Missing Context (Danny Phantom Fic)
One of the Fics I haven't posted on AO3 yet!
So I really like the idea that there is a supernatural reason why no one recognizes Danny as Phantom. A color swap alone would not be enough for sure. So this fic was born.
Featuring some Danny, Lancer, vague descriptions of injuries, identity reveal
One shot, 2300 words
I'm new to tumblr, very grateful for advice!
William Lancer's spine popped satisfyingly in all sorts of places when he stretched in his chair, where he spent the last few hours grading student essays.
Like he did most Saturday evenings.
It wasn't the best part of the job, he much preferred teaching and direct guidance, but it still was enjoyable at times.
Some students rushed their work, sure, but there were always some essays in the mix that would show him a fresh perspective that he himself even hadn't considered before. Sometimes it was also just interesting to see his student's personalities bleed into their work. By that, he didn't mean the persona they each used in front of their peers, but something more genuine, something more real.
That's why he didn't dislike this kind of desk work. As a teacher there was so much responsibility in recognizing red flags and intervening before things escalated.
Be it difficult home lives, mental health issues, social issues…. His students might rarely talk to him but he heard them in their writing.
Usually it was the gaps between their personalities and their personas that drew Lancer's attention.
Like Mr Baxter's… the boy was high up in the social hierarchy, but used the resulting power to push people around. In his writing, however, he usually showed a lot of understanding for the disadvantaged protagonists, who have to fight their lot in life.
It only took a parent-teacher night for Lancer to connect the dots and has since been working on a way to help with Mr Baxter's troubled home life.
At last the boy had confided in him somewhat. So hopefully they would soon make progress and arrange for a relative to take in the boy while his father took therapy and went to AA meetings.
Things were still in the draft phase, but Lancer was confident that by the end of the school year, Mr Baxter would be able to see a safer environment for himself.
But that was one of the more straightforward cases, even if it was sensitive and worrying.
This year he had another troubled child in his class, and the problem was… Lancer knew something was wrong. But for Orwell's sake, he couldn't figure out what it was.
Danny Fenton was a complex puzzle. The signs pointed in all sorts of directions.
Some said "parental abuse" but then they said the kid was obviously well loved… even when the parents showed a concerning mix of neglect thanks to their workaholism and helicopter vigilance.
He was jumpy some days and lethargic the next, he would sleep in class or not show up at all.
His work ethic was all over the place as well. He obviously cared about his grades and his school work. Lancer could tell whenever he did turn something in.
Young Fenton also cared a lot about justice in his essays. He often pointed out the flaws and pressures society put on the characters of their fictional worlds. It somewhat extended to reality as well and Danny would call out his bullies on their behavior, almost self-sacrificially when it came to protecting his peers, but then, paradoxically he would run at the slightest sign of Amity Park typical troublesome ghosts as if even his friends' safety meant nothing to him.
Even if not by his parents, abuse was still high on the list of his theories of what made Danny so offset. Maybe more than what he’d get from bullies too, since those somehow didn't actually faze Fenton, as if he was used to much worse… and wasn't that a scary thought.
A small kid like Danny, in a small town like Amity Park couldn't be in a gang.
This sounded like denial even to his own ears, since that might actually explain some things, but he also just knew that it wasn't that.
There were several signs missing for that scenario, and overall Daniel's personality and sense of justice wouldn't allow it.
Much more likely would be that the kid was actively looking for fights by butting into bad people's business. Maybe vigilantism of sorts.
But again, Amity Park just wasn't that big of a town to make this theory make sense.
William put down the pen and rubbed his face exhaustedly.
He had already visited the Fenton home, had spoken with Jasmine and even attempted to get something out of Danny directly. But nothing had led anywhere so far.
And tonight wouldn't get him anywhere else either.
With a sigh he decided to take a break and go for a walk. It was almost dark and the air should be refreshingly crisp.
After another spine popping stretch he got up and made a detour to the kitchen. He might as well take out the trash.
The building was quiet when he left his apartment. Only some sounds of TVs or Radios filtered through the closed doors of his fellow tenants.
The air outside was fresh bordering on cold and if he hadn't brought the trash with him he might have reconsidered stepping out of his home.
So he hunched his shoulders a bit as he made his way around the building, bracing against some breeze that cut through his shirt and made him shiver.
The bag was thrown away quickly and he was already turning around when he heard something.
A groan. Of pain. Lancer turned back towards the alley and squinted into the shadows while reaching for his phone in case he was about to be mugged or attacked by a ghost.
