#and watching incongruous parts of him working and doing things he shouldn't

[redrobin-detective]

Spectrum

Craig Matheson did not like ghosts. However, living in Amity Park had made him learn to accept the presence of the dead. He didn’t like ghosts and he liked them even less up close but given the situation he’d once more learned to live with the impossible.

He didn’t really know the exact details of what was going on, he was a 20 year old psych major at the community college but it was bad enough that some of the ghosts decided to ally themselves with humans. Craig didn’t know all that much about ghosts or ectowhatever or whatever gobblygook the Fenton’s were constantly spouting on the TV. But Craig did know people and that’s why the last few days, human and ghost in close quarters had been so interesting.

He knew Jazz fairly well, he TA’d Casper’s Intro to Psych when the girl had been a frizzy haired freshman. He liked her in that nice if slightly awkward older to younger student way. Of course he, like everyone in town, knew her family was nuts. But Jazz was levelheaded and brilliant and determined to break away from their nonsense; she was girl who would go places. When the end of the year came, he’d joked to her that he’d better get his degree before she came through and blew him out of the water.

The younger Fenton kid, Danny, Craig didn’t really know aside from Jazz’s occasional grumblings during cram sessions. He’d sounded like your average, annoying little brother. Craig had never met him in person before the emergency. He wishes it had stayed that way.

The first time Craig stood in a room with Danny, he felt the way one does at a zoo when a caged predator locked eyes with you. You knew logically that you were safe but that didn’t stop the instinctual fear from creeping up your spine. Craig lived in a shitty apartment with 2 roommates on campus and wasn’t in the main part of town very often. No one else seemed to notice that the youngest Fenton kid, who had noodles are arms and couldn’t be more than 16, radiated a sticky, staticy aura of danger. Maybe they’re used to it and didn’t realize but Craig couldn’t help but notice people didn’t stand too close to him and his people, let their eyes slide over and away from him.

The first few times, he thought he was being paranoid, picking up the residual anxiety from the crowd. But every time he shared a room with Danny Fenton, even in passing, he got the chills like someone was walking over his grave. Once he put two and two together, he started paying more attention and what he saw... well it added up to something he didn’t quite get.

Danny was quiet but alert. He always showed up every one of the planning meetings, even the ones Craig knew were adults only. He’d just slink on in and slouch in the corner with sharp eyes. Danny frowned at bad news and mumbled quietly to himself when thinking. As much as he put on the ‘bored teen’ act, to anyone paying attention it was clear that Danny was too. But no one was, Craig almost never saw him being shooed away even when other older, experienced towns figures were. Sometimes Craig wondered if they even noticed his presence in those meetings.

He had this presence about him that set Craig’s teeth on edge and made the hairs on his neck stand up and made him feel cold down to his bones. At first glance, he looked like any other teenager but the longer Craig watched him the more he noticed. The sickly pale and slightly green tinged skin. The dark, sunken quality to his eyes reminding Craig of museum mummies that scared him as a kid. His nails and teeth were just a bit too sharp, he moved a bit too fast and almost seemed to blur a bit on the edges. Craig had to stop studying Fenton directly not just because he knew the kid was onto him but he was getting seriously creeped out.

So the boy was a little haunted, he had a portal to hell directly underneath his bedroom. Craig wouldn’t be too shocked if there was some residual contamination with him. But that didn’t explain the ghosts.

Once Craig had stopped watching Danny, he watched how others reacted to him and that was it’s own mystery. While humans seemed to, consciously or not, avoid him, the ghosts sought him out. Horrifying and inhuman spectral beings had glanced over Mr and Mrs Fenton in favor of their son in the back corner. Time and again they appeared to tune out whatever to the experts were saying in favor of the kid who looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. And Danny would lock eyes back, sometimes rolling them, sometimes mouthing something Craig couldn’t catch. And more than once he’d peek into an empty room to find Danny surrounded by ghosts. Ghosts who gave him deferential space, who referred to him and only him by name, who seemed just as scared of Dan as Craig was.

Part of Craig wanted to pull Jazz aside and ask what was going on. What had happened to the cheeky, clingy little brother she used to fondly talk about? When had he become something barely human? Something unspeakably horrifying because he couldn’t place the source of the horror? But Craig also saw the way Jazz, and Danny’s two pals, looked at them. They were also sharp, alert, watching everything and everyone. His friends and him were practically attached at the hip. They’d lounge together, the girl putting her hand in Danny’s back pocket and the boy with a lazy arm over Danny’s shoulder. Like the mythical Cerberus, a three headed monster that operated as a single, deadly being.

