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Chapter 5: Teacher Teacher

For @underforeversgrace and @sheabeeprime again

i'm doing my best to cram as many prompts into this phic as I can, frantically shoe-horning as much as i can like little puzzle pieces.

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William Lancer is, frankly, too tired and underpaid for this shit.

But against all odds he loves kids, and genuinely thinks they are the future.

Bleak as that future may be.

The best he can do is help them when they need it.

And Animal Farm, do they need it.

Often.

And consistently.

All internal monologue levity aside, Will is especially concerned for the Fenton boy.

He used to be a good, rule abiding boy. He used to get A’s and though his parents were hardly going to win “Parents-of-the-Year” award, they at least loved their children, as far as Will knew.

Didn’t they?

But Daniel has been skipping classes, his grades have been falling, and his attitude has been….erratic.

And that’s not to mention the scars.

He started noticing the scars mid-year, just as the weather started to warm up, and Daniel had yet to shed his jacket.

Most of the people of Amity Park liked to keep to themes—Will himself is victim of it, keeping to his blue polos and comfy but professional looking plaid pants.

There were exceptions here or there, who wouldn’t get bored every now and then?

But Daniel usually wore that red and white raglan tee shirt–occasionally some kind of NASA paraphernalia.

Summer was fast creeping up, and Daniel has yet to shed his jacket—not even during PE.

People were starting to notice—the other teachers whispering about the scars on the boys hands, the occasional flash of scarring on the nape of his neck, and if his sleeves were hiked up for a moment, even on his arms.

Mrs. Tetslaff had come to him after school one day, telling him that Daniel was forced to change into shorts after an incident at lunch.

“The scars are on his legs, Lancer.” She had gruffly whispered. Her fists were clenched and her entire countenance screamed anger.

“It’s not his parents.” Will had said then, because it wasn’t. He had dropped by the Fenton’s on random occasions, to speak with the parents as delicately as he could manage.

Just in case.

But whilst the Drs Fenton were guilty of a certain degree of neglect (with young Jasmine was picking up the slack) they loved their children dearly.

But where, then, did the scars come from?

The teachers were wary, and even the students were picking it up.

Something was off about the young Fenton boy, and Will was helpless against it.

When Summer came with no answers and an abundance of questions, Will became more determined.

He would see the boy around town—it was hard not to occasionally see one of his students in a small town like Amity Park—and he seemed fine, jovial even.

But the long sleeves stayed.

It wasn’t until the night before the boy’s sophomore year began that anybody got answers.

It was too bad that they didn’t realize the enormity of the situation.

It was too bad that the only one who seemed to be helping was the young Weston boy.

Will was ashamed by how hesitant he was to believe the dream.

As adults, they should have known better.

But even if it was a little late, even if it took them almost a year to do anything about it beyond whispering in the hallways, Will was happy.

Because the Fenton boy needed him.

And like with all his other students, it was Will’s job to do his best to provide help.

Mr. Weston seemed to have the student’s help in hand, with Miss Gray providing aid with a fervor nobody seemed to expect.

Will sits here now, in the teacher conference room amongst his colleagues and thought to himself: Let the kids handle the kids.

He stares at the white board where Principal Ishiyama had written in bright red “G.I.W.” on one side and “FENTON PARENTS” on the other, a variety of bullet points listed under each category.

The adults would handle the adults.

It was their job as teachers, after all.

Chapter 1: Beginning of an End

For @sheabeeprime and @uniasus for this year's @phicphight !

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The thing about Fenton is that he’s not…..subtle.

Star thinks about this as she watches him struggle with his locker. Kwan’s just about to offer to help—she can see it in her peripherals—before Fenton groans, looks left and right (completely missing them loitering across the hall directly behind him) and sticks his hand into the locker.

He’s fiddling around with the lock, trying to unlock it, instead of doing the completely reasonable thing and just. Grabbing the thing he wanted to grab. Why bother with the lock at all if he’s just gonna stick his hand in anyway?

She and Kwan share a look at that. Kwan scratches the back of his head, looking around to see if anybody else could tell him what to do, before settling on her pleadingly.

