Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Behold,” Clockwork gestured towards the portal floating in the center of the room. “The hero of the Ghost Zone!” 

Undergrowth’s Daughter peered absentmindedly at the image swirling in the portal’s virescent display. A dark-haired boy was forced into the rusty confines of a high school locker by a muscular, blonde classmate. The pair exchanged insults before the assailant swiftly slammed the door closed, leaving the victim to stare helplessly from the metal locker’s slits.

“You’re joking,” she scoffed.

Clockwork merely shrugged. Despite the disheartening scene before him, Clockwork’s expression retained its customary repose. While she had heard whispers of his quiet nature floating throughout the Ghost Zone, it was surprising to see how accurate the rumors truly were. In fact, until he had summoned her from Undergrowth’s domain to his tower half an hour ago, she wasn’t entirely convinced the master of time actually existed. 

“In due time, he’ll become the hero of the Ghost Zone,” Clockwork paused. “With your help, of course.”

“I fail to see how I’m involved in any of this,” she waved her hand towards the portal, which now depicted the boy desperately kicking the inside of his locker. 

“The time stream is a very delicate thing and you, for better or worse, are an intricate part of ensuring the success of its future.”

“Are you always this frustrating to talk to?” 

He delivered another shrug followed by a soft chuckle. As he laughed, Clockwork’s appearance shifted from an elderly man donning a long, white beard to a barefaced child. 

“Heed my words very carefully. You are the key to ensuring that Danny Fenton becomes Danny Phantom.” He paused, eyeing the vines loosely wrapped around her green dress. “However, due to unusual circumstances, your presence is no longer a part of his life. This jeopardizes the entire fate of our timeline.”

So that was the reasoning behind his sudden involvement in her life: to correct a paradox. Judging from his vague ramblings, Clockwork intended for her, a resident of the Ghost Zone, to involve herself with mortals and single handedly transform an ordinary, albeit pathetic, human into a genuine hero. An absurd request but not one without its advantages.

Undergrowth’s Daughter lazily rested her gloved hand against her cheek, the corner of her mouth curling into the beginnings of a smirk. 

“And how exactly would I be rewarded for my services?”

“Correcting the timeline would also correct Undergrowth’s condition.”

She immediately strengthened her posture, her relaxed hands now alert and prepared to strike if necessary. Although Undergrowth’s Daughter intended to appear unphased by his words, her narrowed eyes and furrowed brow conveyed otherwise.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replied calmly.

“Refute as much as you like but I know how severe the situation has become. If you value your father’s life, you’ll do what’s best for him and the time stream.”

During her quieter moments, when she lay awake in the safety of a flower bed and silently admired the surrounding vegetation, she reminded herself that the paradise before her wouldn’t remain forever. Her beloved father, with his wilted leaves and sunken eyes, would probably rot away in even less time. The thought caused her stomach to lunge. 

“Alright,” she said, her attention once again turned towards the portal. “When do we begin?”

______________

The return to Undergrowth’s Lair wasn’t as quick and seamless as the disappearance. 

The vines encircling her waist, once compacted and contained, had unraveled themselves and migrated to the exposed skin of her legs and arms. Outstretched and ready, the vines’ reached towards the plethora of debris drifting throughout the Ghost Zone and embedded their thorns in the object’s side. The vines effortlessly hoisted Undergrowth’s Daughter from her current resting spot, another piece of floating debris, to the targeted wreckage in ample time. The movement was swift and clean, the two parties swinging in perfect harmony. 

Years of practice had transformed a tedious process into her ideal mode of transportation. Actually, her only mode of transportation. Unlike her ghostly neighbors, Undergrowth’s Daughter couldn’t fly (or pass through solid objects, or become invisible or produce ectoplasmic energy.) 

She did, however, have complete command over nature. There was also her uncanny ability to physically change. Her limbs grew, her black hair required regular trims, and her dress became tattered from use, forcing her father to sew fresh leaves together yearly. In her eyes, the entire situation was more of a nuisance than a mystery.  

She embedded the veins in the rocky basin of Undergrowth’s lair and lifted herself towards the suspended island. Undergrowth’s Daughter staggered across the surface’s lush grass and gracefully landed directly before her father.

“Father! I didn’t expect you to be awake,” she said sheepishly.

“Where were you?” The words rolled off his tongue with a familiar snarl. 

“Just, um, taking a stroll. You know how bored I get alone.”

“I am well aware of your restlessness, my child, but we’ve already disputed your penchant for meandering. Can you recall the outcome of our conversation?” 

“That leaving the lair is dangerous,” She repeated in a dull tone before quickly answering the second, unspoken question. “And, no, Walker didn’t see me.”

Undergrowth frowned, an impressive feat for a creature with a beck for a mouth, and peered down at her from above. It was moments like these, when she was belittled or scolded, that the daughter recognized just how enormous her father truly was. As a child, she adorned his height and would often spend hours climbing from his roots to the top of his shoulderpads. As a teenager, his immense stature no longer held any appeals. 

“Daughter, our fellow ghosts fail to…” Undergrowth paused, his glaze suddenly becoming unfocused.

No, not again. She immediately lifted herself towards her father’s face, calling his name as she moved upward. Similar to her previous attempts, the sounds of her pleads were overtaken by Undergrowth’s shallow breathing. 

The various plants constructing his body gradually lost their vibrance and drooped downward in sudden defeat. The wilted vines collapsed under the weight of their own decay causing Undergrowth’s body to slump and sway uncontrollably.

Undergrowth’s Daughter narrowly dodged her father’s swinging body and lowered herself to the ground. She clenched her jaw and watched his body continue to slump. She couldn’t just stand idly by and beg for her father’s condition to correct itself.

Forcing her body into motion, the teenager seized one of Undergrowth’s roots with her bare hands and connected it to a nearby tree. In a matter of seconds, the tree’s liveliness vanished and crumpled to ashes. 

A sickening feeling consumed her stomach as she stared at the fallen sprout, unable to look away. Later that evening, she would place a marker behind the dried remains to commemorate its sacrifice but, at the moment, she had more important matters to attend to. 

Her fingers uncurled around the root as she spun towards the direction of her father. As the plants throughout his body recovered their color and rigidity, Undergrowth’s Daughter breathed a sigh of relief. A last-time rescue was better than nothing, she supposed. 

She hoisted herself upward once more and returned to her father’s side. “Father! How are you feeling?”

Undergrowth pressed a finger to his temple and focused his red eyes on his daughter. “Do not be alarmed. Merely another headache that will pass.”

“A headache,” she spat. “Father, you can’t honestly believe these attacks are simply headaches.”

“Silence!” 

At the command, the daughter lowered her head. In turn, Undergrowth reached out and tenderly cupped his daughter’s cheek with the tip of his finger. 

“This condition will resolve itself soon. Until then, we should focus on your safety and future.”

What does that even mean? It was probably best to dismiss his words as another ramble and move on. Between Clockwork and her father, she was starting to wonder if all ghosts were required to speak in vague premonitions. 

“Yes father,” she replied with another sigh.

Although the topic of her wellbeing was mentioned continuously throughout his lectures, which wasn’t surprising since he had an affinity for rambling, Undergrowth never actually clarified why she needed protection. Just like he never clarified the reasoning behind his mysterious illness. 

From previous episodes, she knew that the condition could be subdued by absorbing energy from biological matter. Of course, these incidents weren’t a cure and only resulted in her and her father mourning the loss of one of his ‘children.’ Regardless of the result, experience still demonstrated that energy absorption was the most successful treatment for her father. Could it be that the energy Undergrowth was consuming simply wasn’t powerful enough to completely cure him?

Undergrowth’s Daughter pondered the thought as she summoned her bedroom. A rose, approximately half the size of her father, spurted from the earth below. She scrolled absentmindedly across the flower’s outstretched petals and settled in the plant’s soft center. The question still remained: what energy source could be strong enough to cure her father?

The energy in the Ghost Zone, while powerful, wasn’t sufficient. Meanwhile, the human realm was brimming with untapped power sources but Undergrowth was in no condition to transverse worlds. Then, perhaps, she needed a combination of living and nonliving energy. And there was no one more qualified for the position than Danny Phantom.

She giggled, the corners of her mouth stretching into a knowing smile.

Undergrowth raised an eyebrow. “What’s so humorous, daughter?”

“Nothing much. I was just following your advice and focusing on the future.” 

______________

The aspect Undergrowth’s Daughter detested most about Clockwork’s master plan wasn’t her extensive absence from home or even the fact she was required to interact with mortals but, rather, it was the unknown. 

For an all-knowing, all-seeing master of time, Clockwork’s scheme sure did contain a multitude of unexplored variables. First and foremost, most of the plan’s success was determined by Undergrowth’s Daughter's ability to pose as a human, a species she knew almost nothing about. Then, there was the pressing matter of traveling to the human world. Portal occurrences were rare and impossible to predict. More importantly, once the task was completed, how would she return? Surely, Clockwork wouldn’t abandon her. Unless, of course, he discovered her true intentions. 

She shook her head, attempting to drive the thought away. 

Undergrowth’s Daughter sat on the edge of Clockwork’s domain, her outstretched legs swinging slowly over the custer of suspended gears. Her left hand was pressed against her cheek while the other was outstretched with a lotus in its palm. In an effort to pass the time, she forced the flower’s petals to quickly curl and uncurl.  

Just when she was toying with the notion of pounding her fist against the tower’s front doors, Clockwork arrived. Unlike their last encounter, the ghost of time appeared before her in his adult form.

He blinked, his red eyes wide. “You’re early.”

“It’s like you always say, time is relative.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“Anyways,” Undergrowth’s Daughter. The brief embarrassment she felt from her failed joke faded as she stood, her expression now serious. “I have a few questions before we begin.”

“If you must,” he replied in his usual calm tone.

“How am I supposed to travel to the human world? Portals don’t just appear wherever it's convenient.”

Clockwork remained silent as a small smile stretched across his lips. Not a moment later, a blinding light engulfed Clockwork’s tower and, in the flash’s wake, erupted a swirling portal. 

The earlier embarrassment Undergrowth’s Daughter felt returned, this time accompanied by a dull sense of irritation. That would certainly explain why Clockwork had emphasized the importance of arriving at the meeting place on time. 

“Is that all?”

“This girl I’m posing as-.”

“Samantha Manson,” he corrected.

“Right,” she paused. “Was she actually kidnapped by ghosts?” 

Clockwork’s fingers tightened around the handle of his staff. In the silence, Undergrowth’s Daughter could faintly hear the watches adorning his gloves tick. 

“That is what many humans believe,” he said, turning attention to the nearby portal. “Perhaps you should spend more time worrying about the present rather than the past or future.” 

She scoffed at the recommendation and hoisted herself towards the portal only to pause right before she entered. Peering over her shoulder, Undergrowth Daughter carefully eyed Clockwork. The portal’s eerie light illuminated her green eyes, causing her glaze to appear harsher than usual.

“Clockwork, answer me one final question. Do you truly think I’ll succeed?”

“I believe everything will return to the way it's supposed to be.”

“How comforting,” she sneered.

Without another word, Undergrowth’s Daughter passed through the portal and into the human world.  

Chapter Text

The streets of Amity Park were undeniably strange. With the expectation of an occasional wind gust, an eerie silence had befallen the surrounding sprawl of homes and businesses. The sidewalks and roads were barren but still illuminated by a mixture of moonlight and artificial lights from nearby buildings. The brightest of these man-made lights came from a trio of spotlights attached to a billboard that said ‘Amity Park- A Safe Place to Live!’

Undergrowth’s Daughter raised an eyebrow at the display. If you have to reiterate the safety of your town on a giant billboard then it probably wasn’t true.

Still, she couldn’t help but somewhat agree with the sign’s claim. The town’s stillness inspired a sense of security and tranquility within her. The starry night sky, coupled with the gentle breeze and faint hum of fluorescent lights, had cultivated a serene atmosphere that was practically impossible to ignore. While the human world lacked the Ghost Zone’s familiarity and quaintness, Amity Park was charming in its own way.

The Manson residence, however, was far less appealing. With its decorative exterior and grand stature, Undergrowth’s Daughter expected the house to awe her or, at the very least, produce a newfound sense of confidence toward her mission. But the acknowledgment that this was the place where she would condemn herself to a mortal lifestyle - feigning laughter with her false family, adhering to the curfew of this concrete jungle, mingling with high schoolers for hours on end - made her detest the Manson’s house.

Undergrowth’s Daughter redirected her attention toward the metal bracelet on her wrist. She closed her eyes and, just like Clockwork had instructed her to, concentrated on expanding the vines wrapped around her appendages to the rest of her body. She shivered as the vines’ cold touch consumed her skin, their slick texture brushing against her lips. Then, right as the vines finished their conquest, the plants suddenly relinquished her flesh and huddled together to form a singular entity. Undergrowth’s Daughter could feel the vine slither down her arm and twist itself tightly around the metal band.

The teenage girl snapped her eyes open and glanced down to examine herself. Her green gloves and dress were gone, replaced by a pink blouse and matching skirt. The vines that constantly hung from her arms and legs had vanished, save for the ones that were curled around the bracelet. She wasn’t entirely certain what had transpired, or why she was wearing such a ridiculous outfit, but she did applaud herself for completing Clockwork’s disguise trick on the first try.

She climbed up the stairs of the Manson residence and knocked on the front door. After a few minutes of waiting, a middle-aged woman donning a pastel nightgown answered. She opened the door ajar and peered at the dark-haired girl through half-closed eyes.

“Mom,” the teenager said in a shaky voice. The word felt strange on her tongue.

Mrs. Manson paused, her brows furrowed. She opened the door completely and examined the girl from head to toe before gasping.

“Samatha?”
                                                                                                        ___________

The police arrived first followed shortly by journalists from the Amity Park Daily and the Channel 13 news station. Each group asked a plethora of questions about her disappearance and to every inquiry Sam Manson delivered the same response: she didn’t remember.

“Nothing? Not even before your disappearance,” asked reporter Tiffany Snow.

“That’s correct!”

The look of bewilderment on the reporter’s face reminded Sam of the expression she made when Clockwork first suggested the idea. He offered to hear her ideas but, since she couldn’t think of any, she agreed to feign amnesia.

“And how are you handling the news of your daughter’s memory loss,” another reporter asked Mr. and Mrs. Manson.

“For the time being, that doesn’t matter,” Pamela Manson answered swiftly. “All that matters is that our little girl has returned to us.”

Jeremy Manson, a blonde man with a crooked nose, stood nearby donning the same radiant smile as Pam. If either of her parents were bothered by her alleged memory loss, it was impossible to tell. The only one who actually looked upset about the news was her grandmother, Ida.

Suddenly, Pam wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulder and pulled her closer. Sam resisted the urge to pry the woman’s pampered hands off of her and uncomfortably leaned into Pamela, forcing a smile for onlookers. Flashes of lights briefly blinded her as cameramen hurriedly captured photos of the touching reunion between mother and daughter.

Tiffany Snow opened her mouth but, before she could speak, she was interrupted by the arrival of a larger man in a bright orange jumpsuit and a smaller woman in a matching blue jumpsuit. The pair shoved through the crowd and positioned themselves before the house’s steps, striking a dynamic pose.

“Have no fear,” the man bellowed. “We've come to defeat the ghost!”

“The Fentons. How delightful,” Pamela sneered.

Sam blinked. The future hero of the Ghost Zone’s parents were ghost hunters? The irony was suffocating.

“There is no ghost here, Jack. Just the return of our baby girl,” said Jeremy. He grabbed his daughter’s arm and pulled her against his chest, protectively wrapping her in his arms. Sam merely groaned.

“We’ll see about that.” Mrs. Fenton reached forward and seized Sam’s face, pinching and stretching her cheeks.

“Can everyone stop manhandling me for five seconds?” Sam shoved Maddie’s hands away and stepped backward, groaning as one of the reporters snapped a photo of her outburst.

“Strange, her mask wouldn’t come off.”

“Then we’ll have to use a little more power. Maddie, grab the Fenton Ghost Gloves!”

Sam signed, her temples starting to throb slightly. Less than twenty-four hours in the human world and she already felt like giving up. She turned away from the spectacle and surveyed the crowd where, to her surprise, she saw Danny Fenton. From his disheveled hair and striped pajama bottoms, she inferred that he was suddenly awoken by his parents’ antics and decided to join them. Why, she wondered, would he care about seeing some girl he never knew?