Even Craig’s old pal Jazz who he occasionally exchanged emailed updates and memes with, looked ready to pounce on anyone who came near Danny. One time, when he was watching Danny, Jazz stepped into his view and gave him a gentle but firm shake of her head before pulling her brother away. Whatever was going on, Craig wasn’t invited and that was fine by him. After that, Craig just sort of stopped paying attention. He didn’t think about the Fenton boy. He carried a sweater constantly to avoid the occasional, completely ordinary, chill. He kept his head down and his mouth shut because he had realized something important. Whatever was going on in Ghost Land or Spooksville or whatever the fuck they calling that swirling mass of death in the Fenton basement, Danny Fenton was the key to fixing it.

A part of him, the part that wasn’t on edge and terrified, was upset by the idea of a kid being responsible for such an ugly mess. The other larger part wanted the kid to get things fixed pronto so Craig could speed back to his old, broken down apartment and pretend that Fenton’s eyes didn’t light up the color of green death when he stood too close to portal when he thought no one was thinking. He didn’t want to think on what else Fenton was up to when the humans weren’t around.

XxX

Croix did not like humans. However, working in a library close to the permanent human portal had made them learn to accept the presence of humans. Humans were digustingly linear and prone to horrifying acts of change but circumstances had drawn them together.

Croix knew they themselves had been human once, they didn’t know how long ago and didn’t bother to find out. Even their name was chosen postmortem, inspired by a book in his library. Being in the living world made his incorporeal form shutter with distaste. They did not belong here, especially not in the domain of the Phantom.

Oh they may not have left the Zone for at least a few centuries but everyone knew of the Phantom. Travelers spoke of him, books telling of his exploits began to fill the shelves of the library and Croix had found a unique fascination with the creature. They wondered what it must be like to possess the powers of the dead alongside the glorious and ruinous entrapment of the living. It was a conundrum, a mystery, and Croix was quite fond of those. They volunteered to serve as a referential resource in the War if only to study the abomination up front.

The Phantom was not at all like the stories made him out to be.

Croix had heard tales of his mist like hair, the color of bleached bones. They’d gasped reading about the swirling greens of his eyes which mirrored the human portal that had turned him into such a wretched thing. The white tipped claws, the mewling cavernous jaw filled with hundreds of teeth, the force of his fists amplified by a physical body of meat and sinew and bone. The boy before them was something of a disappointment. 

Oh he had the air of the dead about him, the scent of him like a fresh, still warm corpse. But otherwise he looked like any other filthy, nauseating human. It was hard to imagine this pathetic specimen had defeated Pariah Dark, had battled Undergrowth and Nocturne and Vortex and escaped with his core intact. But Skulker gave him his attention, his deference occasionally and that was no small feat. Despite his fearsome reputation as a hunter, Skulker had Croix’s respect as a someone who understood the value or research and study. Skulker often came to the library in search of information about his quarry. Skulker was how Croix had first heard of the Phantom.

Croix did not understand the point of the other humans. Yes, their world was threatened as much as Croix’s but they offered nothing but distraction and wasted time. Why could they not speak to the Phantom directly, as the representative of the human world who understood ghost custom, he did not understand. But he had been informed, before he crossed over the veil for the first time since death, that the other humans did not know of the Phantom’s true nature. So began a ridiculous pantomime.

Great and mighty ghosts listened to meat beings talk about idea they had no notion even of the scope while they discussed real battle plans with the Phantom, hidden from view. The Phantom scurried around the humans, acting small and pitiful while he back was tall, head high amongst the dead. As much as the living dead contradiction intrigued him, the actual being proved to be less interesting. It really was true, you never should meet the unmentionable monstrosity you have a vague fascination for. Oh well, Croix was unbothered. Death was unending, unchanging and interests were merely fixed moments in time which passed without care. Croix would simply find something else to pique their interest. Once the War was done.

Croix was sorting through some of their documents when they notice the Phantom and some other humans have come down to their chambers. Oh how they despised having to covert their collection to physical form. How burdensome to exist in one centralized space for the convenience of a species who haven’t bothered to find a way to circumnavigate death because they understand that living is too aggravating to do forever.

“We need some information,” one of the humans said. “What are the oldest documents you have on the Zone? How it formed, how it came to be?” Croix ignored them in favor of reviewing their documents. They tried to interact with the humans as little as possible, if the Phantom needed something he could address them properly without using meat proxies.

“Hey, ghost guy, we need that information now. We’re kind of on a time crunch here,” another said. Or perhaps the same one. Differentiating corporeal beings was quite exhausting and Croix had run out of patience for that decades ago. They kept reading over their books. There was a distorted crackle in the air and Croix glanced up at the Phantom.