Once he had it ready to call the emergency line, he held his breath and listened.
Had he imagined it? He wasn't sure. The dark always spurred on his paranoia.
But after a moment he heard another muffled gasp. Something was there.
"Hello? Do you need help?" he called carefully into the dark as his heart picked up pace.
Then he noticed: No… not dark.
Something was illuminating the alley. He hadn't realized at first, but now that his eyes were adjusting he could make out a faint green glow coming from next to a dumpster further back.
"If you're okay, say so, otherwise I will come over now, please stay calm, I just want to help" Lancer announced with false confidence. His heart was beating a mile a minute in anticipation and sweat was starting to form at the back of his neck.
Someone who was hurt or scared might lash out and he was not sure how to deal with that. William Lancer wasn't a fighter after all, so he relied on language to project his intentions and hoped for the best.
There wasn't a reply other than some irregular breathing and more sounds of someone in pain.
He was almost there when the mystery person ( because this was too loud for a rat, and what else would take breaths like that, if not a person?) did gasp something out that Lancer couldn't quite catch but sounded a lot like "Stay away". But even though Lancer couldn't quite understand it, his heart skipped. The voice sounded young. And scared.
Dread filled him and Lancer stopped his stalling. He took the last few steps and when he reached the dumpster and peered in the gap beside it, it gave away to a short figure, bracing itself against the side of the container and clutching their side.
Not a Person. Not a human. Yet someone very familiar was huddled in the gap.
Toxic green eyes stared up at him with hostility and apprehension.
"I said, stay. Away." Phantom snarled with bared teeth.
His whole posture, no, the whole aura around Phantom, radiated danger.
Lancer's phone clattered on the stone floor of the alley as he staggered a few steps back.
Almost every instinct told him to run. To get out of here while he still could, that the thing in front of him could rip him apart. That he was facing a cornered animal.
Almost all of his instincts were sure he was in danger. Almost.
Even with all the alarm bells, Lancer forced himself to take a stuttering breath. He never had been the wisest person.
The voice sounded young. Even the second time around when there was venom and Spite and bared teeth gnashed and snarled and the oppressive threat of- no. That wasn’t what he heard when he heard the painful sounding gasps earler… he shook his head.
Something was wrong here.
Now it was instinct against instinct. Lancer could feel them clash painfully as if it was tearing him apart. There was the desire to flee, to run, to get back to safety, to run from the beast in front of him that could disembowel him with one claw…
And then there was his instinct as a teacher that right now screamed against his fear that there was a child right in front of him and the child needed help.
He tried to look at Phantom again. Really look at him. Something he had never gotten a chance to before. Phantom right now. Was……… He couldn’t see. He couldn’t properly pin down what he was looking at. His brain screeched “Monster”, but it was more like his imagination overlaid that image.
Against the pull of his mind, he slowly crouched down to eye level with the ghost, who still stared at him with his teeth bared and coiled to strike growling and hissing at him to back off…
Lancer squinted at the figure again and tried to really look. It was as if there was a filter. As if something prevented him from really seeing the creature in front of him-
Like an optical illusion or an after image all conjured up by his fears.
"I said. Get away." Phantom…. snarled?… no. It wasn't a threat, it sounded more like you'd expected someone in pain to sound. Something more like a plea to be left alone. Not aggression, but desperation.
Lancer blinked a few times against the weird haze of confusion. Phantom wasn't coiled to strike either, he was fighting to even stay crouching. Green oozed out from under his hand he had pressed to his side. His face was tense with clenched teeth against pain.
"You're hurt." he observed and something flitted over Phantom's face.
"you're hurt and you're…. you look…" William trailed off. What did Phantom look like. Like a Child? Small?... Familiar?
Phantom's expression did something complicated between pain, horror and fear.
Phantom's expression, there was something about… his face… his features. Lancer knew that face. He saw it every day he felt like. The colors felt wrong but the more he squinted against the fog, the more his mind screamed at him that this child was someone he knew and cared for. He took the figure in once more and furrowed his brows, he knew this person, why couldn't he place them-
Out of nowhere a sharp pain flashed through Lancer's head and for a moment he only saw white, he thought Phantom had done something. He clutched his head as if he had to hold it together.
Then, as sudden as it had come it disappeared.
When Lancer looked up again, with sweat on his forehead and breath coming in short bursts almost matching with the ghosts labored wheezes, whatever had been distorting his perception was gone. His vision was clear as day. No haze, no fog, no distortion.
