights back on, blinking against the glare. 

“Alright, class. I won’t see any of you until after the holidays. We’ll be starting a new unit with the New Year, along with a book that I think most of you will enjoy.” He ignored their groans of protest, feeling they should at least be thankful he wasn’t sending them home with work. William knew that Falluca wouldn’t be so kind, at the very least.

He sat back down at his desk, watching as his students packed up their things and hurried for the door. It was only when half of the class was gone, with two of them dawdling as they whispered to each other, that William spoke up again.

“Ms. Manson, Mr. Foley, may I speak with you both before you leave, please?”

Both students flinched visibly, exchanging glances with one another before nodding stiffly. Samantha hiked her spider-shaped backpack up over her shoulder, walking stiff-legged up to his desk with Tucker following in her wake.

“Yes, Mr. Lancer?” she asked.

Up close, Samantha Manson’s violet eyes practically swam in the dark shadows beneath them. Even her hair seemed a bit unkempt, as though she hadn’t bothered to brush it out that morning. Her fingers nervously fidgeted with the strap of her bag. Her eyes wouldn’t quite meet his.

William took a deep breath.

“I’m sure by now that you’re aware of the… situation regarding your friend, Daniel,” he began.

Samantha’s mouth drew into a thin line. “Yes,” she said bluntly, while Tucker nodded mutely at her side.

William nodded as well, accepting their clipped responses for what they were. “I’m not here to interrogate you,” he said carefully. “I just wanted to ask if there is any chance you might know more about what’s going on? Any information at all that might help Daniel’s parents find him sooner?”

“No— no, I don’t know anything,” Tucker stammered a little too quickly.

Anger seemed to find Sam before nerves. She narrowed her eyes. “Help his parents? They have no idea what they’re doing. Just look at what they’re saying about Phantom,” she bit out, arms crossed.

William frowned. “You don’t think that Phantom has anything to do with your friend’s disappearance?” he asked.

Samantha opened her mouth. Closed it. She exchanged a glance with Tucker, and the silence that stretched between them spoke volumes.

“Phantom would never hurt Danny,” she finally said. She spoke it with finality. With certainty.

Her avoidance didn’t quite escape William. He didn’t get the feeling that his student was lying to him, but she certainly wasn’t answering his questions either. 

Phantom wouldn’t hurt Danny. Those were her words exactly. No denial that the ghost might have something to do with his disappearance, but instead a certainty that he ultimately meant no harm.

Peculiar. 

“All right, head along to your next class then. If you’re late, let your teachers know I kept you.”

“Th–thanks, Mr. Lancer,” Tucker said, darting towards the door without preamble.

Samantha went a bit slower. Her eyes lingered on William a little too long, assessing. Scanning, though for what William couldn’t quite say.

Students for his next class filed in as Samantha left. Some had their heads together, whispering with the same intensity of those in his first lesson.

William let out a long sigh. Today was going to be a very long day.

~*~

Cold metal pressed at his back. Bit into his wrists and ankles. Light poured from overhead, and in it shadows danced. Danny strained to free himself. Pulled at the bindings over his wrists, kicking and screaming with all he had. 

It wasn’t enough.

Something pressed down on his chest— a hand. It held him down. Bruised his ribs as he fought to speak— to cry— to beg.

Faces swam over him, as familiar as they were foreign. Goggles that caught the light. They spoke, mouths moving, but it was all a garble to Danny’s ears.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, it’s me— it’s me.”

More hands. Fabric tearing. A metal sliver that caught the light with the same sick gleam as the goggles.

It came down, down, down, and Danny felt it settle white-hot against his sternum.

He screamed—

Danny’s eyes flew open. He kicked out, clawing when something restricted his legs. Fabric ripped under his hands. He twisted, falling off the table—

Danny hit the floor with a gasp, pain jolting through him. His vision swam, the world seeming to tilt on its axis. Fabric folded over him, dark green and… soft.

He grabbed the fabric with shaking hands. It was… a blanket. A thick comforter, with some padding pooling out of fresh gouges where his claws had torn. Danny looked around, eyes falling on a mattress, the legs of a bed, wooden flooring. A bedroom.

Mr. Lancer’s guest bedroom, he remembered.

Danny let out a shaky breath, the cold bite of the dream fading. Just a dream. A dream…

A memory.

Danny gripped the edge of the bed and pulled himself up. He dragged the blanket into his lap, running gloved fingers over the frayed edges where his claws had torn.

