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Jonah thought Amity Park, for what it was worth, was relatively normal. Sure, ghosts paraded around the streets at their own leisure and there were regular ghost evacuation drills city-wide, but he liked to pretend that he lived in a normal city–if only for his own sanity. Now, sitting at the highest point of the skate park at the edge of town with the youngest Fenton kid, he could believe that, if only for a moment.
He liked to come out here, late when his parents were already asleep. The skate park was the furthest anyone could get from the city lights that bleached the night sky, and the highest ramp had the best view of the stars he had ever seen. Moving from the rural country straight to urban life was jarring, but at least the night was some kind of reprieve. Jonah smiled as the Fenton kid–Danny, he had said to call him–pointed out Draco, the boy laughing as his finger traced imaginary lines in the dark. They had been out for hours at this point and even the light chill that made his nose turn ruby red couldn’t keep him from laughing along at the other teen's excitement and stargazing.
“And right there, that’s Libra!” Danny began again with stars in his eyes. Well, not literally. That wouldn’t be normal, would it? Jonah smiled and ignored the acid green glittering of the boy’s irises as he talked.
“Actually, have you heard of Zodiac or star signs? I’m a Libra! And you kind of seem like a Cancer. Cancer is a really cool constellation, too–” The conversation came to a sudden halt as the snowy-haired teen lurched forward, breath misting in front of his face in a blue cloud. The shimmer overtook his irises, the neon viridian illuminating his gloved hand that remained pointed at the sky.
With a huff of a breath, Danny pushed off the ground with little effort. Jonah blinked and thought for a moment.
Danny’s hair was onyx black when he had met him hours earlier. It was white, now. He remembered commenting how their eyes were the same shade of blue just before they sat to look at the stars. Now they were green. He was Danny Fenton when he arrived. The person standing in front of him now was Danny Phantom. Well, mainly.
The black hazmat suit that Amity Park had grown to know and love was littered with stars and constellations that Jonah recognized from the teen pointing them out just moments ago. Cygnus and Aquila plastered themselves across the front of the suit, glowing softly. Libra was, funnily enough, laid right atop the center of his chest. Stars he recognized from his own familiarity, partial ones like the Big and Little Dipper, were splattered like incandescent freckles along his cheekbones.
The boy-ghost-not-ghost sent him a small smile, a shine that looked suspiciously like a crescent moon brightening his already glowing eyes.
“Sorry, I’ve got to go, uh, home. But I really liked hanging out! Maybe I’ll see you back here?” Danny–Phantom? Fenton?–gave him a little wave, not waiting for a response to turn on his heel and jump down from the ramp they were sitting on. He turned his head somewhat unnaturally, his verdant green eyes piercing the dark even from across the park. “Bye, Jonah!”
With a muttered farewell and a clumsy wave, Jonah leaned back on his palms, the warm cement scraping lightly against his skin. The chill had gone from the air in Danny's absence, and it was with little startle that he realized that it was nearly summer.
Amity Park wasn’t normal. But maybe that was okay, he figured as Phantom rose from beyond the treeline to rush after another loose ghost with a loud whoop.
Yeah.
That was okay.
“Good morning, Mrs. Smith!” The bell that announced a customer’s entry jingled as Danny Fenton entered her bakery, and a smile spread across her face. Every Tuesday, without fail, the youngest Fenton would visit her in the mornings and buy himself a pastry for breakfast. Or, at least, he would try. She would deny every penny he tried to give her, always ringing up his orders for free.
He was such a delight and was now regularly the highlight of her week, his arrival always bringing a grin to all the occupants of the shop. In fact, she noted with mirth, multiple customers showed up more often on Tuesdays just to catch a bit of the joy that Danny radiated.
“Good morning, honey,” she replied as the boy approached the counter, his hands patting a beat on the deep wood. A smile began to inch its way onto his lips while she smoothed her apron. “Did you want the usual, or are we getting something new this week? I’m trying a different recipe for the banana bread.”
Danny oohed and ahhed at the display case to his left, eyeing one of the freshly baked kolaches. She grinned mischievously, pulling a spatula and a serving dish out from under the counter. He groaned as she opened the case and placed a kolache on the plate.
