Wow, this blew up. Didnât think peeps would like it so well. I feel I gotta say that this was specifically inspired by, but not accurately representative of, goodfish_bowlâs fic Dead to the World on A03, a story about Danny waking up at his own funeral, I love it and highly recommend. (Edit while this was still in drafts: I POSTED THIS YESTERDAY AND ITS AT THE TOP OF THE Danny Phantom TAG!?! Iâve never been in in the top tags, let alone THE TOP OF THE TAG! Good golly just WOW! Also loving reading the tags people have been commenting in. Very much appreciate bringing forth such strong emotions.)
I considered writing a fic on my interpretation if things had been a little different, but the image in my head was stronger, so I instead chose to draw. There are a number of ways that this could be interpreted but Iâll list my own initial train of thought anyway for anyoneâs interest, cause I doubt Iâll actually write it, though yâall are free to ignore any or all of this and think of it however youâd like.
My original thought was âwhat if he didnât wake up until he was buriedâ and assumed that his parents would make a custom casket to set his in, to keep other ghosts from messing with his remains. And, if their fears came true and he did become a ghost, itâd keep him there, force him to rest so he wouldnât suffer his existence as a monster haunting the living.
(Though if you really want to get messed up, you could have it so they knew he was half ghost.)
But anyway, heâd try to get out but notice some things and get a little zap before realizing that he canât. And being still sorta alive in there, unable to get food or energy for his new ghost half and core, heâs starving. He makes a noise through his already ravaged throat from screaming thatâs unfamiliar but distressingly new, and starts keening.
When ghosts started coming through the portal, partway through whatever destruction of their choice theyâd notice something and stop. Theyâd then head to the graveyard and towards Dannyâs grave, always Dannyâs grave. Theyâd dig and shoot, hit and tear at the metal casket, though it stung them through every fiber of their being, shouting that theyâd get the âchildâ out. People, primarily the Fentons, would come and stop them before they could. Before being sent back to the zone, some ghosts would ask why they couldnât hear him crying, it was so loud and painful, and would torture the child so. Otherâs wouldnât knowing human ears would not be able to understand it even if they could hear.
Perhaps after so many hits, thereâd be a crack or two, nothing large, quite small ones actually, but large enough for tiny spirits to slip through, though slightly singed. Wisps and blobs and little spooks, hearing him would come to his aid, bringing food and water intangibly though the ground and gifting energy and company to keep him fed and lasting. Some going back and forth through the ghost zone to relay his call for help.
Eventually, someone gets to him. Someone hears or notices him or the ghosts acting around his grave, dig him out, takes off both lids of each casket, and sees the sight above. Who is half the fun, could be human could be ghost.
My initial thought was Pariah Dark because if a previous ghost wasnât able to get through yet, who could? And imagine how messed up that would be for people in Amity. A ghostly army invades your town and suddenly youâre transported to a different dimension. A man, a king, is there holding the famous billionaire by his throat, threatening him for his theft when he stops. He goes in the direction of the cemetery, everyone already knowing his destination as was every other ghost that had come before. Undead thralls holding back the Fentons and gang trying to now guard the grave at the sight of the onproaching specter. He gets past the defenses that have been layered and layered with every ghost attack, comes to the headstone, pulls the box out of the ground and tears it open. He stops a moment before pulling out a shaking, whimpering and whispering child with unfocused glowing eyes, shocking all that could see.
There were two different routes that I had thought could happen from here. Pariah could see the casket be akin to his own sarcophagus and that the childâs containment over such a long time had driven him partly mad, made more obvious by how he clung to the deadly threatening ghost holding him by the nape of his neck like a kitten. If the child were a weaker soul, he would have already faded gruesomely. But he had not, showcasing his high strength and will. And there Pariah claimed him.
The other option was that he did not hesitate and crushed Vladâs skull in hand, forcing him as a ghost to be taken away and be properly destroyed in spirit. And when he found the boy, seeing his tomb and far off eyes, he held pity, dropping the child and held his foot above his head, prepared to grant him mercy and end his living life. And heâd either grant him as such or Clockwork, hurt and injured, would fly through a portal, whisk Danny from the ground from beneath the lowering heavy boot, clutched in his arms, look to Pariah and say âThis is not the way itâs supposed to be.â and vanish.