“Damn it…” he murmured. “What do I do with this?”

A shadow moved in his periphery. Danny’s eyes locked onto it, adrenaline sharp before he felt his shoulders relax. Radio padded around the door, amber eyes bright as he regarded Phantom with a cocked head. 

“Hey boy,” Danny said. He leaned forward, holding out a hand. 

Radio didn’t come to him right away. For all the cat’s evident curiosity, his tail twitched with reproach. Danny wondered where Radio was when he startled from his nightmare. Had the cat seen him flail with the blanket? Did he hear him scream?

Danny knew he must have screamed.

But if Radio saw anything of his nightmare, it did not linger. The cat pawed over to the bed, leaping onto its edge. The mattress sagged slightly under his bulk, the blanket pulling when the cat settled into a loaf with his paws tucked.

Danny reached, scratching behind Radio’s ears. A purr rumbled through him, and Danny felt his core stutter with a small mockery of the sound.

He sat like that for a long wild, running a hand down Radio’s back as the cat’s eyes slipped shut. Danny let his mind drift, ungrounded. He forgot the nightmare and the reality it echoed, if only for a few quiet minutes.

Though reality had a funny way of sinking back in.

Hunger gnawed at Danny’s belly, his head light. The granola bars Mr. Lancer left him had taken off the edge of his hunger for a little while, but with his system working in overdrive to heal, Danny knew he’d need something more substantial. Calories more than anything, though some ectoplasm wouldn’t hurt.

…Somehow, Danny doubted that Mr. Lancer would have ectoplasm samples in his fridge.

He carefully stretched, wary of the bandages wrapping his center and the wound underneath. The pain ran deep enough as it was, the meds Lancer gave him a distant memory (and hardly a help at such a low dose).

It was only then that Danny saw a scrap of paper on the nightstand, right on top of the book stack that Mr. Lancer left for him. He carefully picked it up, reading over Lancer’s familiar handwriting.

“Huh… guess he really won’t mind if I go through his fridge,” he mumbled.

Danny stood up shakily, folding the blanket back onto the bed. There was no hiding the tear, at least not for long. He’d have to come clean and talk to Mr. Lancer about it once he got home. A problem for later, one he didn’t need to dwell on just yet.

Danny left the note on the nightstand, hesitating for only a moment before scooping up the copy of The Last Unicorn in its stead. Mr. Lancer’s note said he wouldn’t mind if he used the TV, but Danny had a feeling he might need something else to preoccupy his mind for the day.

Radio followed along behind him as he carefully walked out of the guest room and down the stairs, leaning a little too heavily on the railing. Danny didn’t have much energy in him to fly right now, let alone float. Exhaustion pulled at his limbs, and his head buzzed with a burgeoning headache. 

Danny’s eyes lingered on the bathroom door as he passed it. He could still picture the ectoplasm dripping down the sides of the tub. The trail of it that led down the hall and over the tile. He grimaced, hoping that it hadn’t taken Mr. Lancer too much time to clean. He must’ve scrubbed it all up at some point, owing to the spotless floor and the sick, cloying scent of cleaner that still hung heavy in the air.

Nausea roiled in Danny’s gut at the scent. He swallowed thickly, hurrying out of the short hall and away from the worst of it.

Danny paused when he stepped into the living room. He hadn’t really gotten a good look at Mr. Lancer’s house the night he came here— not that he had a chance to look at much of anything before passing out. The place wasn’t really what he expected, though Danny wasn’t sure what he expected either. He knew, in theory, that teachers had lives outside of school, but it was still odd to see it in person. 

The living room had a large brown sofa with tiny claw marks on the arms, and a small television resting inside a large entertainment center. Two bookshelves capped it, each filled full with books and binders. Across it all, string lights and stems of pine needles framed the edges in Christmasy decor. There was even a small Christmas tree on a table near the kitchen, sporting a lop-sided star that looked handmade. 

Danny grimaced at it all, that nausea rolling to a fever pitch. Echoes of arguments rung in his ears— years of them, all culminating in one held over a metal table in a cold lab. 

He rushed into the kitchen, nearly knocking over the Christmas tree in his haste to reach the sink. Danny gripped the edges of it, heaving green bile into the basin with a shaking cough.

“Fuck…” he said, wiping the bile from his chin. He spat, glaring at the green stains before turning the water and watching it wash away down the drain.

