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Growing Up
Prologue

Tucker had died.

Danny swallowed, staring at the 6-foot-deep pit ahead of him, unable to let the reality sink in, clutching tightly a bouquet of white roses in his two hands as he watched them toss shovel after shovel above his friend's body. He felt frozen in space.

Tucker had died.

"Wow," a voice said softly from behind him. "You really haven't aged a day. You're Danny, aren't you?"

Neck and shoulders feeling stiff as a plank, he staggeringly pivoted himself to meet the speaker.

It was Sam, he knew immediately. Though her face was wrinkled and old now, and her shoulders were stooped, she had that same look of defiance in her face that Danny had admired fifty years ago, when he had first met her as an adult, with Tucker.

Danny swallowed thickly.

"Yeah," he said, just as softly. His eyes flitted back to the grave, and he felt his throat become tight. "He was one of my best friends."

"He was one of mine, too," Sam said quietly.

Sam did not ask any more questions. She stepped beside him, and too, stared at the grave, her own bouquet clutched in one hand. Her flowers were black. They stood there in silence, beside each other, as the funeral proceeded.

It still didn't feel real. They rotated off, each of them, saying a word or two of love and goodbye, dropping off their flowers above the tomb as they did so. There were tears. There were speeches. Danny stood mute through it all, until it was his turn. Then his own roses graced the mound, though only a choked cry accompanied them.

Heart disease. Dilated cardiomyopathy. That's what they say it had been.

It was so normal. So normal compared to everything Danny had been through. Just as heart-wrenching, to realize that it was what had taken one of his best friends. Who took Tucker.

He imagined it: a life without his corny jokes, his laughter, his obsession with technology and the newest advances. Without that friend who would always back him up, who always had his back, even when he couldn't understand part of Danny's life.

It was too much.

Breathe, Danny, Jazz's voice told him. Breathe.

Soon, all the other funeral goers were gone. It was only him and Sam, and a young girl he didn't recognize.

"You shouldn't stay too long," Sam said kindly, startling Danny. "Tucker wouldn't want us to mope and cry over him forever. It's best to let the dead go."

He bobbed his head, but he didn't feel any kind of agreement. Only a vast tugging pain in his core, and heart.

"Come with me," she said, abruptly grabbing his arm and turning him away from the grave. Her old lady grip was tight, unrelenting. "Let me show you something."

.

.

She took him to Tucker's house.

"Look," she said, opening a drawer. It was full of letters, neatly stacked. Danny startled as he recognized them.

"They're from you," Sam said, with a knowing look in her eyes. "And these here," she said, opening the drawer beneath it, "are the ones he wrote for his daughter."

Danny's chest clenched, and he began reaching for them before he could think about it.

"His daughter…" he whispered, picking up the first letter in the stack.

It was dated October 10th, 2015.

"This was after she died," he said numbly.

"He started doing it because of you," Sam said. "All those letters you wrote him… He started telling her stories of you, in the same way. Look here." She fished another letter, at the bottom of the stack, and passed it to him. This one read June 12th, 2010.

He stared at it, as if in a trance. Slowly, gingerly, he lifted the flap of the envelope, and pulled out the letter until he held it in his two hands.

Dear Tammy, it read.

On this warm summer day, I have a story to tell. A story of ghosts, magic, and friendship. A story about a ghost named Danny Phantom…

He couldn't help it. An incredulous, sort of hiccuping laugh burst from him. Then his vision blurred, tears falling, hands shaking. The letter had abruptly become very hard to read. He set it down, on top of the drawer.

He wiped his face with his sleeve. Then he picked up the first one he had seen, the one dated after her death.

Dear Tammy, it read again.

How I wish I could see you again. My daughter. Bright. Brilliant. Better than any kid I could've asked for.

I wish I could keep telling you these stories. Hear your laughter, muffled beneath your blankets, as you read each of these stories. You always wondered why I wrote them down and didn't just tell you them. Well, you see… Danny Phantom is real, just like you and me, and he's the one that told me these things, just like I told them to you.

I just wanted to say… in this last letter, that I love you, baby girl. I know you won't stay on as a ghost like in his stories. You're strong. Loved. And now it's time to say goodbye.

I hope, when you're up there in heaven, you'll be cackling like crazy and living up the good life. Don't let me get you down. You live it up, baby girl.

I love you.

Your daddy,
Tucker

The letter was blotched with old tear stains.

Danny swallowed.

"Why are you showing me this?" he asked shakily.

She placed a steadying hand on his arm. "He asked me to," she said. "He showed me them, when his condition was getting worse. We all knew he was going to go. And he told me, 'Show these to Danny. Show him how to love and let go.'"

Danny squeezed his eyes shut.

Tucker, you idiot, he thought. This isn't the first time I've lost someone.

Still, he felt as if his friend was giving him one last encouraging laugh, one last warm embrace, before he left. One more piece of himself.

"Thank you," he said, chest still feeling tight. He wasn't sure if he was saying it to Sam, or to Tucker.