Through the crowd, their eyes meet. Danny smiled sheepishly and mouthed a singular word. Sorry.

For a brief moment, Sam found herself smiling at the gesture. Then it occurred to her that he must have come not for her sake but, rather, to ensure his parents didn’t embarrass themselves in public. If that was the case though, he was failing miserably.

With that thought, she turned her attention back to the ongoing argument between the Mansons and the Fentons.

“Kindly leave our property before I call the police,” said Pam. The sight of Mrs. Manson dramatically waving their hands and delivering passive-aggressive insults momentarily caused Sam to miss her father’s lectures.

“But the police are already here.” Maddie pointed to a nearby officer.

With no end in sight to this conversion, Sam grabbed both of the Mansons by their sleeves and dragged them towards the door.

“Well, this was fun but I’m really tired and still can’t remember vital parts of my childhood so I think it’s time for us to leave.”

Before anyone could react she slammed the front door behind her, the sound echoing through the house’s many hallways.

                                                                                                     ___________

The walk from the doorway to Sam’s bedroom was almost entirely occupied by the sound of Pamela’s complaining. She criticized the police officers’ questions, Sam’s recklessness, the photographers’ poor angles, and, of course, the Fentons.

“So,” Sam started. “What’s up with the Fentons?”

“They’re… eccentric people,” said Mr. Manson.

“Jeremy, there’s no reason to sugarcoat the truth,” Mrs. Manson snapped. She turned around, smiling sweetly at Sam, before stating in an upbeat tone, “The Fentons are freaks. I don’t want you near them, understand? Especially the boy. You should avoid him at school tomorrow.”

She halted in the middle of the hallway.

“I’m going to school tomorrow? Isn’t that a little soon?”

Pam and Jeremy briefly exchanged looks before glancing at their daughter once more. A solemn expression replaced their previous upbeat appearance. For a moment, she wondered if their friendly nature was simply a facade for the media before disregarding the notion. There was no point in worrying about the Mansons, after all, they weren’t her real family.

“You’ve lost so much of your childhood. We thought it would be best for you to start living a normal life as soon as possible,” said Jeremy.

Attending a human high school is probably the furthest thing from my normal life, Sam thought grimly. 

Before she could respond, Pamela turned towards the room on her left. Her fingers curled around the knob and, with a gentle push, opened the door to reveal a spacious room decorated entirely in pink. The walls, the duvet, the furniture, and even the toy box were the same shade of nauseating, bright pink. A quick inspection of her closet further revealed that her wardrobe offered more color variations than the rest of her room but still consisted primarily of pastels.

“Wow, how colorful,” Sam said weakly.

She absentmindedly brushed her fingers against the bedroom window’s sill and, to her surprise, found it completely devoid of dust. Upon further examination, she realized the entire room was thoroughly cleaned and organized. Shoes, unworn for years, were positioned into a perfect line at the bottom of her closet. Well-groomed dolls and stuffed animals waited patiently at the bottom of her toy chest while a neatly stacked pile of books beckoned her from above. The room was spotless like it was waiting for her return at any possible moment.

“Don’t you think it’s a little too small for me?” She gestured towards the child-size bed in the middle of the room.

“That’s right,” Pamela laughed. “You can sleep in the guest bedroom tonight and we’ll discuss redesigning your room later.”

As Jeremy left to prepare the guest bedroom, Sam noticed a framed photograph standing on her nightstand. The image displayed the real Samatha Manson proudly displaying a certificate, her parents and grandmother smiling beside her. Strangely, the child was dressed in the same outfit Sam was currently wearing.

“Your second-grade graduation and..the day we lost you,” Pamela paused. “But that’s a story for another time. You’ve had a long day. I’m sure you’re exhausted. I’ll go help your father with the guest bedroom.”

She started towards the door before pausing and turning towards Sam, her lips pressed into a soft smile. “Samatha, I’m so glad you found your way home.”

Sam matched her smile. “So am I.”

Pamela turned away slowly and descended down the hallway. Sam waited until Mrs. Manson's outline faded into the darkness before glancing at the little girl in the photograph again. There was something so charming about her - the mischievous gleam in her eyes, the look of pride on her face - that the imposter couldn’t help but admire the original.

Sam caught a glimpse of her reflection in the frame’s glass cover. Her green eyes had faded into a soft lilac. Her hair, once reaching her back in unruly waves, now rested neatly and straight against the bottom of her chin. With only minor changes, Sam now bore a striking resemblance to the original. She doubted anyone would dare to question her identity.

“Thanks for letting me borrow your life,” She said to the photograph. “Although, it’s not like you’re ever coming back.”

Chapter Text

“So, you’re like totally back, right?”

Startled by the sudden question, Sam turned around and stared at the pair of girls standing behind her at the crosswalk. The two were strikingly different in appearance, one with blonde hair and the other with dark skin, but identical in confident demeanor. Judging by the backpacks slung over their shoulders, Sam guessed that, just like herself, these girls were heading toward Casper High School. 

“What,” Sam said, confused.

“Like you’re not suddenly going to disappear again,” the blonde clarified. 

“I guess not. It’s not like I can control whether or not someone kidnaps me again.”

Sam’s stomach churned as the girls exchanged excited glances. Her desire for a peaceful first day of school dissolved, replaced by the sudden longing for the crosswalk’s light to change.

“Listen, we don’t normally do this but since you’re the biggest scandal in Amity Park right now, you can sit with us at lunch,” the dark-haired girl said.”But only until your popularity vanishes and you fade into the background where you belong.”

“This is a huge honor,” said the blonde. 

“We’re even willing to overlook that hideous outfit you’re wearing. Just make sure you burn it later, okay?”

 “What’s wrong with my outfit?” After a moment, it occurred to Sam that neither of the girls was wearing bright pink leg warmers or a heart-patterned sweater. She’d be surprised if either of the girls even owned clothing similar to hers.

As the dark-haired girl began her brutal fashion critique, Sam’s gaze drifted to passing cars and pedestrians. The ongoing conversation had revived the weariness she experienced last night with an overwhelming fervor. She absentmindedly wondered if all humans regularly engaged in pointless small talk and if she would soon have to do the same. Countless times she had witnessed her father become invisible simply to avoid a conversation but here, in the land of mortals, it was evident that she would need an actual reason to leave; and there, walking on the other side of the street, was her reason. 

“Thanks for the invitation but I just remembered I have something important to tell Danny.” Without another glance at the girls’ faces or the crosswalk’s light, Sam hurried across the street towards Danny Fenton.

Her decision to ignore traffic laws invoked a honk from nearby vehicles. As the looming threat of approaching cars drastically becomes more apparent, it finally dawned on Sam that, in hindsight, this might not have been her greatest idea. Just as the first car drove through the crosswalk, her feet touched the sidewalk in front of Danny 

“Hey!” She intended for the greeting to sound casual, however, her sprint had caused the words to sound fragmented and breathless. In the Ghost Zone, her vines had rendered tasks like running and walking obsolete. In the human world, well, she made a mental note to exercise more. 

“Uh, hi. Sam, right?” he replied, clearly perplexed by her sudden arrival. “You know, if you wanted to talk to me you could’ve walked.” 

“Couldn’t,” she said, still struggling to catch her breath. “Had to escape.” 

“Escape? From Paulina?” He looked towards the girl in question with a stupid, lovestruck smile. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to talk to Paulina?” 

“Anyone who isn’t a hormone-addled teenage boy.”

An unfamiliar laugh tickled Sam’s ears. She looked to the right of Danny and suddenly noticed a scrawny boy with glasses. Sam wasn’t entirely sure whether she failed to notice the boy because he wasn’t her target or simply because he lacked a distinctive face, but she assumed it was likely the latter.

“How long have you been here?” 

Now it was Danny’s turn to laugh. The scrawny boy shot Danny a dirty look before directing the scowl towards Sam. 

“The entire time,” he answered dryly before extending a hand. “I’ll forgive you though, on account of your lifetime of traumatic experiences. I’m Tucker Foley.”

“Samatha Manson. Nice to meet you.” She ignored Tucker’s flirtatious wink as they shook hands.

“Actually, we’ve already met-.” Danny jabbed his elbow into Tucker’s side, causing the latter to cry out in surprise.

“I think what Tucker meant to say is that with all of the TV coverage surrounding your return, we feel like we’ve already met you,” Danny said quickly. 

She stared at the pair blankly, her brows furrowed. So Tucker had known the original Sam Manson. If that was the case, then why hadn’t Clockwork mentioned such an important detail during her mission briefing? Furthermore, Sam disappeared when she was young so Tucker must have met the Mansons’ daughter before or during second grade. Surely, his memory of Sam Manson wasn’t sharp enough to recognize the differences between herself and the genuine article. But what if it was? 

Then, of course, there was the question of Danny’s strange behavior. She watched him shift his weight from one foot to the other, deliberately avoiding her glare. Was the topic of her disappearance taboo among Amity Park residents? Between the hordes of news stations broadcasting the story and Paulina’s comments, she doubted that was the case. It was more likely that Danny and Tucker had a mutual secret they weren’t keen on sharing. At this very moment Sam doubted she could convince them to tell her, however, she might be able to persuade the two boys to do something else. 

“So everyone knows about my kidnapping? I guess Paulina was telling the truth when she said I’m the biggest scandal in Amity Park.” Sam said with a dejected smile. To further emphasize her sadness, she dramatically turned away and hung her head.

There was a moment of awkward silence between the trio. A moment where Sam worried her performance wasn’t enough. Then Danny placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.” 

“Yeah! Most of the time, these types of scandals are fueled by rumors. Without anything new to fan the flames, everyone will lose interest and forget about the whole thing,” Tucker chimed in.

“Then is it just a rumor that I was kidnapped by ghosts?”

The uplifting atmosphere they had attempted to cultivate shattered, brought down by a single, improbable question. Tucker pressed his lips together and silently watched Danny from the corner of his eye. Danny, in turn, tightened his grip on his backpack straps. 

“Of course. There’s no such thing as ghosts. Everyone knows that,” Danny answered.

“Your parents think otherwise,” Sam retorted.

“My parents are…” His voice trailed off as the mild irritation on his face faded. “You remember who my parents are?”

“You’re hard to forget,” she said before quickly adding, “and so are your parents. I was hoping I could ask them a few questions regarding my disappearance.”

“Right now? But first period starts in twenty minutes!” Tucker held up his PDA which brightly displayed the time. 

“I know it’s probably a dead end but if there’s even the slightest possibility that the supernatural caused my disappearance then I have to investigate it. The sooner I uncover the source behind my kidnapping, the sooner I can return to the life I was always meant to have. I won't allow myself to vanish a second time.” 

“Okay.” The corners of Danny’s lips curled into a nervous smile. “But only for a little bit.” 

“It’ll be quick, I swear,” Sam reassured. 

“We can’t! If I get another tardy Mr. Lancer is going to give me Saturday detention.”

“You could just go to school by yourself,” Sam suggested. Tucker merely scoffed at the idea. 

“Hurry up, Tucker.” Danny turned away and started down the street, Sam following in his stride.

“Great. Just great,” he mumbled bitterly. “Hey, wait for me!”

The walk to Fenton Works was brief but informative. Tucker, utilizing his photos from his PDA, educated her on Casper High’s social dynamics while Danny discussed popular spots around Amity Park. Despite her best efforts to remain uninterested, Sam found herself laughing at the boys’ quips and witty banter. Danny and Tucker’s sarcasm was crisp and well-timed, carrying an underlying warmth that eased her worries. 

“Well, here we are. Home, sweet, home.” Danny gestured to a red brick house featuring a comically large sign and a rooftop observatory. 

“It has such, um, personality,” she said, staring at the numerous tubes protruding from the house’s shingles.

“If you think this has personality, wait until you meet my parents.”

“Or see Danny’s room.” Tucker pinched his nose dramatically. “The place is messier than Dash’s locker!”

“You know, I heard Mr. Lancer makes students clean the athletes’ lockers during Saturday detention.” Danny’s remark prompted an audible gulp from Tucker. “More importantly, are you sure you want to go through with this, Sam? My parents have never encountered a situation like yours before and, given their obsession with ghosts and questionable scientific theories, I have no idea what they’ll say or do.”

His smile, previously cloy, regained its typical sheepishness as he spoke to Sam. For a fleeting moment Sam wondered when it was all done, when the portal’s fluorescent glow charred his flesh and eco-plasma coursed through his veins, would Danny’s corpse still smile so fondly at her? 

“This is something I have to do,” she said. 

Danny gave an understanding nod and twisted the front door’s handle. To her surprise, the Fentons’ living room was rather ordinary. While the Mansons’ furniture was adorned with expensive pillows and color-coordinated blankets, the living room before her was barely decorated and consisted primarily of the color gray. In addition to its blandness, the room was strangely silent. 

Danny ventured into the adjoining kitchen and returned a moment later with a note. “Looks like my folks are gone.”

Tucker peeked over his shoulder, squinting through his glasses at the piece of paper. “What’s a Fenton thermos?”

“Who knows. Probably another one of their crazy inventions.”

“Or maybe they’ve discovered a more efficient way to store soup,” Sam suggested. She wandered through the living room and kitchen, examining each room thoroughly. 

The remark garnered a laugh from Danny as he returned the note to its rightful place on the refrigerator door. “I wish. Maybe one of these days they’ll actually build something useful.” 

“Any idea when they’ll be back?” She halted abruptly at the sight of a small hallway near the kitchen. Upon closer examination, she spotted a set of stairs leading to the house’s lower level. According to Clockwork, the Fenton’s laboratory should be located in the basement.

“No time soon. Whenever there’s a new invention involved, they usually spend the whole day shopping for parts.” 

“Well, looks like we’re out of luck. Time to go back,” said Tucker. 

Full, uninterrupted access to the Fenton lab? Her luck had just begun. Sam strolled down the narrow passageway and placed her foot on the first step of the basement staircase. 

“Oh, I’m not allowed to go down there when my parents aren’t home,” Danny said. He stood patiently at the end of the hall, waiting for her to move away.  

She placed another foot on the step and descended further down, the hardwood creaking gently under her flats. “And you’re completely ignoring me,” she heard Danny complain behind her. He appeared at the top of the staircase, staring down at Sam with a scowl. His hands were on his hips while hers pressed against the basement door’s handle. The pair stared at one another, neither moving. 

“Did I say not to go down to the basement? What I meant to say was, please continue to ignore me and trespass through my house while I’m standing right here,” said Danny. 

“If you insist.” With a smirk, she turned the knob and swiftly entered the lab. 

The laboratory’s tiled floor and countertops spanned over the entirety of the basement level. Glass beakers, mechanical gears, colorful wiring, blueprints and jars of eco-plasma littered the floor and the counters. Gadgets and tools lined the lab’s shelves, allowing for easy access in the event of a ghostly emergency. Sam’s eyes widened in awe as she set her backpack aside and, once again, paced around the room to examine the Fentons’ property. Her heart raced as she imagined the endless prosperity these devices could bring to the Ghost Zone. Her excitement, however, quickly evaporated when she realized the majority of the lab’s inventions were weapons. In an attempt to manipulate Danny, she had cornered herself into a death trap. The thumping in her chest returned.

“You seriously do not understand sarcasm.” Danny was standing directly behind her, arms crossed and brows furrowed. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Tucker descending the staircase. 

“I understand it more than you think.” She pointed to the circular metallic door embedded in the lab’s farthest wall. “What's that?” 

His annoyance vanished instantly. He looked eagerly at the portal, a newfound brightness flickering in his eyes. “It’s a portal to the ghost world. My folks say it doesn’t work though.” 

She leaned into him slightly and smiled. “You gotta check it out.” 

“You know,” Danny’s wide eyes drifted upward towards the top of the portal. “I have always wondered what amazing things exist on the other side.” 

“Then what are we waiting for?” Her nose crinkled as her smile stretched wider. “Let’s go find you a jumpsuit.”

________

Tucker’s begging was undeniably irritating. He sat on the ground beside Danny, constantly nudging him and pleading for him to wake up. When Danny had first emerged from the portal, he had even attempted to carry him only for his friend’s body to slip through his fingertips. Now, with no other alternatives, Tucker’s efforts were reduced to nothing more than futile words. The display was almost as nauseating as the scent of burnt flesh wafting through the lab. 

