All I want is to have Jazz Fenton stuff doing her own thing, but the internet isn't giving me much so I'm going to do it myself.
me rambling about life 👇
I really want to make a Jazz Phantom webtoon, but these last few months I've barely had any time for myself since I got a temporary job. Because of this, I haven't been able to continue with my other comics and have only done small things. But I think it's better to focus on simpler projects, so if I do make a comic, it will be about Jazz, and I'll do it in webtoon format.
My temporary job is almost over, so soon I'll have to get another job, or maybe start an original personal project (webcomic) and see how it goes.
Okay so out of morbid curiosity Danny decided to read some phantom fanfic (in universe there has got to be some you know it) and he’s talking about this 40 chapter angst fic and he approaches Paulina to compliment her as she’s the author and she’s horrified as he was one of the characters as a minor villain that dies spurring his parents to double their efforts to destroy Phantom and she’s just staring at him as he really liked the speech he made and the way his villain arc almost became a redemption arc before dying.
The last chapter ended on a cliffhanger and he couldn’t wait for the sequel fic she’s planning.
“Anyways, got to go. Bye Paulina!”, he leaves as she’s frozen in place.
Dash is next to her and is equally distraught as he’s wondering if he’s next and if he needs to delete his self insert one shot crack fic?
What’s worse is when he does it as Phantom and talks to Star and Valerie. Kwan nopes out of there and tells Paulina that Phantom knows and reads her fics!
“He was talking to Star and Valerie about it too!”
Oh gawd when the fan base found out and his first book as Phantom isn’t a fic but a book of information to make sure they get their characterization right. He also added a chapter or two for Danny Fenton, allies, and enemies. He makes a note that Box Ghost and Lunch Lady are dating and it drives them crazy wanting to know how he knows that but can’t ask him any questions because comments are disabled.
So they debate approaching Fenton about it but don’t want to at the same time. Then he doesn’t acknowledge anything he did.
He does not acknowledge the fanfictions or fanart or anything and now wondering if they all developed psychosis ?
Months later, the book is updated to include ghost wedding traditions and the note of Box ghost and lunch lady being spouses with a child.
Paulina might just scream and shake him if she doesn’t get answers.
More chapters and changes over time to the book are always met with a reaction, but Phantom and Fenton say nothing about it.
Tucker’s fics suddenly all have one comment from Phantom and it’s just “Lol furry boy has a girlfriend now”. The first time Phantom has every commented and it’s Tucker’s and it’s to tell everyone A) he thinks Tucker is a furry B) that TUCKER has a girlfriend C) that said girlfriend is REAL.
Fenton never comments unless it’s in person and he will walk up to you in front of anyone. It’s terrifying.
Someone was with their parents when he started walking towards them and they locked eyes. THEY FXCKING RAN!!! The fastest they ever did. HECK NO!!!!
Something like this. Phantom never comments on fanart and he only ever likes this one guys, named Spike, depiction of himself.
:3 Phantom gave Star an autograph on the back of a Nasty burger napkin with a little doodle.
She framed it on a wall.
Wesley isn’t spared, none shall talk about it or he’ll cry. Absolute bxstxrd behavior.
Danny is diabolical and off handedly mentions Phantom’s clone sister. They look and yeah the book was updated AFTER HE SAID THAT and they get three chapters about her and she is 12 in appearance.
Danny doesn’t know this until way later because he hadn’t actively updated it in a while, but both Jazz and Jacky (Dani) also added that he’s a prince.
Oh that reminds me. Phantom’s book outlines who should never be shipped with him and out of respect a lot of fics got deleted because he was clear with his boundaries. Of course every fandom has toxic members and they usually get ignored or blocked/ deleted.
Tucker took it seriously and made a program to delete the worse of it with an email detailing why things were deleted or blocked and links to therapists and help hotlines plus other resources because the problem might be due to trauma or ignorance. (Sam and Jazz helped with this part)
Inspired by "Sculptor's Dreams" by @bubblegumbeech
Album artwork by @oofouchstovehot
Additional artwork by @spoop-geist
For @invisobang 2025
Jazz likes her dreams, now that the Mask she got from Nocturn gives her complete Control.
The people in Jazz's life aren't nearly as thrilled.
Read bubblegumbeech's phic here: ao3
Check out oofouchstovehot's cover art here: tumblr
Check out spoop-geist's scene art here: tumblr
Listen to the music here: Bandcamp | Spotify
Another year, and another phantastic Invisobang! Thank you, @kinglazrus, for spearheading Invisobang this year, and all years previous! And thank you, @strawberrycamel and @underforeversgrace, for your tremendous help keeping Invisobang running and making it phun!