She sighs, shaking her head and closing her eyes against the headache that she feels coming on. It’s Senior Year. You’d think after 3 years, Fenton would get better at hiding, not worse.

But then again…it did take the majority of Casper High a year to even realize something was wrong with the boy.

She thinks about that, before correcting herself. There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s just….not all right either. She shakes her head, walking off to the nearest classroom door. It’s early in the morning so the halls are still relatively empty. Star and Kwan are only here because of morning practice.

She wonders, idly, why Fenton is so early. He’s usually late, but then again the ghosts have been getting better about leaving him alone these days. Fenton’s lost those wretched eye-bags he kept carrying around like Paulina and her prada bags.

She opens the door softly, placing Kwan in front of her and placing her hand on his broad back, as if pushing him out. She slams the door behind her, pushing Kwan who blessedly goes with it.

“Star! What’s the rush?” Fenton jumps, yanking his hand out and inadvertently tripping the locker open.

“We’re gonna be late to practice.” She says, primly.

“Alright alright, oh, hey Fentino.” Kwan chuckles, as they pass by Danny.

He flinches, picking up the books that spilled out. “Hey, Kwan. Star.”

He starts pulling at his sleeves, always long sleeved nowadays, but no sleeve is long enough to cover the scars that litter his wrists and fists. She gives him a sweet smile, staunchly ignoring the way his answering nervous smile has too many teeth.

“Morning Danny. See you later.” She stops pushing at Kwan to pull up beside him. He takes her hand, squeezing it gently as they make their way down the hall. Just before they turn the corner she sees Danny stare at his hand in fear. He flexes it, and she notices that it has claws, before they disappear and he breathes out a shakey sigh.

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Kwan says softly. She looks up at him, and his sad far away stare.

She doesn’t want to answer–doesn’t want to face the truth of it. But this is Kwan.

“Yes.” Of all the A-listers, she’s the only one that seems to be on neutral terms with Danny, and the only one who see exactly how many times it’s been a close call.

His hand squeezes hers, and the rest of the walk to practice is deathly silent. Because what can you say to that? Nothing.

She squeezes back.

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2024 #lancer #william lancer #my writing

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bloggerspam · 6 hours

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Chapter 4: Red Huntress, Glowing Green Eyes

For @berry-berry-blu and @library-of-cronos (cronos the cat thing will be sprinkled throughout this entire fic, but hopefully that's acceptable....)

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“GET BACK HERE, GHOST BOY!” Red Huntress screamed as a blaster unfolded from her trusty hoverboard to take a hasty blast but missing completely, leaving scorch marks on the pavement.

“Hard pass, Huntress! ” The ghost boy careened around a street lamp, causing her to bank hard to the left just to catch up.

The chase went on, the same song and dance. The fight felt more like an overly combative race, and she tried not to smile under her helmet.

Her anger was still there, but ever since she met Danielle, ever since she saw that ghosts were all that bad, it was less of a bonfire and more of a small spark of kindling. It’s hard to hate someone as much when you both hate the same person with a burning passion.

That doesn’t mean she’ll forgive him, but she’ll settle for a good long butt kicking.

She’ll wring out a better explanation from him and give a scolding to his stupid green dog.

Then they’ll, ugh, talk about their feelings. Move forward, like Jazz kept talking about. She’s still not sure what compelled the other girl to move on from Spike as a therapy project to her.

But it’s been nice.

She’s struck a tentative friendship with Danny and his friends, and while she still has Star, it’s been a lonely summer. She can’t wait for Sophomore year to start, and she feels a little pathetic about it.

The ghost boy stops abruptly, and she has to twist her gun and flip forwards to avoid hitting him too badly.

“Hey! Watch it!” She yells, but he’s not even looking at her; his breath fogs out, and his eyes blare bright green.

His face has always been blurry, most of the ghosts look like they have an opacity of 20% going on, but Phantom’s face in particular has always been more of a mystery than people would like.

The only ghost she’s met with a clear face was Danielle, and that was only because she saw her human face. The vague shapes and approximations seemed to match, as far as Val was concerned.