Sam stood silently in front of the two boys with a smile on her lips. Unlike Tucker, she saw no reason to worry. She had done everything according to the plan, including replacing the sticker of Jack Fenton’s head on the jumpsuit- why was that there in the first place- with the logo Clockwork had entrusted to her. The portal’s activation, Danny’s snowy white hair and black jumpsuit, were all confirmations of her success. Just one step closer to returning home. While the charred corpse served as Tucker’s perturbation, these remains were Undergrowth’s Daughter’s absolute. 

“He’s still not breathing! We have to call an ambulance.” 

Tucker lifted his ear from Danny’s chest as he turned towards Sam. He suddenly wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyebrows. His face, previously distressed, suddenly twisted into an expression of disgust. 

“I can’t believe you.” For the first time since Danny’s accident, Tucker stood up. “My best friend is dead and you’re smiling?” 

“I smile when I’m nervous,” she explained nonchalantly. “Let’s just take a minute to calm down and think. I’m sure Danny will recover any minute now.” 

“Calm down?” Tucker was now standing inches away from her. She watched droplets of sweat slide down his forehead. “Do you not understand what just happened? Danny is dead.” 

He looked away momentarily before meeting Sam’s gaze again, his voice now low and tense. “You're the one who convinced Danny to go through the portal in the first place.” 

She tucked her left arm behind her back. The vines clinging to her silver bracelet unraveled slowly and began to crawl down her hand. “What are you implying?” 

Did he suspect that she deliberately caused Danny’s accident? That would make Tucker Foley a liability. She couldn’t have, rather she refused to have, some pre-pubescent human jeopardizing her mission. If Tucker proved to be an obstacle, she’d have no choice but to eliminate him.

A low groan echoed through the lab’s cluttered walls. Danny pressed an elbow against the tiled floor and slowly lifted his head. His cheeks and clothes were dirtied by smudges of mechanical sooth. Glowing eyes radiated through tousled strands of hair, staring at the pair with mild confusion.

“You’re alive,” Tucker cried out before sticking his nose in the air. “I knew it.” 

Sam simply rolled her eyes. She grabbed one of his arms while Tucker seized the other and, with their combined force, they pulled Danny to his feet. He swayed weakly and stumbled momentarily before regaining his balance. He surveyed his surroundings with a dazed expression, his heavy eyelids giving the impression of a child suddenly awoken from slumber. 

“How do you feel,” Sam asked gently. 

“Light.” Danny glanced down at his gloves dully. “What..happened?” 

“Well, you kind of died,” said Tucker. 

“What!” Danny spun around quickly, staring at his friend with panicked eyes. He raced to a nearby counter drawer and rummaged through the lab equipment before locating a handheld mirror. With an unsteady hand, Danny lifted the mirror to the light and stared deeply into his reflection. A dull pale light encompassed his entire body, casting a faint shadow on his skin and blackened jumpsuit. He tugged at his lower eyelids, horrified by his luminous green eyes, before running a hand repeatedly through his hair. 

“Am I really dead?” His voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Danny,” Sam started. She tried to continue the sentence but found herself stuck. The words became jumbled and trapped, sinking from the back of her throat to the bottom of her stomach. 

“Something feels weird,” he remarked suddenly.

“That would probably be your dead body.” 

“No,” he huffed. “Weirder than that.”

“There’s weirder feelings than that?” Tucker raised an eyebrow in disbelief. 

“Actually, I think he’s onto something,” said Sam. 

The basement air surrounding him was devoid of its usual staleness and adopted an unfound briskness. Despite his current panic, the muscles in Danny’s body were compulsively loose and relaxed. Slowly, the heels of his feet lifted off the floor. 

He cried out in surprise and stumbled backward. The soles and tips of his boots quickly began to lift upward as well, causing Danny to hover ever so slightly. He threw his feet forward, desperately attempting to reunite with the ground, only to be propelled further into the air by his momentum. Unsteady and unable to descend, Danny was left floating sideways in mid-air. 

“Woah, that’s amazing,” exclaimed Tucker. 

“No, it’s not,” Danny retorted. He attempted to regain an upright position by swinging his legs gently. The act caused Danny to spin and twist madly through the air before finally halting, his body now upside down. “I think I’m gonna puke.” 

“Do you think he’ll be alright,” Sam asked, staring at Danny’s green face. 

“Aside from his death, transformation into a ghost and ongoing mental breakdown, I’d say he’s doing surprisingly well.” Tucker nodded confidently. Behind him, Danny had begun to spin once more, albeit, at a slower pace than before. 

“Yeah, about that.” Sam glanced up at Danny. “What do we do now?”

The ghost boy slowed to a halt, finally ending in the upright position he had longed for. He smiled triumphantly, savoring his unintentional success, before acknowledging her question. 

“I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting to make funeral arrangements this early in my life. I don’t even have a will.” His eyes widened, possessed by a new anxiety. “Oh God, I don’t even have a will! Should I draft one real quick?” 

“On it.” Tucker retrieved a pencil and notepad from his backpack. 

Sam never did understand why mortals were so obsessed with their worldly possessions. The concept of designating ownership of a person’s goods following their passing was simply stupid. After all, they would be reunited in the Ghost Zone soon enough, so why bother remembering them through an item that would one day crumble to dust? 

“A will is nothing more than a convoluted, nonessential scrap of paper that humans use to thrust the responsibility of trinkets, most of which are useless, on those still in this world. You’re better off without one, trust me.”

Tucker and Danny didn’t share her sentiment. They silently exchanged glances and then moved on as though she hadn’t spoken. 

“To Jazz, I leave behind my computer and collection of Dumpty Humpty albums. Tell her not to touch my model spaceships. Actually, I want to be buried with those. Make sure you emphasize that part.” 

Sam peered at Tucker’s frantic writing with a raised eyebrow. “You misspelled spaceship.” He merely hushed her and continued to drag the pencil across the lined paper. 

“To my parents…my parents,” Danny’s voice trailed off as he looked downward, color draining from his face. The muscle in his face tightened as a horrifying realization dawned on him. “My parents are going to dissect me.” 

“Your parents wouldn’t do that. They love you,” Tucker said, reassuringly. 

“No, they don’t.” He watched his arms disappear and reappear, his face twisted in disgust at the sight. “Not like this.” 

Danny’s gaze darted between the equipment displayed throughout the room. For the first time in his life, it seemed as if he truly saw Maddie and Jack’s scientific innovations for what they were: weapons.

“I know my parents and if there’s one thing they love more than anything else it’s ghost hunting. They wouldn’t hesitate to tear me apart, molecule by molecule.”

When her physical abnormalities first manifested, when she suddenly realized that her skirt was too tight and her legs had become a few inches taller, Undergrowth’s Daughter was repulsed by the sight of her own body. She clawed at her skin, begging the bones underneath to return to their original shape, and cursed her existence. Yet, no matter how many transformations she underwent, her father never once spoke ill of her appearance. He simply wiped her tears away and began to work on a new outfit to fit her new body. 

“If my parents can still love me after all this time, your parents will surely accept you.” 

The corners of his lips tugged slightly at her words. “You know, maybe you’re right. Besides, being a ghost isn’t all terrible. Flying, actually floating, is kind of cool.”

Although his movements were still slow and unsteady, Danny managed to float towards Sam. Their fingertips were inches apart when a ring of white light burst from Danny’s chest and swept virtually across his entire body. As the rings traveled over his limbs, they restored his previous physical features and clothes to their appearance before the accident. With their purpose complete, the rings vanished just as suddenly as they arrived.  

Now devoid of his ghost powers, Danny Fenton fell from the air and landed squarely on his stomach in front of Sam.

“Still think flying is cool,” she asked, smirking. 

“Not at all.” With a groan, he rolled over to his back.

“Danny! You’re back to normal.” Tucker seized the handheld mirror from the counter and positioned it above his friend. Danny blinked blankly at the dark-haired boy staring back at him. When the realization that he was human once more struck, he jolted upright and placed two fingers against his neck.

“I’m alive.” His lips stretched into an overjoyed smile. “I’m alive!”

“You had us worried there. For a second, I thought you were going to be a ghost forever,” said Tucker.

“But why isn’t he still a ghost,” asked Sam.

“Who cares. The important part is that I’m back to normal.” Danny planted his heels firmly against the lab’s floors, clearly enjoying the sensation of solid ground. 

“But what if it could happen again? What if the portal transformed you into some sort of half-ghost?” She cringed at her suspicious word choice but then reminded her it was necessary. It's not like Tucker or Danny would come to that conclusion without her help.

As though to emphasize her point, Danny dismissed Sam’s worries with a wave of his hand. “Come on, Sam. Don’t be ridiculous. Everything’s fine now.”

Almost immediately after speaking, his arms disappeared followed shortly by his legs and torso. His disembodied head shot her a chagrined grin. 

“I stand corrected.” 

“Oh, gross. Cut that out, man. You’re gonna scar me for life,” said Tucker, shielding his eyes from the sight of Danny’s floating face. 

“I’m trying but nothing's working. It’s like I’ve lost all control over my body.” 

A cellphone’s ring violently erupted from Sam’s skirt. She retrieved the device from her pocket, struggling momentarily to locate the answer button, and placed it to her ear. 

“Samatha! Oh thank heavens you’re alright,” Pamela’s squeaky voice cried out on the other end. “Casper High called to tell us you never arrived at first period.” 

Sam grimaced at the time displayed on the lab’s clock. They had missed the entirety of first period and the majority of second. 

“I knew we shouldn’t have let you go by yourself. It’s much too dangerous! Why you insisted on walking instead of letting your father or I drive you is beyond me!” There was a long pause. “Samatha, sweetie, where are you?” 

In the Fentons’ laboratory, talking with the ghost of their only son whom I just intentionally killed. 

“I got lost?”  

“You got lost,” Pamela repeated, dumbfounded. Even with the basement’s poor connection, Sam could faintly hear Mrs. Manson’s heels tapping against the kitchen’s marble floors. 

“Yeah!” She looked at Danny and Tucker for guidance but both the boys merely shook their heads. “I accidentally went to Amityville High School instead of Casper, but I’m heading there right now.” 

“Tell me where you are. I’ll pick you up.” 

“There’s no need for that! In fact, I’m walking up the front steps of Casper High as we speak.” She turned her back to the others, positioning the speaker closer to her mouth. “Come on now, mom. You wouldn’t want to ruin my first day of high school, would you?” 

“Oh, all right.” Pam sighed. “But we’ll be driving you to school from now on, young lady.” 

“Thanks!”

A weight lifted off her shoulders as she ended the call. Pamela’s pestering knew no bounds. Perhaps the Mansons’ daughter wasn’t kidnapped but ran away to escape her mother’s constant harassment. The thought made her chuckle. 

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and swung around, her hands clasped together behind her back. “Sorry about that. Now, where were we?” 

“You should go to school,” Danny said, softly. Except for his left leg, the rest of his body had reappeared throughout the phone call. 

“And what, leave you like this?” She gestured to his invisible limb. “There’s no way I could do that.” 

He snatched the spider-shaped backpack, a gift from Ida, off the floor and gently placed it in her arms. “Earlier today you told me that there’s nothing else you wanted more than to experience a normal life. Now’s your chance.”

“But, what about you?” She hadn’t expected Danny to be fooled so easily by her sob story. Were humans really that emotionally susceptible or was her acting simply better than she thought? 

“Don’t worry about him. He’s in good hands!” Tucker patted his chest with pride. 

Sam felt sick knowing that Danny Phantom, the key to her father’s recovery, was in the protection of an annoying, juvenile human. But, judging by the determined look on Danny’s face, there was little she could do to change his mind. She couldn’t risk straining their friendship when it just began. Sam exchanged goodbyes with the boys, slid the backpack over her shoulders and started up the stairs. 

She was only halfway up when Danny called out to her, causing her to abruptly stop and turn. He stood in the doorway, his face cast in shadows. 

“Try not to disappear on us again.”

She laughed quietly before shrugging. “I’ll try my best.” 

_____

By the time Sam had arrived at Casper High School, the lunch period was almost over. 

She had tried to sneak in through a back entrance but was immediately discovered by an overweight, middle-aged whom she recognized from Tucker’s presentation as Mr. Lancer. After a few minutes of explaining, he begrudgingly agreed to let Sam attend lunch before further discussing disciplinary actions. With the grumbling in her stomach growing more fierce, she was overwhelmingly grateful for his generosity. 

Unfortunately, her introduction to cafeteria dining was far less kind. The selection consisted almost exclusively of fatty meats, shriveled vegetables and a pale sludge she couldn’t identify. While she realized she wouldn’t have access to her usual diet, she had hoped to find something that at least resembled the Ghost Zone’s fruits and vegetables. She poured a spoonful of half-frozen peas on her tray and exited the line. 

It didn’t take long to locate Paulina. She sat at a center table occupied mostly by football players and cheerleaders. Sam approached the table and placed her tray in front of an open seat, the clang of clashing metals alerting the surrounding students of her presence. 

“What are you doing here?” Paulina never once looked away from her perfectly manicured nails. 

“You invited me here, remember?” 

“Yeah, two hours ago.”

“What difference does it make?”

“The offer expired.” Paulina finally turned towards Sam, eyeing her with mild disgust. “Didn’t I tell you to burn that outfit?” 

“Since you’re the expert, what would you like me to wear instead,” she snapped. 

“Let’s see.” Paulina’s eyes traveled up and down Sam, examining every item of bright clothing. “Why don’t you give the color black a chance?”

The table erupted into laughter, snickering and adding their own snide comments. Sam rolled her eyes and quickly seized her half-empty tray. She reminded herself that humans, especially teenagers, were immature creatures but the comment still stung. To make matters worse, she could feel the eyes of the surrounding student body burning into her back. All were bold enough to stare, but none courageous enough to speak up. With only a few minutes of the period remaining, Sam decided to sit at an empty table in the back. 

She poked at her peas absentmindedly watching as the surrounding students resumed their conversations. Would she ever be able to integrate into human society? Sitting alone during her first day of school made her believe otherwise. 

There was no need to worry about that now, she had more important matters to attend to. According to Clockwork, Danny had his powers for a month before fighting against his first ghost. Her father’s health probably wouldn’t last another month. Sam simply didn’t have time to stand idly by and wait for Danny to gain better control of his ghostly half. Her only option was to move the timeline forward by introducing Danny to combat sooner than originally planned. 

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, racking her brain for the perfect ghost for the job. Outside of the rare visitors Undergrowth revived and her occasional outings, Sam had hardly seen other ghosts. She was strictly forbidden from interacting with others and, with the expectation of a handful of ghosts, no one knew of her existence. The fragments of gossip and rumors she heard floating through the Ghost Zone were her only source of information. The only source she could use to find Danny Phantom’s first opponent. 

There were certain aspects she needed to consider if she was going to stray from the plan. First and foremost, Danny would need a ghost strong enough to develop his skills but not powerful enough to jeopardize his life. Secondly, the ghost would need to be someone she could quickly lure into the human world. She couldn’t risk using the Fenton’s portal to contact a ghost, so Danny’s opponent needed to be someone who was interested in Amity Park enough to come here by their own account. Additionally, the ghost needed to haunt somewhere that Danny was guaranteed to encounter it. And then, of course, there was the glaring problem of Clockwork discovering her meddling. She needed to select a ghost who wasn't notable enough to warrant the Master of Time’s attention. Throughout all the Ghost Zone, there was only one phantom she knew that fulfilled those requirements. 

As the bell rang, Sam emptied the contents of her tray in the trash and quickly moved through the crowd toward Mr. Lancer. 

“Excuse me,” she said, causing the teacher to lower his worn book. 

“Ms. Manson, tardiness on the first day is never a good impression.” Mr. Lancer looked away. “However, on account of your recent circumstances, I’m going to let you off with a warning. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Yes, actually. I was hoping to make a change to the menu.” 

“Certainly. Although it will take about a week for the change to go into effect.”

“Perfect,” she replied. 

With nothing more to say, Sam bid Mr. Lancer farewell and left for her first class of the day. 

Chapter Text

Pamela Manson’s acceptance of her daughter’s drastic redecorating was an unanticipated but welcomed surprise. 

When Sam first announced her intention to repaint the interior of her bedroom dark purple, she expected Mrs. Manson to respond with various insults or, at the very least, disapprove. Instead, Mr. and Mrs. Manson expressed their delight regarding their daughter’s developing interests and hurried to fulfill her request. 

Their excitement, however, did taper significantly upon Sam’s return from the Amity Park Mall with an assortment of cropped, black skirts. She recalled watching in amusement as Pamela peered into the wastebasket of pastel outfits, lips twisted into a scowl, but remained silent.

