A/N: A tumblr fic from a prompt (the first line plus the fandoms) which may be continued at some point but is currently a one shot. Late season 3 for Danny Phantom and in the latter half of the Supernatural seasons, but no distinct timeline as of yet. Standard disclaimers apply.

"Ghosts? If you want to know about ghosts, you should ask that Fenton kid." The blonde girl pointed to the corner of the restaurant (if you can call a place named the Nasty Burger a restaurant) where three other teenagers sat. "His parents are all over that kind of thing. He's the loser in the white tee that looks like his hair has never seen a brush."

"Uh, thanks." Sam eased the lid of the laptop closed and smiled at the teenager. He wasn't used to people reading the laptop screen over his shoulder, but most days, he and Dean could pick a booth that wasn't as exposed as this one.

Still, he couldn't afford to look a gift horse in the mouth. The information on this place was a mess. For all that Amity Park and even the neighbouring Elmerton seemed to be a hub of ghostly activity, it was difficult to find someone past the city limits who believed the stories that came out of either place. Most hunters had written it off as some kind of elaborate tourist trap, but Sam and Dean had been nearby, and, well, they hadn't had much luck finding Cas, so they'd decided to swing by on their way back to Kansas.

Fifteen minutes in, they hadn't seen a ghost, but they'd seen far more construction and property damage than was usual for a town this size. Dean had said they might as well get some grub while they waited and had picked this place because the name had amused him. Sam just hoped the food was edible.

"Foley's Ghost Tours are a rip-off," the girl added. "He'll probably try to sell you on one, but it's not worth your money. Ghosts don't stick to routes like the tour has to, but you'll be sure to see some if you hang around. It's rare not to see Phantom fighting someone."

"Phantom?" The name kept coming up, but never from what he'd consider a reliable resource. Practically nothing on Amity Park was coming from something he wasn't convinced was made up by a kid holed up in a bedroom or basement. He'd actually learned more useful information within ten seconds of talking to this girl than he had in ten minutes with only semi-reliable WiFi.

The girl smiled. "He's definitely the best ghost hunter in this town, and cute, too, but don't say that to Danny because his parents are ghost hunters and that's probably a sore subject." She turned her head as the door opened and then said, "Oh, that's Paulina. I've gotta go."

She ran off to meet her friend, and Dean came back to the table with a tray laden with food. "Got you a tofu burger," he announced, tossing a package to Sam. "And a soy shake. So stop making that face at me. You can at least pretend to be a normal human male."

"Choosing to eat healthy doesn't make me abnormal, Dean."

"Dude, this is America," Dean said around a mouthful of hamburger. A bit of sauce dribbled down his chin, and he grabbed a napkin to wipe it off. "The only people who eat healthy are the ones who have to and the weirdoes." He took another bite of his burger and moaned with pleasure, saying, "Man, this is good," before he swallowed.

Sam decided now was not the time to rehash an old argument. "There're some hunters in town who've gone domestic," he said quietly. "The Fentons."

Dean shook his head and took another bite. "Never heard of 'em."

"Sounds like they specialized in ghosts, which explains why they ended up here."

"Or explains the ghosts."

"Dean—"

"What? We can't be the only ones who ever messed up big time. For all we know, these guys released all these ghosts like we released all those demons. Or sprang Lucifer. Or—"

The list was long, and Sam didn't want to hear it again even if Dean wanted to make his point. "Dude, piercing the veil is not like opening a hell gate. And even if it were, they wouldn't have needed to try something that crazy to deal with a few ghosts."

Mercifully, Dean swallowed before opening his mouth this time. "Fine, so you think we, what, go ask these Fentons why they haven't dealt with this town's ghost problem? You don't think they're just trying to retire?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Really, Dean? How many retired hunters do you know who are just going to pretend they have no idea what's going on when something like this is happening in their backyard?" Dean's look was telling him, quite plainly, that Sam had tried to run from this lifestyle, but it's not like he'd ever ignored a problem that was right under his nose. "At the very least, they would've called someone in. They must still have contacts."

"And if they had talked to someone still in the business, people would've heard about it and not just ignored this place," Dean finished. "So what's your theory, Sammy? Elaborate hoax? Tourist trap? Or something we need to deal with before we hit the road?"

"I think we should at least touch base with the Fentons. Even if they're out of the business—and I'm not sure they are; people around here seem to know them as ghost hunters—but even if they are, they'll be able to fill us in on what we need to know, and if this is something that's been too big for them to handle, I'm sure they won't mind more help."

