A/N: Written for the 2019 Phic Phight, based off ZombieMerlin's prompt: School let out early after a ghost attack, and while the crisis has been averted, Phantom is nowhere to be seen. Mr. Lancer finds the boy slumped against his car in the teacher's parking lot, and is struck by how *young* the hero looks. (I promise this is not exactly like The Trouble with Ghosts.) Standard disclaimers apply.

Lancer had not planned on the scheduled ghost drill to give way to the real thing, but he knew he'd never get to finish his lesson on Macbeth now. Not today, anyway. For good reason, his students had scattered the moment the hunter ghost had turned up and let his missiles loose on the crowd. Phantom had arrived a moment later, barely managing to protect them as they abandoned protocol and fled. As far as anyone was concerned, final period was finished.

Lancer had tried to follow the protocols, of course, and hastily turned his class over to Tetslaff, who called roll while he doubled back to methodically check his assigned wing of the school to see if any student had been caught unawares (unlikely, given the wailing alarms inside and the rather loud explosions going off outside). None had, of course. This hadn't been the first drill or the first attack this month.

He had just found himself rather thankful that the fight seemed to be over by the time he had finished. Fewer than five minutes had passed while he'd been inside the school, but by the time he'd returned, his students were gone (all the students, really, barring a few stragglers), neither Phantom nor Skulker was anywhere to be seen, and the Red Huntress was little more than a dark blur in the sky as she shot away on her jet sled.

"Go home," Tetslaff said when she saw him. "All your kids decided to end the day with the twelve-minute run, even Fenton and Foley." She snorted and shook her head. "Makes me think I oughta move up testing day—or maybe see if I can hire a ghost to chase them."

Lancer smiled weakly, but he could see Miss Manson hovering at the end of the block, and Mr. Fenton and Mr. Foley were surely with her. "You could treat this as extra credit," he suggested mildly.

That earned him another snort. "They'll get credit where credit is due. Now head out. I'll see to the stragglers. It's not your turn to clear the school, anyway."

She was right—Falluca was on rotation this week—but Lancer had made a habit of doing it himself anyway, as an extra precaution. Despite all the teachers being certified to clear the school for re-entry to both staff and students, he had never liked the idea of the responsibility being left to one or two people alone. Still, he didn't want to argue with Tetslaff. He saw no point in fighting a losing battle, and likely as not, she'd help Falluca on the rounds before giving the go-ahead to the custodial staff to begin cleanup efforts.

Tetslaff turned and marched toward a small cluster of students, clearly assuming he was going to listen to her, so Lancer headed for the faculty parking lot. There wasn't much damage in this area, and he assumed the fight had gone in a different direction. The few potholes that pockmarked the lot were nothing compared to the craters he'd seen in the past.

Lancer fished the keys out of his pocket, walked past Principal Ishiyama's vehicle, and stopped dead.

Slumped with his back against the front wheel of Lancer's little car was Phantom.

His head lifted at Lancer's approach, wary green eyes still clear and focused.

"Phantom?" The name came out as a whisper. Lancer had never expected to run into Phantom like this. He knew the fight was over. Phantom always disappeared after he was through protecting everyone. So why was he still here?

Phantom's lips quirked into a half smile. "Hey, Mr. Lancer."

Lancer wasn't entirely surprised that Phantom knew his name, given the many attacks at the school.

He was surprised by how young the boy looked. He couldn't have finished high school before—

"I'm guessing this is your car," Phantom said slowly. "Sorry. I…I kinda needed a place to hide, I guess."

Lancer had never found it odd that Phantom's speech patterns didn't differ in the slightest from those of his students, and he was suddenly struck by what that meant. Not only had Phantom died young, but he had died recently. In the past, Lancer had always assumed that Phantom had come from the Ghost Zone, like all the other ghosts, but what if—

"I'll be outta your way in a sec," Phantom mumbled, beginning the careful process of climbing to his feet. Lancer didn't miss the smear of bright green ectoplasm on the side panel of his car, nor what looked to be a still-bleeding hole in Phantom's side—or the accompanying stain on his normally-white gloves.