"m̷̧̼̹̙͉̤͓͎̯͔̪̥̔̈́̓̈́̀̿̀̍̀̎ý̸̟̹͎͔̪̊́̄͝ ̴͖̯̻̹̩͉̩͎́̇̈͌̀͛̔̊́͂̃̕͠f̵̢̩͈̈́̒̂̓̎̓̈́̒͒̀̚͠r̸̗̗̭͎̘̻̪̈́̀̔́͆͑̊̈̇͐͂̃̅͜͝ĩ̵̛͈̞̪͇̤̪̰̮̲̐͗̈́̈̅͝͝e̸̡̛̲̮͚̫̭̩̼̗̎̂̿̔͝n̷̛̥͙̟̥͚̻̅̈̍̂͋̔̂͘͝d̶̹͐s̸̠̗̖͆̉͒̈́̀̏̂͛ ̷̹̤͖̘̺͉̈͋̿̉a̵̛̝̫̹̥̝͌͊͐̔̍͗̄̈́̊̿̋͘̚͠ś̴̢̱̲̫͙̪̩̟͖̠̒̈́̃͜͜͠ķ̵̧̡̗͎̭͔̝̰͔͖̹̣͖͚̆̊̍͊́̽̈̾̊̇́é̴͕̗͈̗̻͔̥͓̰͍͇̔̀́̉̓̽d̶̢̨̦̹̪͍̩̤̹̞̪̼̋͊͋ ̶̢̮̼̠̞̩̠̰̳̖͑̅͗̈́͐͘̕ÿ̷͚͎̞̫̱̥͉͈̮͒͊͠ͅỏ̸̡̞͚̘̖͍̞̘͚̦͓̞̗̠͆̅͘͜͝ụ̶̝͛̋͛̌̇̒ ̸̺͕̥̫͖̠̮̺̥̮͚͍͙̅́͋͛́̍a̶̖͓̩͇̋͐̓̂̈́̀̆̀͂̅ ̶̢͕͍̞̀̿͑̓q̶̨͔͔̖̬̗͈̟͙͓̱͉̱͔̘̓̒̎̀̍u̵̦̤̲̬͎͔̹̮͖͆̓̆̑͑͌̇̄̆̀̈́̚͠͝ȩ̶̱̬͉̹̥̘͙͉͚͔̗͍̯̇͒̾̍͠s̶̢̤͚͓̯͕͖͙̥̮̆̇̓͌̈́̽̏̐̚͝t̷͇͔͉̝̮̙͍̙̩̪̝̜̀͝ȋ̵̛͇̆͑͠o̵̳͂̃͌͌͆̊̾̈́̀͊͗͝n̴̢̛̙̤͍̯̬̠̥͔͓̽͗͜" the Phantom said in Ghost. His mortal shell only bore the faintest trace of humanity. But it wasn’t his body that had Croix feeling fear, genuine fear, it was the bright flashing of the Phantom’s core which was so bitterly, achingly cold. It reminded Croix, for a moment, of the chill of death coming for him. Of how his body, now long since dust, had felt in those last moments before it all went black. Centuries dead and yet the fear of death was breathing down his neck. Croix moved his head up but kept his eyes down.

“What information does the Phantom require?” Croix asked shakily, doing their best not to decoporealize into ectoplasm. Now they understood the myths, why the Phantom emerged victorious time and again. He may be a monster, a damnation, a blight upon the living and the dead... but he walked between and was a reminder to all of that bitter, frightful transition period. A core powered by that impossible, infinitesimal balance and yet.

“Danny, are you kids down here?” A voice, human, asked from elsewhere. the Phantom pulled back, the green fading to blue and the shadows returning to flesh.

“Yeah Mom, we’ll be up in a second,” he responded like he was just another normal human. Like he wasn’t the most terrifying, powerful creature in this plane or the next.

“Well what are you doing down here?” The voice sighed.

“Oh you know, looking around,” the Phantom grinned at Croix and his teeth were sharp as knives. Croix shakily handed over the documents the Phantom requested. They were old and very valuable but Croix was hardly going to deny a being with such power anything at this point. “We’ll be up in a second.” the Phantom called back, once more looking mostly human.

But he wasn’t, Croiz wasn’t entirely sure what he was but they wanted nothing to do with it. The Phantom and his humans left and Croix couldn’t help but wonder how he could move so quietly among the humans. Why did he play pretend when he could be a god? Croix had not been alive for a long time, had lost motivation for human desires such as greed and power but still. He wondered what the Phantom was like in his human skin, when the ghosts weren’t around. How did a wolf play the part of a sheep so well that they treated him as lesser? How did the sheep not sense that one who walked among could bite into their necks at any time?

Best not to think about really. This really wasn’t Croix’s area, they belonged in the library where everything was dead and simple. This, the world of the living and the horrifying shades that permeated from it, it wasn’t for him. They would keep their head down and their mouth shut until this war passed and they could flee back to where the laws of reality made sense. Where someone wasn’t both powerful and weak in the very same undead heartbeat.

#inspired by that one post I did I'll link it #wanted two outside POVs of Danny: one human one ghost #both picking up that Danny is Not Right #but according to their own set of rules #Danny very clearly isnt human #but he also isnt a ghost either #and watching incongruous parts of him working and doing things he shouldn't #idk ive been typing a while words escape me #yeah its a thing #betcha thought i wouldnt be writing for DP again so soon huh?