“Mrs. Smith!” He complained, drawing out her name in a playful drawl. The other customers giggled and covered their smiles with their hands at their booths near the window. The boy near regretfully took the kolache, resting his forehead against the counter in feigned annoyance. Mrs. Smith laughed heartily and swatted at the hand that tried to sneak a Lincoln into the tip jar, albeit intangibly. Danny had the mind to return corporeal before she passed through his hand, but she knew all his tricks. He gave a guilty grin, even as he sweated with what she bet he figured was a close call.
“Don’t you try to pay me, Fenton. You’ve got more to worry about with your finals coming up, don’tcha?” She waved the spatula at him genially, shooing him with a flick of the utensil. Danny grabbed for the plate he had set down on the counter before pausing, opting instead to grab a napkin and lift the kolache with it. He used another hand to pull his backpack strap forward, readjusting it after it had slipped when he tried to sneak the dollar bill into the jar.
“Listen to her, kid! Smith always gets her way.” Another regular, Harrison, shouted out, raising his coffee cup sportively. Laughed agreement rang out from around the bakery and the teen rubbed the back of his neck bashfully.
“Thanks, Mrs. Smith.”
“Anytime, darling.”
They talked for a while, most of the customers listening on and participating in a debate Harrison had begun, much to Danny’s chagrin: was the high school student dating Sam Manson or Tucker Foley? Of course, it was all in good fun and conversations like it were what Mrs. Smith grew to expect each Tuesday. Funnily enough, the youngest Fenton never seemed to notice how his laughter impacted the room–literally. Each giggle and grin brightened the bakery and made the air feel lighter with wonder. His eyes flared emerald once or twice each visit, and Smith and her Tuesday customers marveled at how well Danny was able to hold conversations in such a manner that made each and every occupant feel seen, listened to, even from across the room.
She would gladly admit that there was a corkboard behind the counter with pictures of her favorite visitors, Danny having taken over a good third of the board. It was chock full of pictures of the teen–with his permission, of course–with his eyes shining green “in the flash of the camera,” his go-to excuse, and multiple instances where he was laughing away with others in the booths. It was always wonderful, however, to come across the sticky notes he would leave behind the counter telling her about his day or complimenting her baking skills.
She gave his hair a ruffle, and soon Danny gave one final smile and a wave to the bakery as he slipped out the glass door of the shop, the customers flooding the room with goodbyes. Mrs. Smith marveled as he took a bit of the kolache in his fingers and lifted it nonchalantly into the air. A small, lime-green blob ghost flew from his violet backpack and gobbled it up, rubbing against his cheek in thanks, and the teen’s laughter chimed like the little bell that hung above the door.
“He really is the nicest boy, isn’t it?” Gerald, another Tuesday visitor, called from his seat by the counter. “Is that why you don’t make him pay like you make us, Smith?” The man grinned, pointing his half-eaten bagel at her joyfully.
“Of course,” she responded, wiping down the counter and smirking when she spotted the five-dollar bill Danny had slipped halfway under the tip jar. “Besides, he deserves it, y’know? Our ghost boy does more for this city than we could ever do for him.” The bakery occupants chattered their assent, and Smith smiled as she grasped a full jar labeled “Danny” under the counter and slid the Lincoln into it. She’d give it to him at the end of the month, like always.
Yes, Danny was a nice boy.
Eli Fischer was confused. It was like the teen was speaking a completely different language as he went on and on, flapping his hands about in clear excitement.
No, really. He must've been speaking a different language. That wouldn’t mean much to him usually, yes, but Danny Fenton was an English speaker and had been for years since kindergarten. Now he was immersed in a speech pattern that sounded frankly impossible for humans to even create or mimic. Had it really been so long since he had last talked to Danny that the other had learned a completely new dialect?
The people passing them on the street corner only smiled at the boy’s antics and went on their way, barely sparing a glance at him. Maybe Eli was just hearing things strangely? It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. He raised his hands to his hearing aids in confusion before Danny’s features tilted to understanding, stepping forward and seeming to pause, hesitating for his consent to approach. Which was weird. Was that weird? He didn’t know. With a nod to confirm, the Fenton kid reached his hands to Eli’s ears.
Something strange happened, which was saying something for Amity Park.