He ached. The wound across his chest, his empty, cramping stomach. His core, thrumming with recent memories that clung and clawed and demanded to be heard.

He shut his eyes. Counted, a familiar pattern that Jazz taught him a long time ago. 

Settled, Danny turned his focus to something he could fix.

Food.

Danny opened Mr. Lancer’s fridge, running his eyes over a couple of containers of leftovers, two jars of jam, a half-empty pickle jar, a carton of oat milk, and some old condiment bottles hanging on the door. There… wasn’t much. Certainly not the assortment Danny was used to seeing in a fridge, though he supposed that someone who lived alone didn’t need to stock up quite as much.

Still, if there was jam, then hopefully there was peanut butter and bread. 

It took digging through practically every cabinet, but Danny eventually came up with half a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, a plate, and a knife. His mouth watered as he opened both jars. He couldn’t put the ingredients together fast enough, and by the time Danny shut two slices of bread together into a sandwich, he was already shoving it into his mouth for the first bite.

The sandwich went in seconds.

Danny followed that sandwich with a second, and then a third. He grabbed a glass from one of the cabinets and filled it with water from the faucet, draining it twice before he finally— finally— felt full.

Danny filled the glass one last time and swallowed several aspirin tablets before stumbling out of the kitchen and into the livingroom. His limbs felt shaky, his head still aching. He slumped onto the couch and shut his eyes, swallowing down another wave of nausea that had his head spinning.

Radio leapt up beside him at some point. Danny carded a hand through his fur, lost in the sensation. He felt himself drift in and out of sleep. Relaxed into it for a while, imagining his body finally beginning to knit itself back together now that he had something proper in his stomach to provide the energy needed. 

Not that Danny expected to heal quickly from this. He ran a finger along the stitches down his chest, wincing. Even once the pain subsided, there would certainly be a scar…

The thought snapped Danny’s eyes open. He groped for the remote on the coffee table, desperate to have something to occupy his thoughts. The TV was a little too loud when it clicked on. Some sort of old western movie with too many sound effects and grainy visuals. He flipped through the channels, trying to find anything recognizable…

Christmas films… Christmas episodes… More Christmas films.

Danny settled on the first animated thing that didn’t have Santa, reindeer, or an overabundance of holiday cheer. Finding Nemo, already halfway through but a welcome sight.

Something to focus on other than the ache in his chest.

Chapter Text

The movie didn’t hold Danny’s attention like he wanted it to. His fingers twitched against Radio’s fur, and his eyes kept wandering to a clock over the fireplace. Not even noon. Minutes crawled, the day slow and dragging.

What was Danny waiting for, anyway? For Mr. Lancer to come home so they could continue their awkward conversations?

How long would it even be until Lancer got sick of him? It wasn't like Danny could just hide here forever, trusting his parents to keep their distance and Mr. Lancer to keep his silence.

All it would take is one slip up. The GAV getting a little too close. A ghost drawing Phantom out of hiding for a fight. Jazz, Sam, or Tuck catching wind of where he was, demanding answers…

Danny rubbed at his face, groaning. So much for occupying his mind.

His eyes trailed back to the kitchen, to the book he left on the counter. With a sigh, Danny got up to grab it, stumbling back over to the couch and lying across it with his head propped up on the arm. Radio made himself comfortable, purring at his side. Danny flipped the book open to the first page.

The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone…

Danny wasn’t much of a reader, never had been, but he read now. He let the words wash over him, and with them came the echoes of a movie he and Jazz watched time and time again. 

He could see the unicorn in his mind’s eye, snow-white with a flowing tail. He could hear the music in his ears, as somber as her path down the human road. A lonely beast, looking for her people. A forgotten creature, mistaken for something else.

It hit closer to home than it should, Danny thought. 

Ghosts and unicorns had little in common. They were each of myth and legend, but the similarities died there. 

Died, full stop.

But the unicorn did not die. She went on with her travels, swept up in iron cages that bit, and beneath the shadows of monstrous wings. She went alongside a wizard, mind set on finding the Red Bull, even as she longed for her forest home. 

Danny read until his eyes blurred with the stretch of words. He read until the unicorn faced the Bull’s bloody coat. Until her magic waned. Until magic twisted her form. Mortal in place of immortal— a name, in place of a unicorn. He read until the unicorn learned regret. Felt something of himself stick alongside her.

I have been mortal, and some part of me is mortal yet. 