With the walls recolored and the childish fixtures removed, replaced by black furnishings, rock albums, numerous candles, a few horror movie posters, and an array of potted plants, the bedroom was finally finished. Sam doubted any arrangements of materials from the human world could properly encapsulate the Ghost Zone, but the off-putting decorations helped to create an eerie atmosphere. Despite her satisfaction with the room, she couldn’t help but long for her old bedroom. 

She was contemplating whether or not to summon her old bed when her cell phone began ringing. 

She seized the device from her bedside table, momentarily fumbling with the screen’s lock, and then answered the three-way call. Pressing the speaker button, Sam returned to her vanity and continued preparing for the day. 

“Guys,” Danny said, his voice wavering under the strain of anxiety. “My mom’s sending me back to school today.” 

“What!” Tucker’s exclamation regarding the news startled Sam as much as her own involuntary gasp. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea,” she asked. “You know, on account of your cold.”

“That excuse isn’t working anymore.” 

“Well, can’t you think of a new one,” Sam said. She secured a green hair tie from the vanity’s drawer and quickly styled the strains in their usual half-up, half-down ponytail. 

“You could say you have a stomach bug or lupus,” said Tucker. 

“I already used the stomach bug excuse twice. Any more and she’ll get suspicious.” The faint grind of teeth against nails sounded from Danny’s end. “What am I going to do? It’s only been a week since the accident and I still barely have any control over my powers.” 

Sam tapped the metal lipstick casing against her forearm, pondering the situation. The changes to the Casper High menu were set to be implemented today but she expected it to take a few days before the Lunch Lady Ghost noticed. She had already gone through painstaking preparations to create a cover story for her meddling, adopting an ultra-recyclo-vegetarian lifestyle and matching gothic wardrobe. In terms of planning, she was surprisingly ahead of schedule. 

“How bad is it,” Sam asked. 

“Last night, my arm phased through the bathroom sink and got stuck between the pipes for an hour,” Danny replied. 

“Yeah, that’s pretty bad,” said Tucker. 

She uncapped the tube and swept the mauve pigment across her lips several times before achieving satisfaction. “Regardless, I think you’re probably going to have to attend school today.” 

Danny chuckled abruptly, the laughter sharp and stilted. “There’s no way I could do that. If anyone finds out, I’ll go from geek to freak.” 

Sam glanced at the neon numbers displayed on her bat-shaped alarm clock, calculating the precious minutes she had remaining before the start of the school day. There was only a measly five minutes before she had to leave but that was probably enough time to convince Danny to attend school. The sooner he resumed the appearance of an average life, the easier her job would be. 

“Danny,” she began. “Just because your powers are unique doesn’t automatically make them bad. Think of all the good you can do for Casper High.” 

“What, like phasing through the floor of Mr. Lancer’s class?” 

“You could always use your intangibility to fix the school plumbing,” Tucker suggested. The roar of car engines and crossing guards muffled his words slightly. 

Another noise obscured the conversation, however, this time the sound didn’t originate from one of the boys’ end. 

“Samatha, honey,” Mr. Manson called out. “It’s time for another amazing day of school!” 

Sam rolled her eyes as she zipped her combat boots. Whether it be through supernatural or mundane means, she had to find a way to dull the Mansons’ chipper attitude. “I gotta go. See you at school?”

“Unfortunately,” sighed Danny. With a soft beep, the call concluded. 

Following Danny’s example, she bid farewell to the plants adorning the window sill and departed for first period. 

———

To her dismay, Sam was occupied with remedial classes for the entirety of the morning. 

The lessons were held in a dusty, dim room and consisted of only three parties: herself, a football player, and a gangly teacher with thick glasses. Despite its lackluster atmosphere, Sam couldn’t bring herself to completely despise class. The material was easy, the lack of human interaction was appreciated and the monotony provided her with simple responses to the Mansons’ prying questions regarding her school life. Still, she felt an instant sense of relief at the chime of the lunchtime bell. 

She traversed the hallways with ease, noting the trail of whispers and watchful eyes that accompanied her movement, before arriving at the cafeteria. After a brief scan, she located Tucker and Danny sitting alone at a back table. Danny was hunched over the chair, eyes darting between passing students, his foot tapping rapidly against the tiled floor. His nervousness, however, resided upon Tucker’s gesture towards the food on his tray. The pair peered at the meal with a melange of confusion and disgust. 

“This has to be topsoil,” Sam heard Tucker say as she approached the table, tray in hand. 

“Oh, definitely,” agreed Danny. “I think the real question here is how tight the school budget has to be to serve mulch and grass.” 

“It’s not topsoil,” said Sam. 

“It’s topsoil,” the boys retorted in unison. 

Danny blinked, examining her black attire with wide eyes. “What’s up with the new look?”

“I don’t know. Pink just really isn’t my color anymore.” She felt a tinge of embarrassment under his gaze.

“I like it,” Danny said, flashing a smile. Sam’s lips twisted upward at the sight. “Just make sure Jazz doesn’t find out or you’ll become her latest project.” 

He gestured to the other side of the room where his sister was consulting an expressionless student donning all-black attire and a mohawk. The exchange appeared painfully one-sided.

“Noted.” 

“She’s also an ultra-recyclo-vegetarian now,” said Tucker dully, prodding the prepared lunch with his fork. 

“A what?” 

“I wouldn’t eat anything with a face on it.”

“And I wouldn’t eat this.” Tucker pushed the tray forward. 

Sam scooped a sliver of the recycled organic material into her mouth, savoring the crunchy texture. Though she was reluctant to admit it, the flavors vaguely resembled her father’s cooking. “You’ll die without vegetables, Tucker.” 

“Two words: meat connoisseur. I live and die by the way of the carnivores.” His eyes shifted towards Danny. “Besides, from my observations dying doesn’t seem to be that bad.”

As Danny opened his mouth to reply, a spoon phased through his hand and dropped to the floor with a soft clank. He bent down to retrieve the utensil, his pants phasing through his legs and sliding to his ankles, revealing checkered boxers and inciting a roar of laughter from onlookers. 

“Still think dying is amazing,” Danny asked with narrowed eyes. 

“Not after that,” answered Tucker. 

“I think you need better taste in underwear,” said Sam. 

“And I think visible underwear is against the school dress code, Mr. Fenton.” 

Mr. Lancer stood to the right of the table, a detention slip in one hand and a ballpoint pen in the other. Danny chuckled sheepishly, the tips of his ears scarlet, and quickly pulled his shorts upward. The fabric immediately phased through his waist and dropped to the floor once again. 

“I’ll buy a belt,” he said. 

“For the sake of the students and faculty, please do.” Mr. Lancer’s eye caught Sam’s. Instantly, the teacher’s back straightened and his visage assumed an expression of artificial affection. “Good to see you again, Ms. Manson. I do hope you’re accommodating well to your new life at Casper High. The staff and I wanted to thank you for your wonderful addition to the cafeteria menu.” 

Tucker directed a pointed glare at Sam. Ignoring his fury, Sam mimicked Mr. Lancer’s friendly demeanor. 

“I appreciate the concern.”

Behind Mr. Lancer’s hefty shoulder, a blue whiff of smoke escaped Danny’s lips. His eyes widened dramatically, raised brows disappearing into his disheveled hair, as he released a soft cry of shock. 

Startled by the sight, Sam stiffened. 

“Is that the bell I hear,” she asked, painfully aware of the intercom’s silence. “Time for next period!” 

She gestured for Danny to follow her, however, the motion’s awkwardness prompted Mr. Lancer to glance at Danny, suspiciously eyeing the boy. With his pants buckled at his ankles for the third time in the lunch hour, all Danny could do was smile nervously. 

“So,” he said, abandoning his attempts to hoist his pants up. “Any belt store recommendations?”

Mr. Lancer stared blankly in response. 

Randomly, Tucker’s nose began to twitch. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes to absorb the scent without distractions, and addressed Mr. Lancer in a confused voice. “Why do you smell like pork chops?” 

Now it was Mr. Lancer’s turn to act anxious. 

“The rumors regarding the teachers’ all-meat, twelve-course buffet are false,” he said quickly, turning away from the trio. “If that’s all you need, I’ll be going now. Remember to, as the young folk say today, ‘Stay Hip, yo.’” 

Sam released a sigh of relief at the teacher’s departure. Never before in her life had she felt such appreciation for Tucker Foley. Although, judging by the disdain on his face, she doubted he shared the sentiment. 

“You’re the reason we’re eating topsoil,” Tucker hissed. 

“We’ll revisit that topic later. Did you see that puff of smoke from Danny’s mouth?” 

“It’s probably just some new ghost power. My body has developed all sorts of weird things this week,” he said. Danny pulled his pants up, smiling triumphantly when they remained on his waist before turning back to Sam. “Of all the options to add to the menu, you picked grass on buns?” 

For the sake of her mission, Sam chose to ignore the boys’ ignorance. “You know, I have, um, this book from the library about the supernatural which says that a puff of smoke from the lips is a sign that ghosts are nearby.” 

Sam prayed the unsteadiness of her voice didn’t reveal her hastily conceived falsehood. To her delight, Danny appeared to be considering the possibility, his jaw clenched tightly in thought. 

“How accurate could your occult books actually be, Sam?” Tucker shook his head at the idea. 

“More accurate than your taste buds,” she retorted. 

Tucker’s glare returned. His annoyance, however, was quickly replaced by concern after noticing Danny’s determined expression. 

“If she’s right and there is a ghost, then I can’t just sit idly by and wait for it to start terrorizing everyone. I have to do something.” 

Sam blinked. She hadn’t expected Danny to engage in ghost hunting so willingly. Although zeal for the trade came by blood, he had never expressed an interest in pursuing supernatural phenomenas before.

Despite his heroic words, she heard Danny’s foot tapping rapidly under the table. The rhythm only accelerated at the sight of Dash Baxter approaching, nostrils flared. 

He seized Danny by the collar of his shirt and hoisted him single-handedly into the air. Had Sam not been preoccupied with the weaker boy’s well-being, she would have been impressed by Dash’s athleticism. 

“Fenturd,” Dash said. “Tell me why I have to eat dirt instead of meatloaf today?”

Danny squirmed weakly in his grasp. “I don’t know. I have nothing to do with this.” 

“I know. I’m just using you to relieve my anger.” 

Curling the fingers of his open hand towards his palm, Dash raised a fist towards Danny’s face. In response, Danny snatched a portion of today’s lunch from a nearby tray and flicked the brown mush across Dash’s eyes. He abruptly released his victim, Danny hitting the floor with a thump, and stumbled back blindly, frantically rubbing the vegetables away from his corneas. 

The cafeteria, once overflowing with chatter, was stricken by silence. With the exception of the impaired bully, all eyes were focused on Danny Fenton. 

He paused, a faint blush coloring his cheeks, before pelting Dash’s head with another serving of food from the tray and loudly announcing, “Garbage fight!” 

“It’s not garbage!” 

Sam’s protests were interrupted by the students’ sudden chanting and a barrage of lunches soaring through the cafeteria. She managed to dodge direct hits from nearby tables but was struck by the fragments of wayward topsoil ricocheting against plastic chairs. Surveying the green mush splattered across her new skirt, Sam could feel nothing but contempt for mankind. 

“Watch out!” She felt Danny’s cold hand latch around her arm, pulling her downward. Underneath the table, she was greeted by Tucker and Danny, both of whom had suffered heavy losses from the ongoing battle. The display resolved some of her disdain. 

With a wave of his hand, Danny motioned for the others to follow his lead and began to crawl through the mass of tables and chairs toward the kitchen. 

Nearly halfway through the journey, Sam spotted Paulina and Valerie at the center of the ensuing fight. The latter of the two girls was surprisingly skilled at combat, effortlessly avoiding projectiles and striking her opponents with deadly precision, while the former displayed success but to a far lesser degree. 

Amongst the chaos, Paulina’s eye caught Sam’s. She paused, examining the goth’s outfit with an approving nod. “Not bad. I guess you’re actually capable of listening.” 

“Thanks! I guess your advice was actually useful for once.” 

From the corner of her eye, Sam noticed Danny’s trance-like stare. Unlike the previous time, however, this look of admiration extended to both Paulina and her surrounding friend group. Annoyed, she turned away, directing her attention to the squashed vegetables and greenery littering the floors.

One day, Undergrowth and his daughter would reclaim this world and restore its natural beauty. However, until that glorious moment came, Sam Manson had no other choice but to continue. 

“Come on,” Sam hissed. 

She took Danny’s hand and pulled him along until they reached the kitchen’s entrance. The trio exchanged nervous glances before Danny twisted the handle and opened the door wide.

Hovering between the ovens and dishwasher, donning a hairnet and matching apron, was the Lunch Lady Ghost. She floated closer to the counters, examining the cupboards and drawers with a dejected look.

“She kind of looks like my grandma,” said Tucker.

“This shouldn’t be too hard. Maybe she confused our cafeteria for a retirement home,” Danny whispered. He appeared surprisingly confident for a novice. 

Arrogance aside, Sam nodded in agreement. The Lunch Lady Ghost was rumored to be relatively docile. As long as she wasn’t specifically provoked, Danny was guaranteed an undemanding yet educational battle. 

“Well hello there children, can you help me? Today’s lunch is supposed to be meatloaf but I don’t see any. Did someone change the menu,” the Lunch Lady Ghost asked sweetly. 

Without a moment of hesitation, Tucker pointed a finger toward Sam and announced, “She did.” 

At that moment, as the hanging ladles clattered against the tiled backsplash and the spectator rose high above the trio, trembling with ferocity, she declared Tucker Foldy as her first victim in her future conquest of the mortal world. 

“How dare you! The menu hasn’t changed in fifty years,” she bellowed. 

The edges of the Lunch Lady Ghost’s body erupted into neon-green flames. Hypertrophic muscles bulged from the rent of her apron at an alarming speed, her mane of white hair twisted and twirled like snakes. 

Sam vowed to never believe in gossip again. 

“Get behind me!”

At his command, Tucker and Sam bolted behind Danny. She delivered a wry glance at the boy’s slender arms and absentmindedly wondered how such bony limbs were capable of protecting the Ghost Zone, much less her. 

“I’m going to become ghostly,” Danny said. 

Close enough , she thought. 

Despite his declaration, no transformation transpired. Sam cocked an inquisitive brow at the half-ghost, awaiting his shift from Danny Fenton to Danny Phantom. 

“So would now be a good time to transform or should we wait a little longer,” she asked.

“It should happen any second now,” he replied. 

A small-scale vortex had developed above. Gusts of wind shook knives, glass plates, and pans from their respective racks and thrust the dishes into the circling air. 

Sam leaped backward, narrowly avoiding an incoming mug. Regardless of the circumstances, it appeared she wasdestined to spend her entire day dodging projectiles. 

“How much more time do you need, man? We kind of have a situation here,” urged Tucker, ducking behind Danny for cover. 

“I can’t do it on command yet.” Danny’s confession was barely audible. 

A look of disbelief settled upon Sam’s face. Even as the door and windows burst open, welcoming a flying trail of steaks, sausages, and pork tenderloins, she was still too stunned to fully comprehend the approaching disaster. 

“Great,” she said dryly. “I can’t wait to die in a mediocre high school kitchen.” 

As if to fulfill her wish, a collection of plates from the cluster of circling kitchen supplies hurled themself at Tucker and Sam. Danny quickly seized the pair by their shirts and pulled them out of harm’s way. She glanced upward, words of gratitude on her lips, only to pause when a ring of light passed through Danny’s entire body, replacing his everyday wear with a black jumpsuit. 

He glanced down at his gloved hands. “Well, better now than never,” he mumbled before flying upward. Pointing a stern finger at the Lunch Lady Ghost, Danny Phantom declared, “I order you to, uh, haunt somewhere else.” 

The ghost smirked. The plethora of meat encircled and then enveloped her body, piling onto her limbs until her green flesh was no longer visible. The Lunch Lady Ghost had vanished and all that remained in her wake was a gigantic, oozing mound of meat. 

“Lunch is sacred! All who disturb the menu must pay,” the meat monster cried out.

“Shit,” she whispered. 

The monster’s hand was so swift that Sam didn't understand what had transpired until she was ensnared in the creature’s fist, her arms pinned against her side by a barrier of pork and beef. 

Danny, wobbling ever so slightly, flew towards the monster’s hand. He placed his hand against Sam’s shoulders, squeezed his eyes shut, and concentrated on turning her intangible. When the power failed to manifest, he smiled nervously and turned back to the monster. 

