It’s Christmas, Danny Phantom!
Welcome to the Superphantom Christmas special! I honestly can’t say I’m the biggest fan of Christmas myself, so this mayyy be a little bit of Santa slander. sorry? I hope to have the entire fic posted by Christmas, but it’s getting a bit longer than I intended for it to be. Either way, I’m having a really fun time writing it. Enjoy the prologue!
The picking had been rather dry for the last few months on the hunting front. Near complete silence from murderous supernatural creatures should be a good thing, a chance to relax. Instead, they were getting incredibly stir crazy. The library was almost completely catalogued, a testament to just how bored they were. Dean had turned to cleaning out the impala. He sorted through weapons, bottles of various substances (lamb’s blood doesn’t keep well. Especially when left under a seat for god knows how long), and old papers and floppy discs washed up into seams like they were sand the ocean had swept in. That last one was quite a surprise to find. With their Dad having died literal years ago and their general ransacking of all his notes there was little they didn’t know about his life. Or so they thought, at least.
Dean carried in a light cardboard box. All the technology within it was years out of date.
“Sammy, come look at this,” He shouted as he walked through the kitchen into the war room. Sam (who was rereading and notating a particularly dry book on Australian myths) shot in.
“What is it? Do you have a case?”
“Maybe. I think I found some of Dad’s old stuff, like old stuff.” He said, holding up a blue floppy disc.
Sam considered it, snapping and pointing at him. “Hold on, I remember unpacking a reader with all of Frank’s stuff.”
Sam, god bless him, took less than two minutes to go from the storage room they’d designated as the tech closet and back. Neither of them was particularly great with technology, especially as far as setting it up goes. A life on the road’ll do that to you. But messing with wires and trying not to get shocked was a welcome change. Finally, they had a new task to work towards. The computer systems were much too old to run tech as recent as the 80s, but the screens still worked just fine when running solely on the reader, if a little slow, malformed, glitchy. It was like running twitter on a 3Ds.
Three grey files popped up on the screen. The computer lacked a mouse, so Sam had to tediously click through them on the keyboard. The way Dean breathed over his shoulder, you would think him the younger sibling. Sam double clicked on the first one. A little loading ball appeared, rotating in small black and white increments. The lack of progress bar was a little disheartening. Each tick of the ball seemed to come slower than the last.
“You want snacks? I’m gonna go get some snacks.” Dean left his brother to lean on his palm and attempt to keep his eyes open. A bag of pretzels later the file finally opened. It was an archive of a newspaper, The Spectator. A big red banner ran across the top of the screen, headlined with the University of Wisconsin logo. The front page was pretty standard, welcoming students back to campus and giving their opinions on housing prices and coffee shops. A few pages down in the entertainment section a small clipping on band called the Skunk Punks caught his eye.
“Look at those mullets, yikes.”
“It was a different time.” Dean shook his head.
The real kicker was at the very bottom, barely a paragraph long. Tacked onto the bottom was a grainy photo of a woman and two men, all with iconically 80s haircuts.
Pictured: The Ectobiology Research Club. PhD Students Jack Fenton, Maddie Walker and Vlad Masters have successfully constructed “the first fully functional portal to the Ghost Zone”. Meetings are at 8 daily, all are welcome.
“Ghost Zone, huh. That sound familiar to you?” Dean squinted at the words as if the blocky text might contain more detail.
Sam shook his head. “Not that I can remember. Either way a portal to anywhere sounds like a bad idea.”
The next file took half the time to load, still enough to brew a pot of coffee. Dean set the pot down on the map table, wisely keeping it nearby. This page was full of notes. Photocopied chicken scratch of equations and diagrams, all detailing a miniature portal. Trying to read it cohesively was impossible, and figuring it out in chunks was just as boring as all the reading and organising they’d been doing before.
The third one contained screenshots. This time of emails.
To: Jack Fenton
5779025813356327189 Thurs. 20 Nov 1980 10:42
From: Owen Booker
8790976895877463565
What exactly is the function of your “Ghost Zone Portal”? I have great interest in your work and would like to meet up to compare notes.
“Not another portal, for fuck’s sake.”
From: Jack Fenton Thurs. 20 Nov 1980 11:00
5779025813356327189
We’re studying ghosts bringing the supernatural to the forefront! Club meetings are at 8 all are welcome we will be happy to see you!!!!!
“He’s Dad’s friend, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
To: Jack Fenton Thurs. 20 Nov. 1980 11:00
5779025813356327189
I will be there. Thank you.
“Jack Fenton… I feel like I’ve heard that name before. Any chance this email is still active?”
From: Jack Fenton Mon. 1 June 1985 01:00
5779025813356327189
To: Owen Booker
8790976895877463565
Hello! Sorry for the break in correspondence, there was an accident. On the plus side, we’ve made exciting new strides in our research! Come over and catch up anytime, Jack and I have relocated. Look us up in Amity Park, Michigan.
“Oh, they got married. Good for them.”
“Wasn’t there three of them though? What’dya think happened to the other guy.
From: Jack Fenton Fri. 12 Jan 1987 12:27
5779025813356327189
To: Owen Booker
8790976895877463565
Hello! Happy New Year. Just wanted to let you know we’ve relocated. 336 Sattee Creek Way, look for the Fenton Works sign, you can’t miss it. One of our samples has shown reactivity to harsh weather. More details will be provided in person.
“Sounds like a hipster tech startup.”
“Timing’s right, it might be one.”
From: Jack Fenton Fri. 14 May 1990 15:50
5779025813356327189
To: Owen Booker
8790976895877463565
Big project in progress. I think you’ll be interested. Feel free to bring George and Logan along. We have a new son.
“George and Logan? Those are really the names Dad chose for us?”
“You’re just mad ‘cuz you got George.”
“Shut up, you’re George.”
From: Jack Fenton Sun. 28 Sept. 1996 03:03
5779025813356327189
To: Owen Booker
8790976895877463565
First official tests failed. What do you know about motors? Tests on enhancing explosive properties are inconclusive.
“I don’t like that these people have explosives.”
“It says inconclusive. Maybe they didn’t work?”
From: Jack Fenton Mon. 07 Jan. 2000 07:41
5779025813356327189
To: Owen Booker
8790976895877463565
Thank you for stopping by. Hope you had a safe drive. Seeing some new progress on the portal. Should be up and running in the next few years. We’d like to invite you to come over next year as well.
“Looks like they didn’t end up getting blown up, that’s good.”
“Looks like Dad was with them for New Years. He said he was hunting a shapeshifter.”
“Oh, I remember that year. I mean, speaking of explosives…”
From: Jack Fenton Sat. 30 Nov. 2008 23:10
5779025813356327189
To: Owen Booker
8790976895877463565
Hey bookie! Guess what! I cannot tell you i n email. Remember when you used to come over for holidays ? we are having a party would love to see you. Come stay for christmas you can stay in dannys room!!!!!!!!!
“This one’s from only a few days ago,” Sam frowned. “What do you think?”
“Why the hell not, we need to check out this portal of theirs anyway. You feelin’ merry, Sam?”
“You bet. But if you put the on Christmas station in the car, I am jumping out.”
“Jingle bells! Jingle bells!…….”
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