AN: Yay, my first story in the Danny Phantom section! Seeing as how I'm fairly new at this, please be tough on me. Constructive criticism is a must. Check out my profile page (shameless plug!) for my full reviewing policy.
I like Danny-revelation fics, when they're done right, but I've never seen it done this way before, so I thought I'd take a shot at it.
Not So Simple
by Ella.Rose.x
"Why do all ghosts have to have a major hate-grudge?"
This was what Danny Phantom, hero of Amity Park, mused to himself as he flew through the air, for once not of his own volition. Anything else he might've wondered was abruptly jolted from his brain as a concrete wall rather rudely introduced itself to his back. He gave a strangled oof on impact, and tried to extricate himself from the debris as quickly as possible.
But not quickly enough—no sooner had he removed himself from one crater did he find himself lodged roughly into another one. The ghost he was fighting was new, powerful, and grumpy. Apparently she had been awakened from some such many years of sleep in some such arcane artifact by some such dork-wad, and now bore a permanent chip on her shoulder against the entire city. And, even more unfortunately, it seemed she only resembled the other ghosts Danny had fought—Skulker, Technus, Plasmius—in that she was made of ectoplasm. She didn't shout her plans to the sky, she wasn't distracted by any side-obsessions, and she didn't appear to have any weaknesses. She just seemed to simply want to beat the crap out of him. She didn't even threaten to hang his head on her wall, or utterly destroy his life.
Danny charged a ball of ecto-energy in his hand, exploding it right in her face to give him a bit of breathing room. She screamed in rage, sending a dark purple-ish globe bigger than a beach ball rushing at him. He shot away from it; the fight continued in the sky.
Neither combatant noticed the over-sized silver eyesore known as the Fenton RV.
Jack Fenton trained his sights on the aerial clash, debating on whether or not he should cut in. But then, if he cut in he'd have to decide which side he was on. He certainly didn't want to side with the new ghost—anyone could see she was evil, with a capital "Eve". But, even though the Fentons had developed a sort of half-truce with the ghost boy, he still didn't want to out-and-out ally with him (you call it petty, he called it principal). Eventually he stepped quietly out of the van and sneaked to some bushes, an ecto-gun and Fenton Bazooka in tow, to wait it out.
The two ghosts weren't flying very high, which gave Jack a good view and allowed him to hear everything.
"You know," the ghost boy quipped, "I'm flattered that you're taking so much interest in me and all, but flowers and a love poem would've worked just as well."
The ghost actually seemed amused by this. "I'm going to tear you apart," she said conversationally.
"Great. And I don't even know your name."
Jack winced as the new ghosts slammed a fist into the ghost boy's stomach, sending him flying backwards. "Tamesis the Dark One."
"Original," the ghost boy managed to grunt between gritted teeth. Tamesis drifted slowly toward him, flexing her fists.
"It is time to end this," she said imperiously.
"Yeah," the ghost boy replied, "It is."
He drew in a deep breath and let it loose in an ear-shattering wail. Jack clapped his hands over his head and knelt closer to the ground. Where did he learn that one he wondered, then added in excitement I'll have to invent Fenton Earplugs!
The wailing ended abruptly; Jack peeped around the shrub to see the damage. A wedge-shaped chunk of the landscape was scraped clean—trees were uprooted, grass was peeled away to reveal dirt underneath, and the bench that had been five feet away from his hiding place was now fifteen feet away, lodged horizontally in the ground. All that remained of Tamesis was a smoking crater half-covered by deracinated trees. The ghost boy wafted slowly to the ground, falling to his knees and panting heavily. "Glad that's over," he muttered, reaching sluggishly behind him to pull out the thermos on his back.
Jack was about to reveal himself, a little disappointed that it seemed he wouldn't get to blow anything up that night, when an ominous rumbling growled through the air. Phantom turned toward the vibrating pile of debris and timber with dread. "Oh…sh—I—that's—just—perfect."