“I order you to let her go!”

“Oh yeah,” Sam groaned. “Since that worked so well the last time.” 

“Then maybe this will work better,” Danny paused, noticing his lopsided levitation. “Or at all.” 

He exhaled sharply and positioned an open hand before the monster. Ectoplasmic energy erupted from his palm in a coherent, streamlined beam of green light, effortlessly piercing the ghost’s upper body. 

Simultaneously, a pang of jealousy pierced Sam’s chest. In the span of a week, a human boy had acquired more ghostly abilities than she had throughout her entire childhood. The feeling, however, disappeared at the sight of the meat monster striking Danny with her free hand. 

The force of the blow propelled him across the room and sharply into the tiled floor. He landed with a heavy thud, his backside bearing the brunt of the fall. With a grunt, Danny slowly rose to his feet and directed an unsteady hand onceagain towards the monster. 

He tensed his muscles, bracing his arm for the recoil produced from shooting ecto-rays, only to witness his transformation abruptly shattering. 

“Whoops,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to do that.” 

Sam tangibly felt the thread of her patience fray. She was foolish to drastically alter the timeline. No mortal could master ghost powers in a week, especially not a fourteen-year-old. He was outmatched, outmaneuvered, and in danger of not only losing the battle, but also his life; a possibility she couldn’t have come to fruition. With no hope for Danny and no chance of escape, she had only one option. 

Sam wiggled her arm free from the monster’s clutch and stared blankly at the bracelet, hesitating. In the process of saving Danny Fenton, would she be trading his life for her father’s? Furthermore, what would Danny or Tucker think of her true intentions or identity? 

She furrowed her brows at such an absurd thought. Perhaps she had immersed herself too deeply into the role of Samatha Manson. 

The monster’s sudden movement provided her with little time to reflect on the unintentional effects of her method of acting. With Sam still in hand, the ghost had begun to phase through the floor into the basement below. 

She heard reassurances of rescue from Tucker and Danny but, upon seeing Mr. Lancer and Dash enter the kitchen, knew their aid would be delayed. The silver band around her wrist shined alluringly under the fluorescent lights, the vines longing to be unwound. Yet, despite the danger before her, she couldn’t bring herself to transform.

With no course of action remaining, Sam leaned back and allowed herself to sink through the kitchen floor. 

——

“My dear child, why wouldn’t you eat? Meat is good for you, it helps you grow big and strong,” said the Lunch Lady Ghost as she waved a drumstick before Sam. The meat that once served as the specter’s protective coating formed a steep pile around Sam, rendering her immobile. Struggling against her restraints, she made a mental note to berate Clockwork for not including ‘close and personal encounters with animal flesh’ in the job description. 

“I don’t need meat,” Sam spat. “Maybe humans require it, but I don’t.” 

The placid smile on the Lunch Lady Ghost’s face remained unchanged. Unsure if her comment was well received or simply unheard, Sam said, “What happens in a mortal high school cafeteria doesn’t concern me. If you’d like, I’ll even change the menu back once this is all over.” 

Though she was reluctant to admit it, Sam had hoped to maintain the changes to the menu for the entirety of her mission. But, if it came between neutralizing a threat or eating a delicious lunch, she would have to go with the former. However, judging by the trembling muscles and hellfire reemerging from the Lunch Lady Ghost’s body, her sacrificial offer wouldn’t be accepted. 

“There are consequences for changing the menu. No one escapes my wrath, no one!” 

“I know,” she groaned. 

A migraine had formed between Sam’s temples, the beginning of which was exasperated by a pair of heavy footsteps. Swiveling her head to the left, she caught a glimpse of Tucker crouching behind rows of shelves and Danny Phantom hovering above him. Phantom placed a single finger against his lips, the confidence of his command belied by the rictus underneath. 

“If this doesn't work, duck,” Phantom whispered. 

Before either Sam or her captor could react, Phantom flew directly toward the Lunch Lady. He swung a balled fist at the ghost’s chin, missed, and was promptly struck by his opponent’s drumstick, the force propelling his intangible body through the basement ceiling. The Lunch Lady Ghost quickly chased after him, leaving Sam still trapped beneath unrefrigerated meat. 

“My savior,” she snarked. 

“Actually, I’m your savior.” Tucker emerged from hiding with a set of silverware and a bib tied around his neck. Sam didn't bother asking questions. 

“We need to hurry. The sooner I get out, the sooner we can help Danny.”

“Have no fear, Sam. You’re working with a professional.” 

To her astonishment, Tucker lived up to his claim. She wiggled free from her confides, marveling at the pile which, in the span of ten minutes, appeared significantly smaller. 

“Maybe I’ll let you live after all.” 

“What.” 

“More importantly,” Sam began, heading toward the exit. “We need to help Danny.”

“Danny has superpowers and still can’t land a blow. We don’t stand a chance. Even Danny’s dad said that when I saw him near-.”

“The Fentons are here?” Sam abruptly stopped on the basement stairs, spinning around on her heels to stare at Tucker. 

He replied with a weary sign. “If there’s a ghost nearby, then so are the Fentons.” 

“Did they bring their inventions?”

“I think so. I saw their RV in the school parking lot.” 

Sam had always considered the Fentons a hindrance, however, their presence might be the solution to all her troubles. The original plan for Danny’s triumph hinged solely on his strength. Since that attribute was clearly underdeveloped, she would need to secure his success through less conventional methods. 

“Do you think you can get into their RV?” 

“Probably. Danny’s dad usually forgets to lock the doors.” Tucker opened the basement door, slinking through empty hallways as he turned back to Sam. “Why?”

“They most likely brought the Fenton Thermos with them, right? Instead of fighting the ghost, Danny could just capture her,” Sam suggested. 

“Good idea. You can stand watch for Danny’s parents as I break into the RV.”

“I can’t come with you,” said Sam, frowning. She needed an excuse, one solid enough to guarantee her escape without garnering any suspicion. “I, uh, have to go to the bathroom.” 

“You can’t wait until we get outside and, you know, find an unhaunted bathroom?” He sighed again as Sam shook her head. “Then I guess I’ll have to wait for you.” 

She was touched that a human, especially one she hardly knew, was willing to risk their life for her wellbeing. The sentiment promptly vanished when the roar of the Lunch Lady Ghost echoed through the hallway causing Tucker to flinch and bolt towards the exit, all while screaming over his shoulder, “On second thought, I’ll wait for you outside!” 

“Bring the thermos,” she yelled back. 

Sam clutched her wrist. For the first time in over a week, the vines on her bracelet unraveled and engulfed her entire body. As the plants receded, Undergrowth’s Daughter emerged donning her usual attire. 

Unseen gales swept through the corridors, carrying cries of the approaching battle. Eager to avoid detection, Undergrowth’s Daughter swung to the far side of the corridor, ducking behind a row of lockers, where she would be out of sight, but not earshot. 

“Lunch is-!”

“Sacred and anyone who changes the menu must pay,” Danny mocked. “You really need a new gimmick.” 

From her hiding spot, Undergrowth’s Daughter caught glimpses of the half-ghost staggering through the air, eco-plasma trickling from the gashes on his arms. He shielded his head, intangibility flickering, and braced for the craft of packaged meat hurling towards him. 

Acting on instinct, Undergrowth’s Daughter conjured a vine from the ground underneath Phantom. The plant shot upward and sliced the craft open with its thorns, meat gushing from the cut. A wave of pork chops toppled Phantom to the ground, where he was quickly buried by the remainder of the crate’s falling meat. 

“How dare you waste food! Fest on my-.” 

The Lunch Lady Ghost’s words dissolved into a slew of vowels and syllables, incoherent grumbling brought forth by the presence of a vine against her windpipe. 

“Aw, what’s wrong? Something caught in your throat?” Undergrowth’s Daughter wrapped her arms loosely around her waist, mirth twinkling in her green eyes as she relished the ghost’s agony. It had been a while since she was able to properly enjoy herself. 

Her amusement abruptly faltered when Danny began to slowly phase through the pile of meat. 

“Not yet,” Sam whispered to herself. 

Another vine sprouted from the floor’s cracked tiles and encircled itself around Danny’s neck, pulling his body back into the pile. 

Danny was in no condition to fight and, even if he was, he would most likely lose again. The best course of action was to remove him from harm’s way and stall the Lunch Lady Ghost until Tucker arrived with the Fenton Thermos. That was, of course, if she could endure. 

Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead as her smile wavered slightly. Restraining multiple ghosts at once had placed a heavier strain on her body than she expected. No amount of sly remarks or teasing smiles could entirely conceal her exhaustion. 

The incoming volley of meat only exacerbated her growing fatigue. She sliced through the barrage, her movements less reflexive than usual, her breathing labored. Behind her, the low, muffled groans of Danny echoed through the help, followed shortly by the sound of his fingers crawling at the vine. 

With a flick of her hand, vines relinquished the Lunch Lady Ghost’s neck and, instead, curled around her wrists and ankles, pinning them to her back. Panting softly, Undergrowth’s Daughter resecured Danny’s bindings.

Despite her ongoing success, the muscles in her legs were aching, teetering on the brink of collapse. How much longer would she have to persist? 

A familiar pair of footsteps served as her answer. 

Loosening the vine around Phantom’s neck, Undergrowth’s Daughter returned to her hiding spot just in time to see Tucker burst through the door with the Fenton Thermos. 

“Danny, catch,” Tucker yelled, throwing the canister across the room. 

Phantom quickly scrambled out from under the pile, caught the thermos in his only tangible hand, and popped the lip off. A ray of blinding light erupted from the canister and swallowed the Lunch Lady Ghost into its confines. 

Phantom sighed, rubbing his neck. “Glad that’s over.” 

“Not quite,” said Tucker. 

Almost immediately after he spoke, Maddie and Jack Fenton raced into the hallway, weapons at their side. 

“We’re getting close! I can smell it.” Jack seized Tucker by his shoulders, squeezing him slightly. “You better get to safety, son. There’s a dangerous ghost on the loose.” He paused, brow furrowing. “You haven’t happened to see any dangerous ghosts lately, have you?” 

Tucker glanced behind him, only to see the outline of Phantom’s body faintly flickering in and out of sight. “Yeah, um, I think I saw one heading towards the gym.” 

“What’s this,” asked Maddie. 

She reached into the pile, rummaging through the heap of pork chops before withdrawing a single, squirming strand of vine.

“It’s some sort of ghost vine,” Jack exclaimed. “Or maybe a regular vine? It’s so hard to tell the difference between plants.” 

“Just to be safe, we should take it back to the lab for testing.” 

Producing a syringe from her belt, Maddie injected the plant before it could escape. 

A small but audible snap reverberated through her brain as the vine grew limp. Undergrowth’s Daughter watched in horror as Maddie sealed the wilting plant in a plastic bag and headed for the gymnasium, dragging Jack and Tucker in her footsteps. 

She pressed her back against the lockers, lips twisted into a scowl. Forcing Danny Phantom into combat earlier than usual was already a risk to the timeline. The Fentons’ indirect discovery of her meddling, however, escalated the situation to an undeniable crisis. If one of their experiments or gadgets somehow revealed the vine’s origin, then all of her efforts would be in vain. 

In a feeble attempt to ease her racing mind, she summoned a rose in the palm of her hand and forced the petals to open and close one by one. Engrossed in her calming ritual, Undergrowth’s Daughter almost didn’t notice the reappearing silhouette.

She whipped around, staggering slightly, and stared doltishly at Phantom, who stood a few paces away. Danny, on the other hand, was frozen in place, a thermos clenched between scrapped hands, glowing eyes fixed upon her. The pair stood in utter silence, neither daring to make first contact. 

A single sentence from Danny shattered the stillness. 

Shivers coursed through her body as he spoke. His voice was distant, muffled by unseen soughs, and tinged with the static of an old radio flickering between stations. 

“I know you.” 

The pounding of her heart reverberated through her chest. 

“No,” she whispered. “You don’t.” 

She stepped backwards and crushed the flower between her fingers. 

Before he could react, pollen erupted from the center of the rose, obscuring the room in a yellowish haze. By the time the pollen cloud and Danny’s coughing fit had subsided, Undergrowth’s Daughter was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

When Sam finally mustered the courage to ring the Fentons’ doorbell, she was startled to discover that Danny was the one who answered; Almost as startled as she was by his appearance. 

His fingers and wrists were littered with adhesive bandages. Purple bruises marred his cheeks, their intensity rivaled only by the dark circles beneath his eyes. The rest of his body was covered by a loose sweatshirt and a pair of heavily wrinkled pants. His bedraggled attire perfectly complemented his greasy, mussed hair. 

Somehow, Danny managed to look worse now than he did during the actual battle. 

A small smile crossed his face at the sight of her grimace. Leaning lazily against the doorframe, he asked, “Is it the hair?” 

“The hair is the only redeeming part.” She surveyed his injuries again, clutching the straps of her backpack. “This is all from the Lunch Lady Ghost?” 

“More or less.” He said, absentmindedly rubbing his neck. The sharp edges of his fingernails rustled the shirt’s collar, invertedly dislodging the fabric from around his neck. She caught a fleeting glimpse of something- discolored, bulging markings etched into the flesh- before Danny hastily pulled the shirt against his neck once more. 

Sam swallowed, bile tickling her throat, but remained silent. Asking unnecessary questions would only create further complications; complications that would prolong her stay in Amity Park.

He opened the door wider, motioning for her to enter.  “I wasn’t sure you were coming. You didn’t answer any of my messages.” 

Unbeknownst to Danny, Fenton Works was the reason she hadn’t replied to a single text message or phone call. If he had discovered her identity, she’d rather not enter a closed environment with ghost hunters and their arsenal. 

Yet, despite his earlier words, Danny didn’t seem to recognize her as Undergrowth’s Daughter. She had reread his messages dozens of times- analyzing his punctuation, inspecting the shifting inflictions of his voicemails, questioning his choice of emojis- but there was no indication he had uncovered the truth. His current demeanor only serves as further confirmation of this conclusion. 

“Sorry about that,” she replied. “I didn’t know when I could sneak out to meet you.” 

Closing the front door behind her, Sam followed Danny up the stairs. The house was silent, except for the faint grind of an electric drill against metal echoing from the basement.

“Since when did you start sneaking out?” 

“Since my folks found out about this afternoon’s attack and somehow became more overbearing.”

He gave an understanding, almost sympathetic, nod. “I know what you mean. My parents were freaking out when they first saw me.” 

“Which, I’m guessing with your luck, just so happened to be during the evacuation, when the entire school was watching,” she said with a smirk. 

“You’re a fast learner.” Danny’s brows arched in amusement. There was a green glint in his eyes; it rippled across the endless blue, spiraling beside the pupils, before capsizing against the iris’ outer shores. In its wake, the whites of his eyes gleamed with a viridescent tint. 

Sam fiddled with a loose thread on her skirt’s hem. A trick of the light, that was all.

He halted in front of a door with the words ‘Danny’s Bedroom’ scribbled across and twisted the knob. The room was surprisingly clean and orderly for a teenage boy. Decorations were sparse, with the few posters or figures displayed perturbing to the realm of astronomy. Sam hadn’t expected Danny’s room to be so minimalist, just like she hadn't expected Tucker Foley to be there. 

He was sitting cross-legged on top of the comforter, an array of movies sprawled before him. Upon hearing the door open, he perked up and flashed a teasing smile towards Sam. 

“So you survived after all.”

“Tucker, you saw me in the parking lot after they evacuated the school,” she said. 

“For all I know that could have been a stress-induced hallucination.” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Now text messages, on the other hand, are-.”

“I know, I know. I should have replied.” 

She sighed and set her backpack gently on top of the bedroom desk beside Danny’s pile of unfinished algebra homework. Unzipping the bag, she plunged her hands within and withdrew two miniature, potted cacti. 

“Here.” Sam extended the potted plants to Tucker and Danny. “As an apology for not responding.” 

The pair surveyed the gifts, brows furrowed.

After a long pause, Danny reached out. He gingerly seized the cactus, careful to avoid brushing his bandaged fingers against the plant’s prickly flesh.

“Sam, you didn’t need to buy us apology gifts,” he said, eyebrows still raised. 

“Especially if that gift is a cactus,” added Tucker. 

Sam tilted her head thoughtfully. Safeguard was a more appropriate description for the cactus, but she supposed the word gift would also suffice. It sounded better, that’s for sure. 