“Sorry, Red Huntress, duty calls!” Phantom does a quick little salute, before popping out of existence—probably turning invisible. Val huffs, stowing away her weapons and making the long trek back home. Star’s parents have taken her on a trip to Europe for the summer, Sam’s parents have forced her on some kind of cruise, and Tucker is visiting family back in Atlanta City.

The Fenton’s are sure to be home, but she’s wary of visiting. Last time, she and Danny were caught up in a new weapon malfunction and Danny almost got his head cut off. She could have dodged it fine, but Danny doesn’t know she’s Red Huntress—so she tries to be too annoyed at being a damsel in distress.

Plus, his worry and concern was nice.

She might as well get some chores done before she heads back out for patrol. She’s picked up more shifts during the summer but her room has fallen into disarray as a result of coming home dead tired and falling immediately asleep.

She tries to keep to a regular schedule even during the summer, to not get rusty. Plus, it’s nice to get some exercise during the evenings. Of all her gadgets and weapons, her hoverboard felt the easiest to fall into—the feeling of flying was unparalleled, and made her forget all the stresses of her daily life.

She picks up after herself, loading laundry into the cruddy coin machines in the basement and running the dishwasher. She wipes down the dining table, vacuums the living room, even sweeps the balcony a bit. By the time she’s done and folding her laundry, the sun is already setting–it’s a little later than she usually leaves for patrol, but with this morning’s surprise exercise she feels okay with a short patrol tonight.

She suits up, and heads out into the twilight sky. Not that many people notice her, the red of her suit almost blending into the sunset sky, but that isn’t the point of patrol.

She does a loop around Elmerton ready to make her way up to Amity Park—she’ll loop around the main areas before heading back for dinner—before she notices something off on the Elm St. Park.

There’s a pile of wood, probably a former bench, with a glowing white head of hair peeking out at the top.

“Phantom?” Val mumbles, unsure, and makes her way over.

Val digs through the pile, uncovering a banged up Phantom. He groans as she tries to gently get the ghost boy on his feet, wincing when a couple of the cracked up wood pieces stick out from the ghost’s back and arm.

She looks around, making sure the threat isn’t still around, and wonders why he’s so banged up. Has he been fighting since this morning?

She pries the two pieces off as carefully as she can, before Phantom’s eyes flutter open. He phases the pieces out of himself and tries to stand up, but stumbles back into her.

“Relax. Let me just—my apartment is just up there, alright?” She takes his dazed look and relaxing muscles as a yes and drags him up with his newfound cooperation.

And so here she is, cleaning up some concerningly bloody green (can blood be neon green?) cuts and bandaging him as best as she can.

He hasn’t said a word, and it’s making her tense and nervous. She’s never seen him without some kind of quip or banter, and his silence is truly unnerving.

“...All done.” She tries to make her voice soft and low to not disturb the silence too much.

Except. Except it’s not silent. There’s a soft rumbling sound, almost a vibration, filling the room.

She looks around, concerned, before she realizes she recognizes the sound.

Her head whips over to Phantom, hunched and possibly passed out sitting up, and realizes he’s purring.

She peaks around, noting that he’s cradling his more banged up arm and self soothing.

She read somewhere that cats purred when they slept to self-soothe in stressful times, and holy shit, is that what Phantom’s doing??

She’s not really sure what to do here, should she wake him up?

She reaches over to gently tap on his shoulder, but before she can make contact there’s a loud rustling and jangling of keys coming from the front door.

Phantom jolts up, frantic, and looking around; he makes surprised eye contact with her, confused and hazy. His eyes, for once, are so starkly there, a swirling neon green.

He looks down at his new bandages, and his eyebrows shoot up. They can hear the door swing open as her dad drops what sounds like the whole public library down onto the floor.

“Thanks.” Phantom whispers, before disappearing into invisibility.

“Val? Honey? I got groceries for dinner!” Her dad calls again.

She shakes her head, trying to dispel the after image of those glowing green eyes.

“I’m here, dad! I’ll be right out!”