His ears popped, the hearing aids resting on the outer shell of his ears buzzing slightly. There was a strange green glow in his peripherals, and its appearance was accompanied by a light hum that almost echoed through his bones. Eli could’ve sworn the air was chilled, but it could’ve been his imagination, just like the way Danny’s eyes glowed and his pupils dilated into a bright crescent. Overactive imagination. That was it.
“C-can you hear me now?” The teen in front of him looked on in questioning, pearlescent strands of hair scattered through his regular pepper black. He nodded and the boy sighed in relief. “That’s good. Sorry, I forgot spectral noise affected hearing aids so badly.” Danny grinned guiltily, twisting his hands together meekly.
“Spectral noise?” Eli rubbed his ears, the area still tingling softly. To his amusement, the teen seemed to jump at the term and his still-green eyes shifted to the side in nervousness.
“It’s, um, I have so much ecto-contamination that it messes with, uh, audio recordings and a lot of technology that works with sound.” Danny stuck his hands in his pockets at the same time, rocking back on his heels. That was the guilty mannerism that he had kept since kindergarten. A lie, then. Eli stifled a laugh, crossed his arms, and hummed his false understanding. He would play along, at least for the boy’s peace of mind. Wes had it right after all, huh?
“Ah, that sucks.” They both nodded, albeit a bit awkwardly on the teen ghost’s part, and stood in silence for a moment or two. “Well, I was actually headed to the movies if you’d want to hang out? Haven’t seen you around much since, what, sixth grade?” He cast the line out, hoping that the other would take the bait for some time to just be Danny Fenton, son of ghost hunters, instead of Danny Phantom, protector of Amity Park, but it was in vain as his bottle-green eyes widened at a puff of cold, blue mist.
“Sorry, I think I’ll have to pass–I have to, uh, water my pansies!” Which only grew during winter, not summer. Great excuse, Fenton.
“We could still hang out later, though!” Eli was pulled into a bone-breaking hug, which was strange because, one, he wasn’t known for upper body strength, and two, he was frigid. But that made sense, considering the ghost thing that must’ve started after middle school.
Wow. That was a weird thought.
Danny rushed off, just around the corner of a building into an alley, before there was a flash of ethereal light. He squinted at the brightness and moments later Phantom flew from behind the bricked building into the sky, Fenton Thermos in hand.
“Yeah, in hindsight, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Funny thing is, the kid is trying to hide it.” A woman walking her pitbull, who Eli recognized as the yoga instructor downtown, stopped to comment. Multiple city inhabitants around him nodded at her words and continued on their way with knowing smiles. He felt a pang in his chest as he realized what exactly being a ghost entailed, but the other teen seemed to be living–hah–like usual, so he merely grinned and kept his pace to the cinema.
He could’ve sworn he could hear Phantom’s howls of laughter from across the city.
Cassidy prided herself on her ability to handle any situation. She would need to, especially with her ongoing training as an EMT. She had done stitches directly after a ghost car chase gone bad, glass and all, dealing with house fire victims who had been covered with ectoplasm, and many such incidents. Such is the life of an Amity Parker.
What she hadn’t expected, however, was the way Phantom shot down from the dark skies like a shooting star, landing harshly on her apartment balcony. She cried out as he laid ragdoll limp on her patio, the drizzle that had been peacefully petering against the sliding glass door now frosting a layer of ice over the windows.
The ghost didn’t respond as she checked for awareness, chastising herself when she instinctively checked for a pulse. She was startled, however, when she found one. Slow, melodic, and hidden under a steady humming, but there. A pulse. The young woman didn’t know what to think, only going on to check for major injuries without much thought. There was a large gash across his arm, which wept a melancholy leaf green and, strangely, a warming crimson. Besides the laceration, there were no other major injuries, so she took to picking him up with little effort and carried him inside slowly and carefully. Phantom squirmed in her arms for a moment, adjusting himself before falling still except for the slow rising and falling of his chest. All in all, the ghost made no sense. Breathing? A beating heart? Blood?
Cassidy gently laid him across the couch, mourning her sofa cushions as the rainwater seeped into the fabric off of the sopping wet Phantom, who she now had in her apartment.
Okay. She could work with this.
She rushed quickly and quietly to the bathroom, crouching down to reach into the cabinets for her first aid kit. It only took a moment, but she found it behind a pile of old scented candles she received for her last birthday that she couldn’t bring herself to throw away. Probably not the best place to keep something so important, especially as an upcoming EMT, but she digressed.