She placed Tucker’s gift beside him, which he accepted with an awkward nod, and addressed the boys’ hesitation in a nonchalant tone. 

“If the apology part bothers you so much, then think of it as a token of gratitude for saving Casper High.” 

Danny rotated the potted plant in his hands, a look of uncertainty settling on his visage. He began to reply but the words dissolved into a cry of pain as the cactus’ spines pierced his palm. Blood trickled down his hand, dampening the bandages coating his wrist. 

“Great,” he groaned. “Another addition to the collection.” 

“At this rate, it’s going to become a permanent addition.” Sam shut her backpack with a sharp jerk of the zipper, as though to signal that, injuries aside, her gift was non-refundable. “Where‘s the first aid kit?” 

“In the third drawer of my dresser,” Danny answered. He pressed the sleeve of his sweatshirt against the wound. Red seeped into the fabric, sullying the cuff with a dark, misshapen splotch. 

“You really should be more careful,” she said, stealing another glance at Danny’s bandaged hand. “Especially when you’re ghost hunting. The last thing you need is a repeat of today’s injuries.” 

“I was a little preoccupied with the ghost hurling flaming pork chops at me to worry about a few scrapes.” He paused, as though reflecting on the sentence’s absurdity, and then gave a weary sigh. “Give me a break. It was my first fight. I barely know how to use my powers, much less control them.”

“That’s the part we should be focusing on,” said Tucker. “Did you get your ass kicked? Absolutely.” The words earned him a pointed glare from Danny, but Tucker continued regardless. “But, you still managed to win despite knowing nothing about your powers. Think about how easy fighting will be once you master them.” He glanced at Sam for support. “Right?”

She doubted fighting would ever be easy enough for Danny, but there was no reason to tell him, or anyone else, that. “..Right.” 

Pulling the drawer forward, Sam rummaged through the folded clothes before finally spotting the kit in the far left corner underneath a pair of shorts. It struck her as odd that Danny would go through the trouble of hiding a first aid kit, especially when the Fentons were already aware of his wounds. She suspected he hadn’t revealed the full extent of his injuries, but were they extensive enough to warrant such secrecy? 

What if Danny’s secrecy developed into a nasty habit? What if he continued to rely upon bandaids and baggy clothes instead of proper medical assistance, even in the wake of major injuries. For some reason, Sam’s stomach twisted at the thought. 

“All I’m trying to say is that if you want to continue protecting the citizens of Amity Park, you need to show a little more concern for yourself.” She placed the first aid kit on the bedside table and glanced at Danny, her voice growing soft. “You can’t help anyone if you’re bedridden.” 

Those words appeared to resolve whatever apprehension Danny felt. With a faint grin, he settled beside Tucker and held his hand out to Sam, bloody palm upturned. 

She snapped the kit open and, with a bemused smile, pulled out one of the bandaids; it was neon green decorated with white, cartoonish ghosts. 

“Cute,” she said. 

“My parents are nothing if not committed,” he replied, smiling slightly. 

As if on cue, Jack Fenton’s voice bellowed from downstairs, “Food’s here!”

Tucker shifted his gaze between Danny’s outstretched hand and the bottle of disinfectant in Sam’s. Uncurling his legs, he bounced off the bed, DVD boxes recoiling across the sheets, and said, “I’ll grab it.” 

Before Sam could protest, Tucker shut the door behind him. In his wake, the bedroom was plunged into silence. 

Sam delicately dipped a cotton ball in the disinfectant, watching the clear liquid seep through the fabric. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Danny absentmindedly rolling the drawstrings of his sweatshirt between his middle and index finger. Every so often, he’d give the strings a quick tug, pulling the elastic collar taut against his neck. Flashes of discolored flesh flickered between the sweatshirt’s folds as the fabric tightened, but Sam never allowed her gaze to linger. Just like Danny never allowed his gaze to meet hers. 

He tilted his head downward, rigorously inspecting the dirt beneath his fingernails, or the heels of his shoes (which had phrased partially through the floor), or any other object that wasn’t in Sam’s general vicinity. His disinterest appeared so genuine that she was surprised when he spoke, and even more shocked when he asked the dreaded question; the one every school teacher, news reporter, and Manson wanted to know.

“How are you handling everything?” 

“Compared to you, I’d say I handled my first ghost attack relatively well.” 

Danny frowned. “That’s not what I mea-.”

Sam pressed the cotton ball firmly against his palm, invoking a sharp wince from Danny. She wiped off the dried blood surrounding the puncture and, just to be safe, twisted the damp ball into the broken skin. 

“Sam,” he snapped, jerking his hand back. 

“Sorry.” She felt a pang of relief when the topic was abruptly dropped. One of the best parts about spending time with Danny and Tucker was the privilege of privacy. Unlike Pamela, neither of the boys expected her to discuss her alleged trauma or, for that matter, her feelings. Even if it was for a brief moment, Sam was unwilling to compromise this sanctuary. 

She was, however, willing to admit that exacerbating Danny’s injuries just to avoid an uncomfortable conversation was probably wrong. 

“I meant what I said before. You really did save Casper High,” she said, before tossing the cotton ball into a nearby trash can. 

“ We saved Casper High,” Danny corrected. 

“You still did your part,” Sam smirked. “Specifically the part that involved shooting lasers from your hands.” 

“Arugmentally, the best part,” he chuckled. In a slow, measured motion, Danny raised his injured hand upward. Streaks of light trickled through the bedside window, dancing across his knuckles as his fingers flickered in and out of visibility. One of the stray beams caught his eye and, for a fleeting moment, a hint of green muddled the endless blue. “What do you think I am now?” 

“That sounds like a question for your parents.” 

Danny dropped his hand and threw his head back with a chuckle. It was a sharp, humorless noise.

“I mean, I could ask them but then I’d be torn apart.” Danny deepened his voice to mimic his father’s, “molecule by molecule.” 

Sam returned the bottle and retrieved a roll of bandages from the kit, lips pressed into a tight scowl. The Fentons were undeniably eccentric and obsessive, but murder, even in the pursuit of science, seemed uncharacteristic. So why did their son think otherwise? 

Don’t ask, it’s not important  

She cupped his palm gingerly in her hand. His skin was cold to the touch, like a shard of ice. It took every ounce of Sam’s willpower not to flinch. 

She glanced down as she unraveled the woven bandages, scanning his body for any additional signs of cold, but could only detect that familiar viridescent glint in his eye. No shivering, no frostbite, no raised hair on his forearms, only the insatiable flicker of green. 

A trick of light, that’s all . 

But was it really, she wondered. 

No need to ask unnecessary questions, no need to-  

“You seem awfully certain your parents will dissect you.” 

She leaned in close, positioned Danny’s palm slightly lower, and gingerly began wrapping the fabric around his cleaned wound, all while cursing herself for prying. 

“My parents have always wanted to examine a ghost.” He tilted his head slightly. “If you had the one thing that could fulfill your deepest desire right at your fingertips, would you let it go?”

Sam halted. Her fingers inadvertently tightened around his bandaged palm. The muscles underneath writhed under the pressure but Sam didn’t relinquish her hold, only loosened. 

Ever so slowly, she shifted her eyes upward, traveling across his chest and neck, until she finally met his gaze. 

“Never,” she answered.

He sat completely still, gaze locked with hers, hand in hand, until he could no longer bear it and pulled away.

“Figured you’d say that.” His easygoing voice was belied by the look of defeat flickering across his face. That revolting look of agony never failed to stir her heart. 

“That’s just my opinion though, Danny. I don’t know what your parents would do.” 

“I also knew you’d say that.”

“Oh yeah, because you know me so well,” she sneered.

Danny’s eyes bore into hers. “I know you a lot better than you think.” 

Sam’s vision dwindled, the bedroom walls plummeting into darkness as unseen soughs echoed in her eardrums. The empty corridors of Casper High flicker into view, her bare feet wiggling beneath the warmth of flesh meat, fingers tingling as vines swarm her green dress, all while Phantom’s static-laced voice crackles through the cacophony. 

I know you  

The bedroom swirled before Sam’s eyes, propelling her back to reality with a dizzying thrust. She abandoned the roll of bandages and stumbled backward, forgoing all notions of feigned composure. 

Her wide eyes settled upon Danny, searching for that taunting glint of green, for any trace of recognition in his eyes, but all she saw was the furrowed brow of a high school boy. 

He didn’t know. 

“Looks like we’re all done here.” Sam inhaled slowly, berating her lapse in judgment, and latched the first aid kit close. 

“You missed a spot.”

Danny clutched the collar’s edge with an unnatural tenacity. His fingers wiggled between fabric and flesh, shifting and stretching the seam, prying the polyester away from his neck. Inch by inch, the fabric peeled backward.

The slackened collar beckons Sam to come closer, to witness the mysteries lingering underneath. She knows it’s taunting her, perhaps even attempting to ensnare her, but curiosity overruns her suspicions as she slinks forward. 

Muted hues of purple and blue draped across Danny’s neck in a linear pattern, tapering upward near his chin. The motley splotches billowed, stretching the surrounding unsullied skin into taut wrinkles. Streaks of grazed skin muddle the bruises with crimson and a dark, vicious residue. As Sam drew nearer, the scrapes’ pungent, metallic odor tickled her nose, prompting another dose of bile to rush through her esophagus. 

She had only encountered the scent once before, but the stench was so profound that it was engraved in her nostrils: the smell of blood and ectoplasm. 

“How-.” Sam’s mouth grew dry as the answer spurred to the forefront of her mind. 

It was the vine, the one she had used to keep Danny buried this afternoon. In a desperate attempt to free himself, he must have scratched at his bindings, crawling at his flesh until the wounds became deep enough to bleed even after he had transformed back.

But that couldn’t be right. She had acted with delicacy, with precision. He must have obtained the injury from a wayward kitchen knife or one of the Lunch Lady Ghost’s blasts, or a misfire from his own ghost rays. There were a plethora of explanations, all more logical than her meddling. Sam hadn’t caused his injury, she couldn’t have. 

“There was another ghost at school today,” whispered Danny. 

The words wrench through her chest with ferocity, twisting her lungs to the brink of suffocation. Doubts, theories, andobjectives, all hurl through her mind, tangling together frantically until a single command emerges from the welter: Evade. 

“Really?” Her voice wavered with breathless consternation. 

Danny’s mouth cracked and stretched into a broad smile. Chiseled canines peek from parted lips, glistening like daggers in the slitted sunlight. 

“It was a girl, around our age.” 

“Probably a student who died years ago.” 

“She didn’t look like a student.” 

Heartbeat reverberated through her eardrums, pulsating with such deafening intensity that she barely heard her next words. “Did you know her?”

The question spills from her lips instinctively, like blood flowing from a fresh cut. Sam knows she’s become reckless, borderline self-destructive, but the answer to the question she’s pondered endlessly is right before her, only a tongue tip away. She couldn’t resist. 

Danny tilted his head inquisitively. “Should I?” 

His grin widened, green-tinted irises shimmering, as outreached fingers inched toward her.

Sam seized his hand before he had the opportunity to strike. The acrid aroma of blood and ectoplasm wafted through her nose, sending her eyes trailing down his neck. 

“Why did you show me this?” 

He held her gaze, eyes wide and unwavering. “Because I already showed Tucker.”

“Because you already showed Tucker,” Sam repeated, dumbfounded. 

“What did you already show Tucker?” 

The boy in question stood in the bedroom’s open doorway, balancing a paper bag on a tray of milkshakes. 

“The weird bruise on my neck.” Using his free hand, Danny pulled the collar to display more of his injury. 

“Oh yeah, I saw that when I came over earlier.” Tucker raised an eyebrow as he set the food on the bedroom desk. “Was I not supposed to?” He raised a second eyebrow at the sight of Danny and Sam’s interwoven fingers. 

Sam promptly dropped his hand and pulled away. “No, I just thought..”

Her words revert to saliva in her mouth. She glanced at Danny, who was absentmindedly massaging his bandage hand, the tips of his ear colored scarlet. 

There wasn’t a green glint in his eye, or any unnaturally sharp teeth in his smile. And there never was. 

All his ominous expressions, all his vague answers, were just the byproduct of a high school boy dealing with the erratic behavior of a girl he hardly knew. A byproduct of her anxiety. 

A wave of foolishness washes over Sam as she admitted, “I wasn’t thinking.” 

The words prompt a smirk from Tucker. “Good, because what we’re about to do doesn’t require thinking”

He unloaded the tray, distributing milkshakes among the three of them, before reaching into the paper bag and producing a hamburger. 

“You’re still eating meat, after all that happened today,” said Danny.

Tucker unwrapped the burger with a shrug. “It’s easier if you just don’t think about it.”

“Says the guy who wasn’t buried under a pile of pork chops for fifteen minutes.” He swirled his straw through the shake and then took a long sip. 

Sam copied his mannerisms, unsure of how to approach the situation. Today’s events had only succeeded by a narrow margin, she wouldn’t be so lucky next time. Another misstep and she’d be on the receiving end of the Fenton Thermos. The best approach would be to act normal and draw any suspicions away from her. The only issue was that Sam wasn’t entirely sure what constituted as normal, just like she wasn’t entirely sure what a milkshake was. 

Her father had taught her many things about the moral and immoral world, but a milkshake was not one of those. From context clues, she has a basic idea of the dessert, but it’s not thorough enough to know whether or not there should be bat-shaped sprinkles and bits of licorice mixed in her drink. 

Danny must have recognized her confusion because he said, “It’s your favorite,” before hastily correcting himself. “We’d thought it would be your favorite.” 

She pressed the straw against her lips and took a small sip before flashing a smile. “Definitely my favorite.”

Beside her, Tucker raised his half-empty cup. “How about a toast?”

“To what exactly,” asked Sam.

He leaned back, contemplating the question, but when the answer never arrived, Danny suggested in his stead. 

“How about..to making it out of our first ghost attack alive?” He paused. “Well, mostly alive.” 

With a nod of approval, Tucker hoisted his cup beside Danny’s raised drink. They both looked at Sam, waiting for her to join. 

There were so many unanswered questions, so many loose ends to tie up. Did she deserve to be celebrating, to beenjoying herself, after she had endangered the mission and everyone involved?

As Sam peered into the folds of her milkshake, she imagined Tucker and Danny debating over which sprinkles best suited her taste. No one had ever done something like that for her before. 

For just one night, wouldn’t it be okay to indulge in the life of Samatha Manson? 

“To mostly surviving our first ghost attack.” Sam thrusted her cup against the other two and the three plastic containers clinked together with a faint scratching noise. 

Danny and Tucker threw their heads back, chugging the sugary beverage at alarming speeds. She followed their lead and, despite her late start, finished her milkshake before either of the two boys. Her first-place title is awarded by a round of applause and promises of rematches to come. 

The remainder of the night was occupied by television. As the honorary newcomer of Amity Park, Sam was given the privilege of selecting one of the movies Tucker brought. Much to the dismay of the other two boys, she chose the sole horror film among the sea of action movies. The special effects were subpar and the acting was mediocre at best, but Tucker and Danny still flinched at every jump scare. It was only when Sam hadn’t heard Danny move for several minutes, that she realized he had fallen asleep on the floor. 

“And that’s our cue to leave,” she said, shaking the sleeping boy’s shoulder. 

With a groan, Danny begrudgingly sat up and yawned. “What’d I miss?”

“Oh nothing important, just the entire second half of the movie.” She retrieved her backpack from his desk and draped it over her shoulder. 

Raising to his feet, Danny shrugged nonchalantly and led them to the stairs. “It wasn’t that good of a movie anyway.” 

“It would have been better if everyone hadn’t died in the end,” said Tucker. 

Sam gently nudged him in the ribs with her elbow as they walked. “You can’t just spoil the ending like that.” 

“He already did,” said Danny, gently rubbing the bruises on his neck. The streaks of purple had darkened significantly in the last hour. 

Did bruises normally progress this quickly?

He caught her glance and tugged on the sweatshirt strings, the bruises fading out of sight. “I think it’s getting better.”

“Not really.” Tucker pressed his lips into a frown. “Maybe a doctor should take a look at it.”

“No,” Danny answered quickly. His voice lowered an octave, instilled with a sharpness that wasn’t there before. “No one needs to know about this. No one but you two.” 

Tucker is clearly taken aback by the dour reply, steps staggering slightly, but Sam continues without hesitation. She’s wasted too much of her day consumed by paranoia to bother analyzing the minutiae of Danny’s words. 

“If that’s the case, then you better hope it heals before the school dance,” said Sam.