Tamesis burst from the heap, sending clods of dirt and tree trunks flying in every direction. An alder barely missed Jack's head as it whizzed by; Phantom was not so lucky. Jack heard a groan, and turned to see him pinned in what looked to him like a very uncomfortable position. By the looks of things, if ghost were able to break bones, the ghost boy would have had at least a broken arm and a few cracked ribs.
"You shouldn't have done that," Tamesis said with deadly calm, striding over to him and throwing the tree aside like it was kindling. "Now, you are weakened, and I—" she hauled him roughly to her level by his shirt front—"Am angry!" She gripped his temple with a claw like hand, and purple energy crackled viciously over his entire body. Phantom screamed, back arched in pain. Trickles of bright green oozed down his forehead where Tamesis gripped him.
Now, Jack wasn't considered the smartest ghost hunter out there (he did notice what people said about him, though he chose to ignore it completely), but ghost or no ghost, he couldn't stand by and watch Phantom get hosed so brutally. He emerged from his hiding place, whipping out the Fenton thermos.
It was lucky Tamesis was so absorbed in the ghost boy's agony; the orange-clad ghost hunter smacked himself in the head with the metal cylinder. But Jack had a thick skull, something that less than courteous people had pointed out on more than one occasion. He shook the stars out of his eyes, and aimed the invention. "Hey ghost!" he shouted.
Tamesis whirled—and was sucked into the thermos before she had finished turning her head.
"It's back to the ghost zone with you, you ectoplasmic terror." He turned to the ghost boy, a feature-splitting grin on his face.
Phantom hung suspended in the air for a moment before his eyes rolled back in his head and he flopped to the ground. "Inviso—uh, I mean, Phantom!" Jack rushed to him—making a mental note to find out how a ghost could fall unconscious—and knelt by his side, just as two rings of light enveloped his still body.
Jack gaped, eyes bugging so far out they ached. Before him lay his son—his son—scratched and bruised, bleeding from he didn't know how many places, arm bent at a definite wrong angle. Phantom had turned into his son. How could Phantom transform into his son? Unless… Phantom was his son. But for that to be true, Danny would have to be a ghost. And Danny wasn't a ghost.
In a moment of rare clarity, Jack's mind flew back to a year ago… to the lab accident… the Fenton Portal…Danny had been electrocuted… and it stopped there. Try as he might, he couldn't make the connection he knew was there. "I need fudge," he said aloud, adding with a worried look at Danny, "And bandages."
He ate and bandaged and thought, all at once. With a tenderness and care few would've thought he possessed he cleaned his son's cuts, bound his wounds, and set his arm. Danny didn't stir through all his ministrations. Pushing his concern to the back of his mind, he concentrated on the riddle before him. The fudge helped, and talking out loud.
"If Danny had been electrocuted from the Fenton Portal, then… it could've been from an ectoplasmic charge. If Danny had been electrocuted from an ectoplasmic charge, he would've been charged with ectoplasm. Then Danny could've possibly had ectoplasm… in him?" He paused, and wished Maddie were there. He briefly considered calling her, but something stopped him. "Okay, think, Jack, think…. Ow! Not so hard. Let's see. Danny had ectoplasm in him." He paused again, this time in growing revelation. "Ghosts have ectoplasm in them. They're made of ectoplasm; it's what makes them corporeal, and gives them their powers. Danny isn't made of ectoplasm, but he could have ectoplasm in him. Which would make him—" for the second time that night, Jack's eyes threatened to leave his head—"half-ghost."
He looked down at his unconscious son. The bruises were the same as the ones Phantom sported; he even had five crescent shaped gouges in his forehead. "My son is Danny Phantom. Danny Fenton—Danny Phantom." There was silence; then Jack gave a bark of laughter. "Hah! That's clever!"
AN: I was originally planning for the story to cover a bit more stuff, but I got to here, and I really liked it as an ending point. I may write a sequel; what do you guys think? Sequel? Or do you like it ended here?