"Wait," Lancer said. "Let me help. I have a first aid kit in the trunk."

Emotions flickered over Phantom's face—shock, relief, dismay—before settling on what looked like stubborn determination. Lancer recalled the Fentons' Ghost Information Sessions and how ghosts supposedly had no true emotions, that anything resembling such was merely the product of manipulation or the obsessions which drove them. He had never thought to argue before.

"That's okay," Phantom said as Lancer unlocked the trunk. "I'll be fine."

Lancer found the first aid kit in its usual corner, closed the trunk lid, and raised his eyebrows at Phantom. "How long does it typically take ectoplasm to clot?" He wasn't even sure if ectoplasm did clot or if ghosts' healing abilities more closely resembled regeneration.

Clearly, Phantom was little more informed on the subject than he was. "Uh…."

He handed Phantom some gauze and then reached up to undo his tie. Phantom stared at him blankly when he held it out. "You can't expect to hold that in place yourself all the time," Lancer explained, nodding at the gauze.

"Oh. Right."

Phantom looked so baffled, trying to hold the gauze in place and figure out where to position the tie. Lancer reached for the ends with a quiet, "Do you mind?" and tied them tightly in response to Phantom's grateful look. It wasn't the best solution—this was really a reminder for him that he needed to restock his first aid kit regularly; he could have used a proper bandage right now—but it should hold until Phantom got to wherever he was going, to do whatever he usually did. Granted, the fact that he wasn't already on his way was more worrisome than Lancer cared to admit.

"What happened, if I may ask?"

Phantom winced. "The Red Huntress upgraded to some kind of missile I can't phase through, but I thought I could so I didn't try to dodge it. I'm hoping Skulker doesn't get the same upgrade, considering half the time they have the same supplier."

Lancer frowned. The idea that a ghost hunter and a ghost would get their technology from the same place was baffling. Surely Phantom wouldn't use the word supplier if the hunter ghost scavenged for all his needs? He didn't imagine that ghosts could pay, so money shouldn't be a motivation to supply both sides of a fight, so why—?

"It's fine. I'll just be more careful next time."

There was that word again. Fine. Phantom had never looked further from it.

"How long has this been going on?" Lancer asked carefully. In truth, he could count the things he knew about Phantom on one hand; most information was speculation or conjecture. The ghost boy was a hero, trying to do what was right or make up for his mistakes, but he was young—both in age and as a ghost. But why help them if he had no ties to Amity Park? And if he did, who was the connection?

Who was the infamous ghost boy?

Or, rather, who had he once been?

"The upgrades?" Phantom asked, looking puzzled. "Or them hunting me? Because they're always getting upgrades, both of them, and they've pretty much been hunting me from day one. I mean, I didn't even meet Skulker until he was trying to get my pelt, and the Red Huntress thinks I ruined her life, so that one's kinda on me. Even if what happened to her wasn't really my fault."

Ghosts had been a regular occurrence in Amity Park before the Red Huntress had ever shown herself, and Phantom's answer didn't give any indication whether or not he'd first met the self-proclaimed Ghost Zone's Greatest Hunter in the Ghost Zone. Lancer watched him carefully, but Phantom didn't seem to be looking around for anyone. He must have friends as well as enemies, but if he'd contacted any of them, he must not expect them yet.

Or perhaps they were the ones expecting him.

At least Phantom seemed steadier on his feet now, and he'd always been alert, even if that had been from pain at first. Lancer couldn't help but wonder how much of what Phantom was showing him was a mask, perhaps even a mask like the Fentons believed all ghosts wore; Phantom's wound had not been small, and if ghosts could feel pain, or at the very least phantom pain, then it would surely hurt. How much of his improvement was due to his healing and how much of it was him faking it for Lancer's sake?

"I'm rather unclear about everything," Lancer confessed, wanting to say something to break the stretching silence.

Phantom shifted on his feet. "Um…."

"You do so much for the people of Amity Park," Lancer clarified. "You've saved us, saved me, countless times. And I'm afraid I don't have the faintest idea why."

Phantom blinked. "Because it's the right thing to do?"