When the last page turned, Danny looked up with bleary eyes. He stared, clutching the book a little too tightly. 

He imagined sitting beside Jazz on the couch, the TV volume cranked up to drown out the clatter of lab work below. He imagined the music swelling, rising into notes that Jazz carried into a song.

Danny saw himself in the unicorn. Jazz must have too.

He sat and stared, and in the quiet felt his chest ache with something deeper than the incision across it.

The click of a lock drew Danny from his stupor. He twisted to stare at the door, every muscle tensed to run. He watched nervously as the doorknob turned, and the door swung open.

Danny slipped into invisibility, wary for what might come…

Mr. Lancer stepped inside, quiet.

He shut the door with a gentle click of the lock. Set his keys down on a small table on the edge of the living room. He kept his eyes down, brows furrowed.

When the man finally looked up, Danny felt a shiver run down his spine.

“Uhhh, hi,” Danny said awkwardly. His invisibility must have slipped at some point. He was half-tempted to pull at it again, to slip away and out of sight.

He forced the thought away.

Danny expected an awkward greeting. Some sort of small acknowledgement of Phantom’s precarious place in his home. 

He was met with silence. With an assessing look that teetered a little too close to stern.

“Is… is everything alright?” Danny asked. He sat up a little straighter. Tensed his muscles for whatever may come.

The look that passed over Lancer’s face was difficult to read. A downwards glance, pinched brows, a deepening frown. His eyes seemed to settle on something nearby. “Have you been reading?” he finally asked.

Danny blinked, thrown by the question. His eyes flicked to the book beside him, and he scooped it up to stare at the cover. “Yeah… I, uh, liked it. It’s a lot like the movie.”

Mr. Lancer nodded almost absently. “Yes, I suppose it is,” he said. 

They stood in silence then. Mr. Lancer stayed in the doorway, tense. Tension settled over them, electric and buzzing. A sense of wrong that burrowed under Danny’s skin and had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

“Is… is everything alright?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Mr. Lancer didn’t answer right away. Looked as though he might not answer at all. He licked his lips, eyes darting back to the door once before shutting. The man let out a long breath, seemingly resigned.

“I had some interesting conversations at school today…”

There was more to it. Danny could feel it lurking, a shark circling below. A conversation full of teeth.

“A–about what?” he asked.

Mr. Lancer moved then. Stepped away from the door and took a few awkward steps into the living room. Still keeping his distance, hugging close to the window. 

He kept his back to the wall.

Wrong. The feeling burned and bled, and Danny’s thoughts ran with it. He thought of the school, and all of the ghost alarms lurking within. He thought of his friends, and the secrets they kept for him. He thought of Jazz, and what she might say to hide a brother missing from school, from home.

He thought of his parents, happy to leap into any fight.

“There’s this student in my class,” Lancer began. Student, vague, but Danny’s mind already filled in the dots with his own name. “He’s been missing for a couple of days now— you might know him, actually. His parents, they, well…” Hesitation. A wry twitch of his lips. “You’re not exactly on the best terms with them.”

“...The Fentons, right?” Danny hedged. 

Mr. Lancer blinked, thrown for only a second before nodding. “Y–yes. Their son, Daniel, he went missing just two days ago. His parents— that is, the Fentons—they suspect a ghost was involved. There was a lot of talk today about it. A meeting, even. Not the first one involving ghosts, mind you, but… peculiar.”

Danny let the words soak in. Felt their meaning weigh heavy in his mind. There was still more that Mr. Lancer wasn’t saying. It wasn’t like his parents to speak vaguely— to blame just any ghost.

“Which ghost?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Mr. Lancer held his gaze. Danny watched recognition settle there. Felt the tension of the room constrict, gnawing at his bones.

“Phantom…” Mr. Lancer started, and it was all Danny needed to hear.

He leapt from the couch, landing on unsteady feet. Saw dots dance in the edges of his vision, and felt his stomach turn with a jolt of pain. “They’re blaming me, aren't they?” he demanded, all teeth. A snarl. Eyes blazing as rage festered in his aching core.

Mr. Lancer took a step back and his heel bumped into the edge of one of his bookshelves. He raised his hands in a placating gesture, and Danny couldn’t help but shrink in the face of his fear. He let go of clenched fists, and let his shoulders droop. Averted his gaze, and felt some of the fire leave his eyes.

He brushed along the edges of invisibility, ready to grab it at any time.