Tucker and Danny exchanged looks as they reached the bottom of the staircase. 

“Didn’t you see the email,” asked Danny. “The dance was canceled.” 

At the sight of her confusion, he further elaborated. “Half the school was injured in today’s attack. No one’s sure what happened so they’ve decided to postpone all extracurricular events until they’re done with the investigation.”

She did recall seeing multiple ambulances in the parking lot during the evacuation. She also recalled that in the original timeline a protest- was it a concert- had caused most of the students to be outside during the time of the attack. Without anything to lead them away from the danger, it was no surprise that so many students were caught in the crossfire. 

“And that still doesn’t stop Mr. Lancer from assigning us homework,” Tucker said bitterly, twisting the front door’s knob. 

“I know,” Danny sighed, hand returning to his neck. “If I don’t get my grades up by the end of the semester, I’ll have to do one of his extra credit assignments.”

Sam slipped through the front door with Tucker, combat boots thumping against the concrete porch. Even in the crisp night air, the stench wafting from Danny’s neck still lingered. 

“Just make sure he doesn’t see your bruise.”

“I’ll try my hardest,” replied Danny. 

His fingers wrapped around the knob, moments away from closing the door, only to pause when Tucker asked, “How’d you get that bruise anyway?”

Danny tilted his head, his forehead creased in thought. The glow of streetlights glistens in the whites of his eyes and there, swirling among the iris, is the undeniable flicker of green. 

“You know.” His gaze strayed to Sam. “I don’t really remember.” 

Before either can ask another question, Danny bids goodnight and closes the door. Tucker mumbled something about politeness, but Sam couldn’t hear the words over the pounding of her heart.

Chapter Text

Sam wasn’t certain when she first noticed Clockwork at the Mansons’ manor. 

His silhouette had begun to lurk in the foreground of hallway mirrors, shadowy outline cascading between photo frames and hanging home decor. Each time he’d appear she’d twirl her body around in a frenzy, scour the space behind her for the Master of Time, and then decide the sighting was a hallucination caused by lack of sleep or leftover adrenal from yesterday’s events. After all, an all-seeing, all-knowing superpower like himself had more pressing matters than the stalking of a teenage girl, right? 

It wasn’t until the Manson family brunch when she spotted Clockwork’s reflection shimmering in the stainless steel toaster, that Sam truly began to ponder her sanity. That is, of course, if she had any remaining. 

“A ghost attack. How ridiculous,” Mr. Manson sneered for the umpteenth time. He had spent the entirety of their midafternoon meal perusing the latest edition of the Amity Park Daily, flicking through editorials and advice columns, only to inevitably return to the front page story of Casper High’s unexplainable disaster. The constant rustle of paper was maddening.

Mr. Manson glanced at Sam as he flipped to the sports section again, eyes peeking over the newspaper’s edge. “Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

Sam silently raised a half-empty mug to her lips. She wasn’t in the mood to mollify the Mansons, not when Clockwork was on the prowl. 

Unfortunately, Pamela answered in her stead. 

“Of course, she agrees. No one in this family believes in ghosts,” she said, eyes narrowing on Sam. “Be sure to tell your therapist that during your appointment on Monday.” 

“I’m not going to therapy,” Sam replied. The last thing she needed was a human inspecting her psyche. Despite her ongoing success, she wasn’t confident enough in her facade to deceive a medically trained professional. 

“Now sweetie,” Mrs. Manson began in a sickeningly sweet voice, the one Sam loathed. “Remember when we agreed that therapy would be good for someone in your..unique position.” 

“I remember you scheduling the appointment without asking me.” 

Sam sipped her coffee, watching Mrs. Manson’s expression sour through the wafting steam. Pamela’s purple lips pursued, opening ajar, and remained open well beyond the duration of a pause. Her painted fingernails, steepled against the mahogany tabletop, remained as motionless as her mouth. To her right, Mr. Manson and Ida had also abruptly stilled. The latter was frozen mid-bite, the former halted amid excessive page turning, both neither blinking nor breathing. 

“Am I interrupting something?”

Sam craned her neck over the chair’s headrest to see Clockwork hovering near the China cabinet. Despite her apprehension towards him, Sam was gracious for the rescue. 

“Perfect timing , actually .” 

“Unlike you, I always have perfect timing,” he said.

She winced under the weight of his stare. 

“It was a minor mistake,” Sam said, rising to her feet. She grabbed the first mug she spotted in the kitchen cabinet, a white ceramic garnished with pink hearts, and set it beside her own on the marble countertop. “How do you take your coffee?” 

Clockwork pressed his lips into a firm line. “Accelerating the timeline’s events by three weeks is not a minor mistake.” 

“So long as Danny still becomes the hero of the Ghost Zone, does that really matter?” 

“I instructed you to follow the timeline for a reason.” 

“You can’t expect me to be perfect.” 

“I expect you to listen.” A hint of irritation trickled through his impassive tone. “Which I now see is a rather difficult task for you.” 

“All of this is difficult,” Sam groaned, gesturing to the garnet countertops and frozen Manson family. “You placed an unsupervised teenager in charge of restoring the fabric of time. Did you honestly believe everything would go according to plan?” 

A faint chill crept down Sam’s spine as the realization that she, a mediocre ghost, had just rolled her eyes at the Master of Time struck her squarely in the chest. 

This was the end. He would drag her back to the Ghost Zone before she had the opportunity to heal her father. Or, worse, he would leave her stranded in the mortal world, forced to don the mask of Samatha Manson until the end of time. She couldn’t decide which was worse. 

Sam stood there with her trembling hands clutching the mug, waiting for the Master of Time’s judgment. However, instead of a rebuke, Clockwork merely smiled. 

His scarlet eyes slid to the heart-patterned mug. “Black. Two sugars and no cream.”

She blinked, staring blankly at Clockwork. Only after a few minutes had passed- and Sam was certain she had heard him correctly- did she reach for the coffee pot. “You’re not going to continue belittling me?”

“You flatter me,” Clockwork replied dryly. “Warped perception aside, you do have a valid point. A high schooler like yourself is bound to make mistakes.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Lots of mistakes.”

Sam fought the urge to roll her eyes a second time. 

“Thanks for the helpful reminder.” She tilted the pitcher over the mug and frowned when the liquid inside remained unnaturally still. With a press of a button from Clockwork’s staff, the coffee sputtered to life and rushed vigorously into the mug below. Blackened grounds swirled through the coffee before sinking beneath the surface. For a fleeting moment, Sam recalled the unnatural flasks of green drifting through Danny’s blue eyes and the dark bruises maring his neck. 

Lots of mistakes

“These mistakes you keep talking about,” Sam began. “Could they have some sort of impact on the timeline, like causing people to act differently?”

Clockwork’s slanted smile returned. “So long as Danny still becomes the hero of the Ghost Zone, does that really matter?” 

She uncapped a porcelain jar and scooped a spoonful of sugar into the steaming coffee. 

“You were acting like it did before.” 

“And it does,” said Clockwork. “The timeline has a very delicate balance, like the proportions of a scale. One wrong move, one side tilting too far left or right, and the entire balance crumbles beneath its own weight.”

Sam’s mouth felt strangely dry. “I know that.” 

“I know,” he stated plainly. “You’re a capable girl. You understand how essential correcting the timeline is.” The Master of Time’s gaze bore into her skull. “You do understand that, don’t you?”

Her fingers squeezed the spoon’s handle. “Of course, I do.”

Granulated sugar slipped off the utensil’s edge and spilled into the coffee below with a wide splash . It was only when Sam began to wipe the droplets off the countertop that she realized her hands were shaking. 

She needed to calm down. All her efforts would be rendered meaningless if she faltered here. The conversation was prying too far into her private affairs; she needed to shift the focus to Clockwork. 

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, do you wanna tell me why you’ve been stalking me,” she asked, handing the mug to Clockwork.

“How else was I to ensure that you wouldn’t continue to make these accidental mistakes?”

“Couldn’t you just have looked through your portals?”

Clockwork’s smirk glistened through the cup’s wafting steam. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Sam stifled another groan as she snapped the lid to the sugar jar closed. Living amongst humans, especially the Manson family, was painful enough, she didn’t need Clockwork’s impish nature complicating her miserable existence. 

Although, now that he was here, there was something she had wanted to ask him. There was no guarantee he’d give her a straight answer, but she had to know; it had nagged at her ever since she arrived at Amity Park. 

“What did you mean when you said I was critical to Danny Phantom’s creation,” Sam asked. “ The way you said it implies that I caused Danny to become a ghost in every timeline, but that can’t be right. There’s no way Danny would have entered the portal without my convincing but, in all the correct timelines, I’m living in the Ghost Zone, not Amity Park. How would we have met?” 

Clockwork took a long sip from his cup before meeting her gaze. “Strange how you remember that but not the timeline’s order of events.” 

Tension squeezed her shoulder blades but Sam didn’t waver.

“Tell me again,” she said calmly. “I wouldn’t forget a second time.” 

“Very well,” Clockwork answered. 

There, floating above the marble tiles, Clockwork began to recount the chronicle of Danny Phantom: The hero’s successes, his disastrous defeats, the dynamics of his ghost-hunting family, his ongoing rivalry with Vlad Plasmius, his short-lived romance with the enemy, and his slew of ghostly allies and adversaries. 

As Sam nodded her head to the ghost’s words, she imagined the sequence of events unfolding in her mind’s eye. There were so many enemies for Danny to encounter, so many battles to overcome. In a way, she wondered, weren’t Danny’s heroics just glorified child abuse? Who in their right mind would task a formerly human teenager with the responsibility of defending the mortal world from ghosts? Her father would never allow her to endure such hardships. Her father-.

Sam bit her lip. She had been careful to avoid thinking of him during her mission. The pain of living as a human was nothing compared to the ache of homesickness. 

“My father is he,” Sam paused, the words clinging to the back of her throat. “..is he alright?”

Clockwork set the half-empty mug to Sam’s outstretched palms. “He will be if you-.”

“If you correct the timeline,” she finished in a practiced tone. Despite being the Master of Time, Clockwork seemed to have an issue moving forward. Turning away from Clockwork, she placed the coffee cup in the sink. 

“Teenagers, none the wiser,” he mumbled. A faint shimmer encompassed his skin as his middle-aged body rapidly aged to that of an elderly man. He placed a wizen hand against his chin, stroking the long, white beard. “What I was going to say before you politely interrupted me was that your father will be alright, as long as you don’t hinder yourself.” 

“Hinder myself ? How would-.” Sam spun around, only to discover the Master of Time had vanished. 

The hands of the kitchen clock inched toward the half-hour mark. From the corner of her eye, Sam spotted Pamela’s flared nostrils stirring and Ida’s lips slowly pulling over her dentures. The Mansons’ would be unfrozen soon. After her conversation with Clockwork, she didn’t have the mental capacity, or patience, to handle humans.

Sam pressed a hand to her temple, desperately trying to organize her thoughts. She couldn’t decipher Clockwork’s words, but perhaps his actions could reveal something useful. The Master of Time was careful never to specifically mention her ‘mistakes,” just as she had been careful never to tell him. Seeing as he watched over the time stream, Clockwork must have already known and, by that logic, he probably also knew her plan. Yet, despite this awareness, he didn’t seem to care. Outside of vague warnings, he did little to prevent her from continuing her objective. Honestly, he didn’t appear to care about anything except correcting the timeline. The only reason he had even visited was because her meddling hindered the sequence of events. 

Did that mean in the future she abandoned her plan to sacrifice Danny Phantom in favor of following Clockwork’s orders? That was unlikely. Perhaps there was a way for Undergrowth’s Daughter and Clockwork to achieve both their desires. If there was, she intended to find it. 

Walking up the staircase, Sam entered her bedroom, plucked a leather bound journal from her bookshelf, and began to write down everything Clockwork had recounted. 

————

“Oh yeah, that’s productive.” 

Sam raised an eyebrow as Tucker folded a sheet of loose left paper in half. He smoothed the edges with the padding of his thumb and continued to crease the sheet until it formed a triangle. 

“It’s called a study break, Sam,” Tucker retorted, balancing the tip of the paper triangle against the table. Sam challenged the likelihood of that statement by raising a second eyebrow. 

The trio’s time at the Amity Park Library was overwhelmingly unproductive. At the beginning of their research session, Tucker and Danny had displayed some enthusiasm for the project, scouring the shelves for books related to ghostly activities and exchanging theories on the topic. Near the end of their two hour session, however, both boys had grown tired and abandoned their studying to pursue more interesting endeavors; For Tucker this preferred form of entertainment was playing on his PDA, while Danny’s new pastime consisted of laying face-down in an open book as he drifted in and out of consciousness, waking up only when he began to phase through the floor. Sam couldn’t be too annoyed by their inaction since she had also stopped researching to browse the library’s selection of gothic literature. That didn’t prevent her from complaining though. 

“Just this morning, you said you’d do whatever it took to discover the nature of your powers,” said Sam.

“And I will.” Danny placed his horizontal thumbs next to one another on the plastic table, index fingers pointed upward. “Right after we finish this round.” 

“Can’t we just agree that Danny has all the powers of a stereotypical ghost and go home,” Tucker asked, positioning the triangle parallel to Danny’s fingers. 

He squinted his eyes, tilted his head, and propelled the paper through the air with a mighty flick of his forefinger. The triangle struck the outside of Danny’s wrist and tumbled to the floor, disappearing amongst the stacks of books nestled beside their feet. 

After hours of muddling through dusty hardcovers and scientific journals, all they had to show for their efforts was a paper triangle, a list of witty banter Danny had composed for his upcoming battles, and a whiteboard with the words, ‘Dead but Alive at the Same Time??’ scribbled in red dry erase marker. 

“Not yet,” said Sam. “We must have found something useful.”

“I doubt it,” mumbled Danny, wiping drool from The Metaphysical Reality of Apparitions’ table of contents. He slammed the book closed and leaned back in his chair, sighing. 

Tucker glanced at Sam who, to her dismay, unwittingly shared his worried expression. “I’m kind of surprised, Danny. I’d figured you’d be the one most interested in this.”

“We’ve been going at it all afternoon and haven’t found anything that could help me control my powers. More ghosts are going to come through the portal soon and none of this,” Danny gestured to the plethora of textbooks and encyclopedias beside him, “is going to help me in a fight.” 

He absentmindedly rubbed the front of his neck, cautious not to rustle the sweatshirt’s fabric too much, and then paused. Although Danny remained composed, Sam could see fragments of his pain in the slow withdrawal of his hand and the tight set of his jaw. She doubted he could survive another battle with those injuries. 

Until Danny fully recovered, it would be best if he stayed primarily in a safe, unhaunted location, like the Amity Park Library. 

“Then we’ll just have to keep looking until we find something that does,” said Sam, flashing a smile. To her right, Tucker nodded in agreement.

Danny returned the grin. “Thanks.”

“Of course!” Anything to keep her precious sacrifice alive and well.

“We can’t give up yet,” said Tucker, invigorated by sudden, unfound enthusiasm. “This place is huge. There’s gotta be something in here that can help us, maybe like an old newspaper or a paranormal magazine?” 

“Or a paranormal book.” Danny sat upright and jerked his head towards Sam. “Did you bring your book?”

Sam buried her trembling fingers in the pockets of her skirt as she staggered backward in her seat, thoughts of the leather journal racing through her head. 

“What book? I don’t have any book.”

“The occult book you were telling us about at lunch yesterday. You know, the one that said something about blue smoke and ghosts.” 

“Oh, that book,” Sam said sheepishly. Lying was such a frequent part of her life now that it was becoming difficult to remember everything. “I forgot to bring it.”

“That’s fine. You can always bring it next time,” said Tucker. 

“Oh, well, actually I lost it.” 

He folded his arms, blinking repeatedly. “You just said you forgot to bring it.” 

“Right, well, you see I did have it but then I lost it and I forgot that I lost it until you reminded me.” Sam tightened her grip on the skirt’s edge but that did little to remedy her shaky laughter.  

Danny surveyed her with a raised eyebrow. “And you said the doctors cleared you for amnesia?” 

A snarky reply danced on the tip of Sam’s tongue but, before her lips could form the words, Tucker remembered another lie she had forgotten. “Didn’t you say you got the book from this library?” 

A plethora of excuses flooded her mind- I got it from another library, I actually borrowed the book from a distant relative, I never said that - but none sounded believable. Even if she could identify the proper response, her throat was dry and abraded by unspoken words, rendering her attempts at communication impossible. 