"No one would have thought any less of you if you had never stepped up," Lancer pointed out. "Amity Park does have resident ghost hunters, after all. You didn't need to come over from the other side just to protect us."

"Oh." Phantom blew out a breath. "That's…. Yeah. I, um, didn't."

Lancer waited.

Phantom tugged on his bandage. The knot loosened, and he made a face. "Sorry," he muttered, accepting Lancer's help to retie it. "I just…. I dunno. It's kinda better if people don't ask."

"You don't live in the Ghost Zone, do you?" Lancer didn't need Phantom to flinch to know that was the right answer. "You live here. You aren't just protecting all of us; you're protecting your home."

Phantom avoided his eyes, but he nodded.

"Are you as young as you seem?"

"Huh?"

"Are you…" Lancer hesitated, but he couldn't think of a gentler way to say this, so he finished with, "…new?"

"What?" Phantom looked vaguely alarmed now. "Are you just asking if I'm a teenager or do you seriously want to know if I was recently killed or something like that?"

Killed, not died. That explained quite a lot about Phantom. Of course, the fact that he was a ghost explained a lot about Phantom in the first place. Those who had had peaceful deaths had no reason to linger. Phantom had no obvious wounds on him, but Lancer had no idea if ghosts ever did—or if the scars from their lives were carried in more invisible ways.

Phantom's bluster evaporated. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I'm young. New. Whatever. On both counts."

Now, more than ever, he looked it.

However, Lancer had not heard of any children in Amity Park who had died, at least not within the last few decades. There certainly hadn't been any murders since he'd started teaching, and he couldn't remember any news stories about someone going missing. He hadn't heard tell of any suicides or fatal illnesses or anything else that could potentially have been mistaken for something it wasn't, and—

Phantom sighed. "It was an accident. Since you're obviously wondering." He leaned against Lancer's car again and stared at his boots. "I dunno if it was really my fault or anyone else's, but it happened, and this happened, and now I'm here."

"You moved here?"

"I don't want to talk about this," Phantom said again. "If you want to talk, can't it be about something else?"

He didn't want his identity known. If he'd moved here, even if that move had been after the accident and he'd simply moved to stay close to his family, that would make him easier for Lancer to track. And if he hadn't, it was entirely possible that Lancer knew parents, had perhaps even taught them or one of his siblings, if he had any.

It also made it rather likely that his family didn't realize he was a ghost and had taken to haunting them when he wasn't protecting the town.

For all Lancer knew, Phantom hadn't even been able to materialize before coming to Amity Park—or at least not before the Fentons had gotten their Ghost Portal fully operational and changed whatever it was they had changed. Correlation did not necessarily mean causation, but Lancer would have still put money on that one. Amity Park's ghosts were rather different from others of which he'd heard tell.

"I really will be fine," Phantom said when Lancer didn't answer. "The stuff the Red Huntress uses…. It's not designed to actually kill me. Just slow me down, I think."

Lancer didn't have the heart to correct Phantom's verbal slip. He was young, too young, and taking on more responsibility than he needed to because he thought he had to, saving them all in the process. At least Phantom had the near-invincibility to go with his reckless attitude now.

Lancer eyed Phantom's side. Green had stained the bottom few layers of the gauze, but the flow seemed to be stemmed. "You didn't think she carried weapons that could counteract your intangibility, either."

Phantom made a face. "This is different. I'm no use to him dead. Um, I mean destroyed. I'm needed alive. If the Red Huntress gets to kill me, that doesn't come till later."

No use to him dead? No use to whom dead?

Lancer had a thousand questions, but Phantom had already moved on. "Besides, this might be different, but it's not the worst she's given me. When you see me tomorrow, you won't even know this happened."

"When I see you tomorrow?"

"If," corrected Phantom quickly. "I meant if. I'm, uh, not coordinating these ghost attacks or anything like that. I know that's one of Mo-uh, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton's theories, and it's wrong. Y'know. For the record."

"Duly noted."

Phantom's shoulders sagged with relief. "Thanks. And, um, I'd kinda appreciate you not mentioning that making phase-proof missiles is possible. That's why I hid from the Red Huntress. I didn't want her to know it had worked." He bit his lip. "I'm, ah, sorry about your car."