He couldn't marvel at the phenomenon though, because now that he wasn't seeing through a filter anymore, he was no longer staring at Phantom.
The kid was the same. But there was no mistaking it.
He was without much doubt looking at his student.
Lancer had been close to a panic attack for the last few minutes now. But this was giving him whiplash. He recoiled and landed gracelessly on his butt when the realization hit him like a stack of books.
So this is what he had been missing? The big centerpiece of the puzzle? The one thing that made all his observations finally point into the same direction?
In front of him was his troubled student.
Danny Fenton. Who had white hair, green eyes, glowing skin… and was currently bleeding out behind a dumpster in an alley.
And really, there was no mistaking him. Kids dyed their hair all the time. Some of the goths even used colored contacts on a daily basis. It was impossible to look at the kid in front of him and not recognize Danny Fenton.
"Hot cat on a tin roof," he commented.
Fenton picked that moment to gasp in pain and to curl in on himself further. Barely managing to look back up at his teacher, but what Lancer saw was fear. Fear of William.
The teacher carefully reached out to his student and helped steady him by his shoulder. He felt like ice.
"You're- Danny, you're hurt! I have so many questions right now, but first, how do I help? Can you stand? Should I call your parents? An ambulance?" he tried to sound steady, this was no time to panic, even though his student was blee- no. He had to focus on the now.
"No hospitals, it's not safe." Fenton mumbled. A bit more urgently the amended "parents don't know, you can't tell them… please."
Lancer swallowed hard, this was bad.
And immediately it got worse.
"s'ry i feel- kinda dizzy" with only that much as a warning Danny went slack under Lancer's grip who barely managed to catch the teen as he sagged against his teacher.
Then to his surprise, rings of light flashed to life and the icy body in his arms was replaced by a warm and much more familiar version of his student.
Reading Danny’s essays through this new lens was going to be an interesting endeavor from now on, William thought through stress induced amusement.
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DP X DC prompt: ~It's April 27~
Happy Death Day, Jason! or
How to Get a Medical Certificate of Death for employment.
~~~~~
Jason: Replacement,where’s my death certificate? In Infinite Realms they require it when applying for a job.
Tim: We..We burned it.
Jason: What the hell?!
Tim: Well, you broke your tombstone and it hurts to think about..so, you know, we thought you wouldn’t be happy to see it.
Jason: And what do you offer me now? I will not lie down again on the autopsy!
Tim: Well, actually..
~~~~~
Jason: Hey, Bruce, did you know that your close relatives might refuse traditional autopsy? *condemningly pointing to his autopsy scar*
Dick: It’s only possible if death was nonviolent, Little Wing. We’re sorry.
Jason: I don’t care! Call whoever you want but I need directions to virtopsia in an hour.
~~Meanwhile, Fenton Works~~
People may ignore the similarities between Fenton and Phantom but what about instrumental diagnostics?
~~In an hour, near the morgue~~
Danny: Where are my forensic results?
Doctor: Mr Fenton, your C.T.’s not ready yet, so wait outside.
Danny: I’m already dead! Should be afraid of too much ionization? All my molecules already got all rearranged.
Jason: Hey! It's my turn!
Danny: Sorry. the Ancients send me second time for expertise, damn bureaucrats.
Jason: Are you getting a job too?
Danny: Not by choice but by fate, unfortunately. What position are you applying for?
Jason: Royal Knight.
Danny: Ambitious. But you don’t look like a guy in armor or with a sword.
Jason: Kid, my guns will replace any weapon. Ask anyone in Crime Alley. What about you?
Danny: Well, take that piece of paper and don’t bring me your resume, you’re hired. Let me introduse myself. New King, Phantom. Don’t be late, work day starts at 7 a.m. I like black coffee, no sugar.
Jason: I’m not your secretary, asshole.
Danny: See you later.
~~the next morning.the dining room of Casper High~~
Red Hood: Your coffee, Your Majesty.*smiles*.
Danny: Did you spit in there? *drinks some*, *senses 15 spoons of sugar in 300 milliliters of drink*.
Danny: Ha! Reverse psychology works great. Jazz is right! *drinks it all in one gulp*
Red Hood: M-monster! Disgusting! On a level with Tim, I swear!
Danny: Why is it official? Just call me Danny. And who is Tim?
Jason: ..I’m not letting you people without taste buds meet, ever.
Danny: Too bad, it seems we have a lot in common.
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