Sam was contemplating shoving pages of a dictionary down Tucker’s esophagus when her untimely rescue arrived.

“Danny?” Standing a few paces away with a psychological book tucked beneath her arm was Jasmine Fenton. She approached the table, peering curiously at the slew of publications crowding the area. “What are you doing here?” 

“Uh, just…studying?” Danny discreetly pulled today’s edition of the Amity Times over the pair of paranormal books sitting before him. 

Sam quickly followed his lead, tossing her copy of Ghostly Habits For the Unrested and Spector Spotting 101 underneath the table, before adding, “Mr. Lancer assigned an oral report for Monday. It was really last minute, so we’re having to cram.” 

Jazz’s eyes bounced between the piles of books stacked on top of the table. “Don’t you think this is a bit much, even for a cram session?” Her gaze shifted to the whiteboard propped behind them. “Is your report over Schroeder’s cat?”

Danny frowned. “We’re kind of in the middle of something, so-.”

“Who’s cat ,” asked Sam.

“Schroeder’s cat. You know, the famous thought experiment.” Jazz paused, a faint red stretching across her cheeks as she seemingly recalled the reason behind Sam’s unfamiliarity with the subject. She stammered for a moment , volumes and syllables looping like a scratched record, before abruptly clearing her throat and explaining, “It’s a hypothetical scenario in quantum mechanics. A cat in a sealed box will be killed if any radiation is detected but spared if it’s undetected. Of course, you wouldn’t know which option happened until you open the box so the cat is simultaneously dead and alive until observed.” 

Simultaneously dead and alive  

Sam’s eyes drifted to Danny. His torso is twisted towards Jazz, head tilted in a laughable attempt at feigned interest, while his fingers trail the sleeve of his shirt, clutching the fabric until his knuckles turn white. She imagines Danny sealed inside a narrow, mahogany box, battered fingers scratching at the lid, voice hoarse from wailing, but no one daring to look for fear of what lies within. 

Perhaps it would be best if Schroeder’s cat remained sealed away, unobserved for all eternity. 

“Fascinating,” Danny said wryly, shaking Sam from her thoughts. “But if you haven’t noticed, Jazz, we’re-.”

“You know quantum mechanics,” questioned Tucker.

“Only a little. I picked up a few things from one of my mom’s old textbooks. This,” Jazz began, shifting the hardcover book held between her underarm and chest onto the sliver of remaining table space, “is what I’m currently learning.” 

Instinctively, Sam, Tucker, and Danny huddled around the book, examining the cover’s stylized display of a downward spiral with varying degrees of disfavor, each unsure of how to proceed until Sam finally spoke. 

“Exploring The Fragmented Mind: An Introspective Look Into the Long-Term Impact of Memory Loss on Wayward Adolescents,” she read aloud. The realization dawned on her only a moment later, but it was too late. Jazz placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, the soft squint of her eyes trailing the other girl’s black attire and heavy makeup. The hair on the nape of Sam’s neck prickled, tensing like a rabbit ensnared in a wolf’s clenched jaw, despite the fact that Jazz’s sympathy was far more terrifying than the canines of any predator. 

“Memory loss is one of the many ways our brains cope with difficult situations.” The tenderness in Jazz’s voice was genuine, yet Sam couldn’t help but recall Mrs. Manson’s cloying tone. “You’ve undergone a traumatic experience. It’s natural to feel overwhelmed or have doubts regarding your future. What you need right now, is an understanding environment that gives you the opportunity to foster a connection with your feelings. I’m here if you ever need to talk to someone.”

What Sam needed right now was to escape. In an act of desperation, she directed a pleading look towards Tucker but he only tensed his shoulders and shook his head. Thankfully, Danny also noticed her cry for help. 

“I think if Sam wanted a therapy session, she’d go to an actual psychiatrist, Jazz. Besides, we have studying to do. You should go before I have to tell Mom and Dad you’re the reason I failed.” 

Jazz pursued her lips preparing for a possible rebuttal, or perhaps a parting comment, as she leaned forward to receive her book. Between the gap of her bent torso and outstretched arm, Sam spotted a gust of blue slipping through Danny’s lips. 

“Oh no,” he whispered, springing to his feet.

The succeeding thirty seconds passed in a sweltering blur of molten red. Streaks of blinding light descended upon the table, erupting into a barrage of flames and billowing smoke. The swell of pressure toppled Sam to the floor, tossing her among blackened ash and the scorned remains of paperback books. 

An astute understanding of the situation accompanied her fall, followed by a much vaguer awareness of her surroundings: the taste of soot, tickling fingers, a high-pitch whistling, shadows shifting through the haze. 

Sam faintly recalled brushing burnt paper from her skirt and staggering to her feet, assisted by a cold hand on her shoulder. She debated the notion of glancing at the hand’s owner, at asking for their name, but her head was pounding wildly and she couldn’t quite grasp how to execute these intentions. It was only after the phantom hand guided her through the rumble and behind an overturned table that Sam looked upward to see Danny. 

The left side of his face was blackened by ash, disheveled hair freckled with cinders, and several of the cuts on his fingers had reopened, oozing beneath bloodied band-aids. Sam momentarily considered wiping the ash from his cheek but discarded the idea when she realized Danny had asked a question.

“Are you okay?” 

“I think so.” She pinched the skin between her temples in a feeble attempt to halt the inevitably approaching migraine. “What happened?” 

“Someone’s spirit is really upset that he wasn’t approved for a library card,” said Danny. His eyes darted frantically through the rumble as he spoke.

“What does a ghost need a high-tech body suit for anyway,” asked Tucker, unknowingly alerting Sam to his presence. He was kneeling to the left of her, head barely peeking out from the table’s side. 

“High-tech body suit,” Sam repeated, stomach twisting at the words. Without hesitation, she scooted closer to Tucker and poked her head next to his. 

Floating above the ruins of the Amity Park Library with a jagged smile and a pair of rocket launchers protruding from his shoulders was exactly who she expected to see: Skulker. 

“There’s no point in hiding, ghost child,” he said, producing another missile launcher from his wrist. “It’s only a matter of time before you become part of my collection.” 

Sam and Tucker ducked as another wave of missiles dispensed from Skulker’s arsenal and collided with a nearby cluster of bookcases, reducing the collection to embers. She absentmindedly wondered if the display was an intimation method or simply poor aim. 

As Skulker continued his vendetta against publicly funded literature, Sam turned to Danny. “Ghost child,” she said. “Does he mean you?” 

The answer was fairly obvious but, for continuity's sake, Sam needed to appear oblivious. She had already endured one lecture from Clockwork today and wasn’t eager for another. 

“I’m not sure, but we’re about to find out.” 

With his hands clenched against his sides, Danny lowered his head and closed his eyes. A ring of light encompassed Danny’s torso, followed by two smaller, flickering circles around his arms and legs. Ever so slowly, the rings passed over his body, turning his black hair a stark white and his clothes into a jumpsuit.

Danny’s eyes snapped open, revealing a shade of green that Sam had come to dread. He smiled faintly at the success of his transformation, a sentiment Sam shared, and turned in Skulker’s direction but made no effort to move forward. Instead, he continued to survey the charred remains of books and broken chairs.

Fear flickered through his eyes as he surveyed the area, his entire body taut. It was almost like Danny was searching for something. Or, more accurately, someone. 

“We’ll find Jazz.”

His brow furrowed. “But-.”

Sam placed her hand gingerly on his knee, her eyes fixated upon his. “Let us help you.”

Danny held her gaze for a long moment. His entire face was rigid, teetering between various degrees of contemplation, until, gradually, a small smile emerged. 

“Okay,” he began, floating upward slowly. “But, if it gets too dangerous, you should leave.” 

“It’s a little late for that,” said Tucker. A few yards away, another bookcase erupted into flames. 

Phantom chuckled sheepishly and, with a shrug, flew toward his opponent; per usual, his flying was painfully lopsided. 

From her position behind the table, Sam could hear the pair exchange (poor) witty banter, followed by the sound of explosions and lasers. Aside from Danny’s pained grunts, she felt rather confident with the progression of today’s events. 

According to Clockwork, Danny’s battle with the Dragon Ghost should proceed after his encounter with the Lunch Lady Ghost. Since the dance was canceled, he obviously wouldn’t face the Dragon Ghost, which would place Skulker as his next opponent. Virtually, this meant that the current situation was adhering to the original timeline’s expectations, albeit a few weeks earlier. 

A few more things needed to happen, however, before Sam could deem this day a success. 

“By chance, do you know if Danny was doing a report on purple back gorillas?”

Tucker’s eyes widened. “You want to talk about school, right now?”

He ducked his head as another barrage of missiles erupted above. 

“What I want is to help Danny.” And, from the corner of her eyes, Sam spotted something that would fulfill her actual desire. 

She crawled towards a nearby pile of rubble and quickly shifted through the scorched books until she saw the singed strap of Tucker’s backpack. Unzipping the main compartment, Sam began to rummage through a new kind of wreckage. 

“Hey,” Tucker cried. “That’s personal property!”

Sam pressed a finger to her lips and gestured to the scene above. 

Skulker and Danny’s midair fight had navigated just to the right of their hiding spot. Phantom was swerving wildly through the air, jerking and dipping as he dodged projectiles. 

“You can’t dodge forever, prey.” 

“Sorry, but this is a no-hunting zone,” Phantom said, steading a faintly glowing palm in the ghost’s direction. “Looks like I’m going to have to revoke your license.” 

A wave of embarrassment washed over Sam as she remembered that, only a few hours ago, she had considered Danny intimidating. Skulker, on the other hand, appeared to enjoy the taunt. 

His metal lips twisted into a sharp smirk as he raised his arm to Phantom, a cannon emerging from the panel on his wrist, and hushed the ghost boy. “Quiet. You’re in a library.” 

With a loud hiss, the missile rushed toward Phantom. He tumbled backward, avoiding the projectile by an inch, and then continued to whirl through the air, his movements strikingly similar to a spinning top. 

His twirling, however, was abruptly halted when Skulker seized the collar of his jumpsuit. Phantom struggled helplessly against the ghost’s hold, prying, tugging, and attempting to phase through Skulker’s hand, but his efforts were ultimately unsuccessful. 

“We have to do something,” Tucker said, frantically looking at his surroundings for a situation.

“Already ahead of you.”

Tucker’s confusion dissolved into horror as Sam produced the PDA from his backpack and hurled the device at Skulker, who caught it single-handedly.

He surveyed the device with a raised brow. “A sleek, innovative design with maximum computing? Perhaps it’s time to upgrade myself.”

(Was the monologuing really necessary?)

A collection of wires erupted from Skulker’s chest panel, connecting the PDA to his central processor and merging the device with his armor. The circuits of his suit glowed, infused with the hum of newfound power, as he looked at his prey, waiting for the ghost boy’s fearful reaction. Unfortunately, Phantom’s attention was elsewhere at the moment. 

“You gave the bad guy a new weapon,” he said, clearly exasperated at Sam. “Who’s side are you on?”

He directed another tired look at Sam’s sheepish smile and phased through Skulker’s grasp, delivering a swift punch to the ghost’s steel chest. As he pulled away, ectoplasm seeped through his gloves, staining the white fabric with splotches of muted green. Sam quickly turned away from the sight. 

“Ok,” she said, rejoining Tucker behind the table. “New plan, I’ll-.”

“You know, I still had three payments left on that,” he whined.

“Tucker, we can talk about your PDA later. Besides, I saw a second one in your bag.” She gasped and twisted towards Tucker, causing the boy to flinch. “That’s it! You can hack into Skulker’s suit with your PDA. Deactivate him or make him fly somewhere far away from here.”

Tucker sighed. “You really don’t understand how hacking works, do you?”

Not in the slightest. Sam did, however, understand the gravity of the situation. 

Danny’s laggard flight, his shallow breathing, the stained glove clutching his creaking ribs: all indications of his approaching defeat. No, that wasn’t correct. Sam glanced at the plethora of nets and snares protruding from Skulker’s belt. He clearly intended to capture Danny, not destroy him. The missiles, and the taunts, were methods to distract and exhaust Phantom as Skulker prepared for his entrapment. 

At this rate, Skulker would steal her prey before she even had a chance to strike. 

“Here’s our plan. You find a way to help Danny while I find Jazz.”

“Why do you get to sneak off somewhere while I’m stuck fighting a ghost with a super suit and missiles?” 

“If you have an issue with my plan, maybe you should have said something before agreeing to it .” 

“I didn’t ag-.”

Sam shoved the backpack into Tucker’s lab and stood up. “Just do me a favor and protect Danny while I’m gone, okay?” 

“I’ll try,” Tucker grumbled. As she darted through the rumble, Sam heard him call out , “Don’t get caught!” 

She merely scoffed at the human’s words. 

Ducking behind one of the few upright bookshelves, Sam allowed the vines encircling the bracelet to unfurl and engulf her body. As the plants relinquished their grasp, Undergrowth’s Daughter emerged. She pressed her back to the bookcase, mindful of the embers near her bare feet, and-.

“It seems someone new has joined our hunt.”

Undergrowth’s Daughter jerked her head upward to meet Skulker’s smug smile. She couldn’t fathom how he had spotted her so quickly, especially since he was still engaged in combat. Her lack of luck, and stealth, was infuriating. Almost as irritating as the realization that she should have headed Tucker’s warning.  

“What are you doing here?” Phantom dropped his fists and glanced at Undergrowth’s Daughter, brows furrowed. 

“Amusement,” she replied, smirking. 

“I didn’t realize my bruised ribs were so entertaining.”

“Only mildly.” 

Another missile launched from Skulker’s arsenal, followed shortly by a neon net. A freshly sprouted vine bears the brunt of the explosion but fails to halt the net from ensnaring Phantom into its woven embrace. With a gasp, he plummeted to the ground and landed supinely beside her and a splintered book display. 

He released a shallow groan and pressed a hand against his chest, eyes fluttering in her direction. “Would a punctured lung make for better entertainment?” 

“That all depends,” she mused, surveying the net, “on whether or not you can escape.”

“I was expecting a better hunt from you, ghost child,” Skulker sighed, a monitor emerging from his forearm.

“Hey, I’m trying my best here,” Phantom retorted as he pushed against the net. “I’ve only been doing this for like three days. Give me a little credit.” 

Skulker, however, was too immersed in the monitor to care. He examined the screen intently, narrowed eyes jerking between lines of displayed information, as a broad smirk stretched across his lips. The sight caused her stomach to lunge. 

What (little) support she would’ve received from Phantom was gone. This fight was now hers, and hers alone. 

Undergrowth’s Daughter shifted her left foot forward and unfolded her arms, slowly raising her vine-clad hands toward Skulker. In response, Skulker held out his own weapon. 

Naturally, she had expected Skulker to reveal a snare, or an explosive, or even a miniature cage but instead, resting perfectly in the palm of his hand, was a small, iridescent cube. Undergrowth’s Daughter was so confounded that she nearly dropped her hands. 

“I’m afraid our chase will have to end prematurely.” The cube rolled down Skulker’s fingertips, tumbling across soot and ash. “I so rarely catch both my prey with a single trap.” 

Undergrowth’s Daughter furrowed her brow. “Both of your prey?”

Before she could begin to process the thought, the cube’s shimmering sides unfolded. The sides swelled and expanded, stretching across the ground before swiftly tilting upward and reaching towards the ceiling until finally rejoining overhead. In the blink of an eye, the library had vanished from view, replaced by the cube’s encompassing walls. All that remained was herself and Danny Phantom. 

She pressed her hand against the cube’s walls, tracing the smooth surface with her fingertips. Perhaps her clear involvement with Danny drove Skulker to consider her prey, to capture her alongside the famed half-ghost. Or, maybe Skulker saw the raised hair on the back of her neck or the frantic look in her eyes, the one she feigned as confidence. Maybe he knew that deep down inside, Undergrowth’s Daughter was as frightened as any other fourteen-year-old. 

Behind her, Danny was using his ectoplasm ray to slice through the net, as evident by the acrid heat wafting through their confines. She considered asking him to stop, of telling him that it was likely futile, but the sight of him struggling resurrected an earlier thought. 

Perhaps it would be best if Schroeder’s cat remained sealed away, unobserved for all eternity. 

Undergrowth’s Daughter pressed a hand against her mouth as she attempted to stifle a giggle, but the irony was simply too great to bear, and her muffled laughter spilled over, echoing through the cube’s hollow chamber.