Phantom was generally in the same position–recovery position, the best way for him to lay in this situation, she figured–when she came back to the living room and she sighed thankfully at the slow rise and fall of his breathing. She cracked open the tin, rummaging around for the disinfectant, suture needle, and thread. She breathed steadily through her nose, taking the bottle of disinfectant and bringing it to the wound.
“This is gonna sting, okay? It’s just to clean the wound, I’m not trying to hurt you.” She felt silly telling an unconscious ghost that, but it was proper to make sure the patient understands it’s all for their well-being. Surprisingly, Phantom was lucid, glancing at her with heavily lidded eyes and nodding his consent. His pupils were enlarged. Maybe a concussion. Alright.
The ghost boy hissed in surprise and whimpered as the sterilizer flushed out his wound and Cassidy murmured her apologies, ignoring the way he gripped onto her sofa with such force that he ripped the seams slightly.
“It’s going to need stitches. Are you okay with me giving you medical assistance?” She asked for his understanding, which she would’ve done sooner if he hadn’t been unconscious. He nodded and then paused, biting his lip with somewhat unnaturally sharpened canines. He hesitated for a moment and she understood as soon as he grasped tighter at the cushions.
“You can hold my hand if that would make you feel better.” He did so gratefully, looking like a child unwilling to release their parent’s hand on their first day of preschool. She did not comment on this, due to the embarrassed blush that rested on his cheeks, but she did file it away for a rainy day.
The process of stitching the wound was quick and easy, much to both of their relief. They spent a while after she bandaged the no-longer-a-gash sitting in her apartment, talking about anything the boy wanted. He eventually conked out on her couch, a strange but peaceful rumbling overtaking his chest as he leaned on the arm of the sofa. Whether it be from relaxation or comfort, Phantom shifted in a flash of bright light into someone less familiar but all the more recognizable.
Cassidy honestly couldn’t say she was surprised to find Danny Fenton on her couch when she returned from placing the first aid kit in its spot in the back of the bathroom cabinet. He had said a little too much while they talked, things about how one Mr. Lancer assigned too much homework, how he despised toast, how he slipped into his basement at night and snuck filtered ectoplasm from his parent’s lab station when he got “midnight munchies.” She, again, didn’t mention it when he awoke and switched back to the silver-haired city protector and didn’t bring it up as he gave her his thanks with a radiant smile and flew from her balcony into the now sunny skies.
She would definitely brag about this to her coworkers, though.
Margaret sighed as she watched the GIW agents swarm the street for the nth time that night. Phantom just couldn’t catch a break recently, what with how the mayor instituted another curfew, this time for 8:00 P.M., a time when ghosts would regularly reveal themselves. The ghostly teen zigged and zagged around the block, multiple agents in their bright ivory suits chasing him around much like dogs chasing their own tails. All of this, and on a school night, too. She reached for her purse, scouring through old receipts and pens that she admittedly didn’t need, before pulling out a nondescript walkie-talkie from the police department. What could she say? Being chief of police had some perks–including the ability to create what she liked to call The Phantom-Sitters Club.
Sue her; the books were her childhood.
Margaret pulled the antenna upwards and tuned it to the corresponding channel. In reality, she created the task force with the help of her most capable officers to make Phantom’s job just that much easier. Of course, they would love it if the kid would just focus on passing his classes and visiting Mrs. Smith on Tuesdays–word spread through the city like a wildfire, now everyone was envious of the Tuesday regulars–but she digressed. She hesitated, then pushed one of the many buttons on the side of the device.
“Oliver. Do you have that roadblock set up yet?”
There was a crackle of static before the tired voice of her second in command chimed in.
“Yeah, the roads around Elm Street are all closed off. Should make it easier for the kid to get home once he’s finished chasing the ghost of the hour. Good thing the guys at the construction company know about him already, or else it would've been way harder to divert traffic.” Oliver paused on the other side of the line, sipping at what must’ve been coffee given previous stakeouts. “Are you ready?”
Margaret shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders. Ghost fights always gave Amity Park some kind of chill, even in the summer. “Yeah, been up here since we last checked in.” The top floor of the parking garage was desolate, especially after curfew, which made it a great location to look out for their resident ghost boy. Even better, it had a birds-eye view of a fairly large portion of the city, including the Fentonworks building. She shook herself out of thoughts as Phantom and his white-suited paparazzi circled back around the same block for the third time and spoke into her walkie-talkie.