She squeezed his arm tight for a second, before letting go.

They again stood in silence.

Softly supporting each other in their shared grief.

Danny had to break it.

"S-Sam," he coughed, having to clear his throat. The mood shifted. "Did you… read those letters?"

She took a step back, then met his gaze evenly.

"O-oh." He knew what that meant. His heart sunk. "So you know what I'm supposed to do."

He didn't want to. Not on this day. Not in his friend's house. Not to a friend.

Sam smiled quietly. Since her younger days, she had become more silent, more subtle, but she was just as strong. Like tempered steel, rather than the hot, raging iron of her youth.

"You won't," she said, simply.

Danny was taken aback, and his hand strayed to his pocket. He fingered a length of oiled wood, smoothened by heavy use. He thought about pulling it out, pointing it at her and casting the charm. Obliviate. He found himself unable to.

Her smile stayed, but in her eyes there was a heavy sadness.

"I'll leave you to it here," she said, finally, beginning to turn away. "I still need to comfort that poor girl in the graveyard."

.

.

"Who is she?" he asked, an hour later when she had returned. He had begun reading the letters, eager to commit Tucker's words to memory, but set them aside when she returned. His curiosity had been gnawing at him.

She gave him a long, searching look.

"A girl Tucker tutored," she said finally. "They became very close. Her name is Elise."

The name struck a chord in his heart.

"Elise?" he said. He hesitated, then decided to reveal a piece of himself to her, said, "My granddaughter's name is Eliza." His eyes met the floor. "I haven't seen her in a while."

He could almost sense Sam's eyebrow raising. "Oh? And why not? I hear you can fly."

He grimaced. "You know, you shouldn't remind me that you know about these things."

She waited.

"I think she hates me," he confessed softly. "And I always have so much else to do, that keeps me away. Responsibilities. Duties to… manage people."

"Hmm." Sam walked forward, then pulled out a chair for herself and then for Danny. "Sit," she said.

Danny sat, though he shot her a questioning look.

When she had settled herself down, she said, "You are still young. Younger than you should be." She sighed. "From what I know, your life has not been easy. Yet, you seem to forget everything that this life should have taught you." She gave him a stern look. "If you want to see your granddaughter, you should see her. You will regret it otherwise."

Danny chewed his lip. "But -" he started.

"No 'buts'," she cut in sharply. "You sound like a child. Can you hear yourself?"

Danny had to admit that she was right - his words were only excuses - but he couldn't help but feel affronted at her words, especially after having confided in her.

"I am not a child," he said, meeting her gaze with some anger.

She raised her eyebrows, not breaking the gaze.

"Tell me then," she said, "why you think she hates you."

Danny scowled, then had to look away, unhappy.

"I don't know," he said. "She always just seems so… angry. I think it's about her father. My…" He was unable to finish the word. Grief suddenly slammed into him like a sledgehammer, familiar and heart-shattering. Today, it was compounded.

"Talk to her," Sam said. "Problems will never be resolved if you don't talk."

Despite himself, he smiled shakily.

"I never saw you talking a problem away when you were younger," he said.

"And now I am older and more wise," she said promptly, lips twitching upward a fraction. "It was amazing when I realized mutual understanding between members of a meat-devouring, eco-destroying species is in fact possible."

"Nina must have settled you down," he grumbled. "I didn't think you'd ever change."

She barked out a laugh, but then her face quickly settled into harsher lines, set by age. "But I'm serious. You should talk to her."

Danny hesitated. Suddenly, something about the drawer caught his eye. The letters. The stories Tucker had told about him. He felt the beginnings of an idea.

"That look means trouble," Sam said wryly. "What are you thinking?"

"I think…" he said, looking down at his hands intently. "I think there might be a way to get through to her."

Sam raised her eyebrows yet again. Then she shook her head, and scoffed. "Youth."

She stood, taking her time of it as she got to her feet. "There's no need for tricky inanery," she said, turning away again. "Just talk to her. Nothing else will solve it."

Danny thought of the letters, imagining Tammy's laughter at reading Tucker's stories, then imagined Tammy as Eliza, and smiled. He was suddenly quite taken with the idea. And in some way… it would be like paying his respects to Tucker too, showing him that he had understood his final message. To live and laugh and protect what still exists.

Good, his ghostly core throbbed in agreement.

"I'll see you around, Sam," he said.

She gave him one last, long look.

"See you, Phantom."

She was gone soon after that cheeky remark, but Danny paid no mind, because his head was now full of stories to tell, full of stories and lessons and laughter. He smiled, then clutched one of Tucker's letters close, letting the heavy weight of grief settle off of him, just for this moment. Just for this moment.

He thought of the adventures Tucker had told. The letters. The stories in them. He thought,

I can tell it to Eliza this way too.

Then he dreamed of better things, a world repaired, a world unbroken. A story, yes, he would tell a story.

A story of that beautiful unbroken world.