Lancer's heart sank. "My car?"

"That's why I was waiting for you. Well, whoever owned this car. I didn't know it was yours. See, I'd just caught Skulker when the Red Huntress turned up, and when she shot me, I kinda…fell. On your car. At the front, on the passenger side. Whatever she shot me with, um, messed with my equilibrium I guess?" He looked like he wasn't even sure if that was the right word. "I think she figured I scrammed, like I normally do. I'm lucky she didn't do more than a cursory scout. If she'd had time to pull out of her ghost tracker, she would've been on me in a heartbeat."

Lancer just stared at him.

"Your car was high enough that I could hide under it," Phantom added. "Do you think me hitting it still counts as accidental damage? I mean, you're not at fault, and that's a big car insurance thing, right? I don't really understand this stuff. I'm not old enough to drive yet."

And he wouldn't be.

Ever.

Even if he was, clearly, old enough to destroy a car. Lancer could only hope that it hadn't been totalled. He edged forward a few inches to get a better look and grimaced; he'd have to assess the damage properly before he tried to start it, but it didn't look pretty.

Still, this hadn't been Phantom's fault, either. Not really. Lancer had no doubt about that. The ghost boy was being hunted, and he still remembered what it was like to be alive. To be human. To worry about human things, and to be willing to admit to his mistakes and the accidents he'd caused.

Lancer could appreciate that, if nothing else.

"I can't really pay you back if it's not covered," Phantom said in a tiny voice. "Kinda like I can't do anything for all the property damage. Trying to avoid all that never seems to help."

Lancer let out a slow breath. "Heroism is not without its risks," he acknowledged. He sincerely doubted insurance would cover the damage to the car, but that was something for him to worry about, not the young ghost—the young boy—in front of him. "Thank you for your honesty, and for all you do for this town. For our town."

Phantom shot him a relieved smile and stepped back, presumably preparing to run away—or fly off, since his sense of balance seemed to have returned—and Lancer stopped him with a raised hand. "If I may be so bold as to ask," he said when Phantom hesitated, "will you tell me your story?"

"I…I don't—"

"It doesn't have to be now," Lancer said. "I'm only asking to hear it sometime."

Phantom still looked unhappy. "Just sometime?"

"I am rather fond of stories, and I know the value of waiting for one."

Phantom licked his lips, and then he nodded slowly. "Okay. Sometime, then. I'll tell you my story. To make up for, well, everything, I guess." Then, quieter, "There's just some other people who should hear it first."

His family, no doubt. Lancer smiled. "Of course. I understand. I'll let you tell me when you're ready."

"Thanks, Mr. Lancer," Phantom said, and then he vanished. Presumably, he didn't want to give Lancer any more clues to his story than he already had—including which direction he went in for help.

That was fine by Lancer, at least for now. Phantom surely knew he could come to him if he needed to, and Lancer would happily do what he could. The poor boy's life had been cut short; his afterlife should hold more than terror and fights and sacrifice. He'd proven the goodness of his soul countless times, and he didn't deserve to be hunted like he was.

Lancer just hoped that Phantom found someone, assuming he hadn't already. Lancer rather doubted he'd make a particularly good mentor, but he'd try to fill that role if Phantom decided to put him in it. But, maybe, in the meantime— Perhaps he could gather evidence of Phantom's lingering humanity. The Fentons were people of science; they'd surely at least entertain the idea if he was diligent in his research. They may never fully trust Phantom—he rather doubted they'd ever fully trust any ghost—but if they would at least call a truce with him….

Yes. That's what he'd do. For Phantom. For the boy he had been, the one who had died too young and who had surely grown up with these grand ideas of what a hero was and should be and now did his best to live up to those ideals. He wasn't the lowest of the low, and he wasn't an infallible hero; he was a boy who was trying his best for the people he loved, and seeing his true self merely required shifting one's vantage point.

Lancer wanted the best for his students, after all, and even if Phantom wasn't one now…. He might have been, under different circumstances. Likely would have been, were it not for the accident he'd mentioned.

And he deserved better.