“Trish, you there?”
Trish, her amazing, lovable fiance.
“–and I swear if I see you around here with your dainty, prissy white pantsuits again–”
Trish, her over-protective, very sleep-deprived fiance.
There was laughter over the comms for a couple of moments before there was the sound of Trish clearing her throat in embarrassment. The police chief sighed through her nose and held down the button to speak.
“Please tell me you’re on route. And that you didn’t just harass government agents again.” There was a pregnant pause until the other woman spoke up on the other side of the line.
“I can tell you both of those things, but only one of them will be true, Marge.” Again, multitudes of laughter, only cutting through for breaths. It really wasn’t that funny, but to a group of officers who watched an almost certainly half-dead teenager fight a ghost Obsessed with boxes on a near daily basis? Yeah. Cutting-edge entertainment.
The humor died down, the officers waiting patiently for the youngest Fenton to bring his nightly patrol to a close. It took nearly another hour for him to look even remotely ready to call it quits, even though there were no ghosts running amok or terrorizing Amity. In fact, Margaret mused, the noise the GIW were making on their wild goose chase was more annoying than even the random ectopi that swam through the skies loudly every now and again. Still, the officers waited for Phantom to pause in his ministrations, which seemed more out of stress these days, to step in and switch dance partners with him.
The teen stopped atop one of the many buildings near Fentonworks, seeming to look around before his piercing viridian gaze fell on Margaret and the parking garage. A chill went down her spine before she calmed and reminded herself that this was a child. She peered over the side of the building, noting how the reckless-yet-tame-enough driver that was Trish was drawing the GIW away.
“You shouldn’t be out so late, miss. Are you okay?”
The officer startled, which in turn caused Phantom to leap back apologetically. She brought a hand up to her chest, hovering over her badge, and exhaled with a laugh.
“You really know how to scare ‘em, kid.” She shook her head, sliding her bag behind her with one foot and pulling her jacket around herself further as the cold increased in proximity to the teen. The ghost boy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, a go-to action most of the task force, if not the whole city, had noted. “I’m just fine. Are you?”
Phantom paused, his eyes lighting up just the slightest. He gave a nod, his silver-threaded hair bouncing without gravity’s hold. There was a loud crash a couple of streets down and the youngest Fenton’s attention snapped towards the sound in an instant, something like protectiveness flaring in his already glowing eyes. He looked at her and gave a grin.
“I’ve gotta go–please get home safe, ma’am!” The boy gave her only a moment more of a smile before he set off into the night sky again, almost blending in if not for the lime-green glow that he emanated.
“You, too.” She muttered light-heartedly into the now warming air, the voices over the walkie-talkie blaring as she finally let go of the button on the side. It wasn’t every day you could say you talked to Phantom, even if only a couple of sentences, after all. Of course, she wanted her team to hear the interaction.
Phantom raced across the sky after the Box Ghost, who was now in possession of a dumpster bin.
“Well, folks, looks like we’ll be out for a bit longer tonight,” Margaret smirked. Oliver groaned on the other end.
Amity Park’s best-kept secret wasn’t that bingo night was a cover-up for small-scale Ember concerts, or that the city was populated partly by ghosts on the regular. It wasn’t that the Casper High menu never changed due to their ghostly lunch lady, or that most city residents, besides one Red Huntress and a certain pair of scientists, left out pet kibble for the ever-lovable Cujo. No, it was something more along the lines of “every citizen of Amity Park, in which few are exempt, know that Danny Fenton is Danny Phantom, and they do their best to make his half-life easier.”
A little help was the least he deserved, the Amity residents agreed. He loved the city, and the city loved him back. It was how life in Amity Park was supposed to be.
So Jonah would continue to meet up with Danny late at night to gaze at the stars, and Mrs. Smith kept giving the boy baskets of scones and jars of collected bills. Eli would make sure to keep in contact with the other teen, Cassidy kept her balcony doors open and her first aid kit on the shelf in her living room, and the city’s police department consistently watched over his late nights.
Phantom would continue to protect the city, and the city would continue to protect him.
It was only natural.