“I know they had you. That they… hurt you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, and I still want to help you, but— their son, Daniel… Phantom, I need to know. You wouldn't hurt that boy, would you?”

Anger flickered again, whitehot. It took everything in Danny to keep his posture loose, his fists unclenched. He focused on the question, and tried his best to approach it from Mr. Lancer’s point of view. A teacher listening to gossip over lunch break, or catching whispers in the halls. Someone who knew nothing of Phantom, and only of a student missing.

Someone offering an olive branch, but needing answers before they’d let it go.

“No,” Danny said, though his voice warbled on the word. “I… I’d never hurt their son— I’d never hurt them.”

It was the truth. Too much of the truth, Sam might say. How many times had she suggested Danny fight back and give his parents a taste of their own medicine? How many times had Tucker suggested he tell his parents the truth? How many times had Jazz offered to be there for the conversation, and to be the safety net if it ever fell through?

Too many times, though not quite enough to loosen Danny’s lips. 

It had taken a scalpel for that.

“That’s good. That’s good, I believe you… I want to believe you— to help you. I just have one more question, and I need you to be honest with me. Do you know where Daniel Fenton is?” Lancer kept his distance. Kept his back to the bookshelf, and his eyes on Phantom. Danny could see the bob of his Adam’s apple when the man swallowed nervously. He shrunk back some more, brushing the edge of the couch.

“I… he’s okay,” Danny said hollowly.

Mr. Lancer’s posture stiffened. His mouth drew into a thin line. “Where is he, Phantom?” the teacher asked. He spoke slowly, voice a quaver.

Danny’s core buzzed. Unease licked at his edges, and he found himself taking another unconscious step back. “I–I don’t know. I just know he’s okay. I swear he’s okay.”

“Phantom, their son isn't involved in this. I want to help, but I need you to help me as well.” Mr. Lancer’s face crumpled. He took a deep breath, and stepped away from the bookshelf. “My student is missing, Phantom.”

Danny took another step back, feeling his heel bump into the edge of the couch. “I know— I know, but he’ll… he’ll be home soon.”

Mr. Lancer took another step. His legs shook beneath him. “There is a boy missing, and his parents aren't going to stop looking for him.” Anger entered his voice, and Mr. Lancer threw out his hands with the feeling. “I want to trust you. I want to help you, but I can’t do that if you’re going to give the Fentons a reason to chase you.”

Danny’s core trembled and shook. He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide and ears ringing. “Give them… you really think I’m the one to blame for this?” Fangs bit at the edge of his lip, a growl stuttering up his throat. “You really think I want this?”

Lancer flinched as if struck, but held his ground. “No! To Kill a Mockingbird, I just want answers. I want to know that my student is okay. I am asking where Daniel Fenton is. I am begging you to be honest with me, Phantom. Where is he? Have you done something to him?”

Ice licked at Danny’s edges. It crept in, far deeper than the chill that came through the door. A blizzard raging at his center, indignant and wailing.

“Have I done something?” The words shook, hollow and heavy. “Me?” He closed the distance between them, watching the light of his green eyes flood Mr. Lancer’s pupils. “Do you think I asked for them to cut me open?”

The man’s eyes widened. His face went pale. He stumbled backwards, and several books fell from the shelf when he caught himself on its edge. “I—I didn’t—”

“Do you have any idea what that feels like? They—they grabbed me, and they tied me down and—” Danny took in a sharp, stuttering breath that teetered a little too close to a sob— “it hurt. I screamed, and they didn’t care, and I–I don’t think I’d be here if Jazz didn’t hear me.”

Danny still couldn’t get the picture out of his head. Jazz, pale and shaking as she hurried to untie the straps over his wrists and ankles. Tears ran down her cheeks as a steady cadence of, “It’s okay. It’s okay. It–it’s going to be okay,” fell from her lips.

The memory solidified. Tears welled in Danny’s eyes, and he blinked them away, swallowing thickly. Every inch of him shook, with his core rattling at his center, begging him to run, to hide.

“I–I didn’t want to believe— hoped it wasn’t them.” Lancer sucked in a shaky breath, his shoulders dropping. “Phantom, I’m sorry, I—”

He may have said more. He may have called after him, but Danny heard nothing. He grabbed at his invisibility, held it tight, and threw himself into the air.

He bolted up through the floorboards, through a small attic space, and up into the cold winter night.