Dean sucked on his milkshake for a moment before saying, "More help?"

Sam nodded toward the laptop. "Two names keep popping up, and one of the locals confirmed one for me. Phantom and the Red Huntress."

Dean rolled his eyes. "These guys need to learn how to lay low. And what kind of ghost hunter picks the name Phantom?"

"That's the thing. There are all kinds of reports of this Phantom fighting off ghosts, but from some of the descriptions…." Sam shrugged. "He sounds like he really is a phantom."

To his credit, Dean caught on immediately. "You think this is like that situation with whatsername, the chick who was keeping the murderous kids in line."

"Leticia Gore."

"Yeah, her." Dean returned to his burger. "So, what, we leave this Phantom alone till we torch everyone else?"

"It's not going to be easy to find him when we don't know his real name," Sam pointed out, "so we can at least hold off on the research until we get the story from the Fentons. They might be able to provide us with everything."

"If they could, they woulda done the salt 'n' burn themselves." Dean swallowed and picked up a few fries. "Maybe that's why they left this situation alone. Figured Phantom wouldn't turn on them if he was kept busy keeping the other ghosts in line." He shoved the fries into his mouth. "How long has this Phantom guy been active? You figure we've got time before he turns all vengeful spirit on us?"

"The oldest reports I've found so far date back to about a year and a half ago, but I haven't even scratched the surface on this. It'll take me a while to sort everything out."

"Assuming the Fentons haven't done all this already." Dean took another drink, looked at Sam, who hadn't touched his food yet, and said, "Aren't you going to eat?"

Sam pointedly unwrapped the burger and took a bite, washing it down with his shake. The shake was good, but he'd definitely had better burgers. Even with the sauce, it tasted bland.

The token actions were enough to satisfy Dean, who continued, "So where do we find these guys?"

"We can talk to their—" Sam broke off, suddenly realizing that the trio who had been sitting in the corner was absent.

And then he heard the screaming.

Dean crammed the last of his burger into his mouth with a curse and got to his feet with a handful of napkins. Sam shoved the laptop back into his bag and slung that over his shoulder before following Dean out the door.

Almost immediately, he had to dive to one side as something that looked like a missile exploded when it hit the restaurant mere inches from where he'd been standing. Dean was crouched on the other side of the door, pulling dozens of little salt packets from his pockets and opening them. Every time there was another explosion, Sam saw his hand jerk as he fought the instinct to reach for his gun. A handgun full of silver bullets wasn't going to help them fight a ghost, but ghosts weren't supposed to have heavy artillery like this. Normal people didn't have that kind of firepower just lying around where a ghost could manipulate it.

"What the hell, man?" Dean muttered, his eyes still searching the skies. "I thought we were dealing with ghosts."

There was a bright flash of green light and a figure streaked across the sky, hitting the pavement with a sickening crack. But a few seconds later, the figure reappeared and flew—flew—up to meet a second figure, this one looking more like some kid's idea of a flying robot than a ghost.

Sam blinked.

The smaller ghost bit off a retort Sam didn't entirely understand—something about hunters and pelts—before burning through two nets with that same unearthly green energy shot at it by the first ghost. The figure flickered out of sight for a moment, but the robot one didn't seem fazed by this and released another volley of missiles that turned to track the invisible flight of the first ghost.

And then the third figure showed up, clad in red and black and somehow managing to fly through the air on a jet sled. This one shot at the first two indiscriminately, firing bolts of pink energy from a variety of blasters.

Sam glanced at Dean, who had stopped opening the salt packets in favour of gaping.

He knew how Dean felt.

What the hell was going on here? These weren't ghosts. It was more likely that Gabriel had somehow managed to escape death, happily letting everyone think he was dead so no one bothered him, and had set this up just to mess with anyone who tried to find him.

The first ghost, the small one, dodged one of the pink blasts from what had to be the Red Huntress before shooting what looked like an ice ray at the robot ghost. It wasn't as quick and froze instantly, dropping until it was caught up in a beam of light from— Was that a thermos?

And then the robot ghost was gone, and the smaller one vanished from sight, and the hunter on the sled growled in frustration and took off.

In the silence, Dean pulled out the EMF meter and turned it on.

It squealed, every light shining red.

Dean met Sam's eyes. "Let's go find the Fentons," he said, shutting off the EMF meter. "I want some answers."