Thank you, bee, for writing another phenomenal phic in your phantastic world of phantasmal politics! I'm super excited to see where you go next! And thank you, stove and geist, for creating such phantastic art for bee's phic! I love how expressive Spike and Jazz are in your work, geist! And I adore the colors and ambigrams in your cover art, stove!
I hope the music does the story and art justice! Here's to another year of Invisobang!
I love the classic trio and seeing Jazz and Valerie added to the roster, but I also love seeing some fresh faces fighting the good fight. Here's some more people I always picture when I'm thinking about how the team would evolve over the years.
Wes Weston - obviously, you've got to include the fandom's collective child. Once they finally drill the importance of Danny’s secrets into his head, he's actually great at misdirection. It turns out there's a slight memetic effect to the information he spreads that lasts somewhere between 1-2 weeks. It causes people to also disbelieve any evidence of Wes's theory they stumble across later.
Kyle Weston- Kyle is actually his middle name. He did not escape the Weston naming tradition, but he told his kindergarten teacher that his middle name was actually his first name. From that point forward, he learned that: the more outrageous his lies, the more power they held. Kyle may be ridiculously laid back, but that doesn't change the fact that he's been academically tied with Jazz since 1st grade. He knows EVERYTHING that goes on in Casper High and has been covering for Team Phantom ever since the 1st Lunch Lady fight. Good luck getting him to admit to any of this. Danny is still convinced Kyle thinks the moon is made of cheese.
Philip "Spike" Wilkins - the only adult member of the team and the only one with first aid training. Spike was a senior in his first appearance and has since graduated and got his paramedic's certification. One nasty fight led to Spike learning Danny’s identity and calling Jazz to pick him up. The absence of his piercings (can't wear those at work) cause Jazz to not recognize him at first, but that moment of confusion was soon replaced with relief. Spike has been Jazz's best friend and pseudo big brother since she was in 3rd grade. It's not a problem for him to expand that to all of Team Phantom. Looks can be deceiving and the studs and mohawk don't change the fact that Spike is the true Team Mom of the Extended Team Phantom.
Summary: When an old college friend of Jack and Maddie Fenton comes to town, Danny's parents set up a dinner to catch up with him. Of course, that doesn't explain why Sam finds herself invited. Or why Vlad is so interested in her specifically.
...
Something is wrong with Sam’s thermos.
It’s still functioning properly, in that it’s sucked up the ghosts that have shown up since Youngblood last appeared. But it looks like it’s… bulging. Which can’t be good. And Sam could have sworn she’s seen it sparking. Only once so far, thankfully. But if that thing breaks, she’s going to have a massive problem on her hands.
The other problem being, she doesn’t have an easy way to figure out what’s wrong with it. She doesn’t want to go to the Fentons about it. They still want to examine her, for one. And it would undoubtedly create more tension between her and Danny. She doesn’t need more of that. She also doesn’t love the way it would look like she’s only talking to his parents when she needs something from them. It’s not like she hangs out with Mr. and Mrs. Fenton on the regular, but she’s known them as long as she’s known Danny. She doesn’t want Danny to think she cares that little about them. She doesn’t want them to think she cares that little about them, really.
Her second best option is probably to ask Danny if he knows anything, but they’re just coming off of a fight. She doesn’t want to push that relationship too much right now.
And it’s not like she can research this stuff. The only experts on this kind of technology are the people she doesn’t want to ask. Which leaves her very stuck.
She can’t just leave the thermos like this. She doesn’t know how to fix it herself. She can’t ask anyone else how to fix it. So for now, she’s stuck staring at her thermos that looks too full and trying not to panic about it.
Thankfully, something of both a distraction and a solution is provided to her when she walks in late to homeroom.
She’s not exactly at her best at the time. She’s exhausted, for one, after having been woken up an hour early by an octopus ghost. Not hard to beat, but just time consuming enough that she didn’t have time to go back to sleep.
(She thought about just letting it fly off so many times, but then she thought about Danny’s face last time he saw Gaia, and she kept chasing it.)
She’s also not completely herself in the sense that she still feels like crap for the way she’s treated Danny and Tucker the past couple days. She doesn’t ever want to drag them into her ghost nonsense, for several reasons.
But the leftover tension and the exhaustion means she doesn’t really listen to Danny and Tucker at first, just stumbles over to their table and buries her head in her arms, intent on going back to sleep.
Instead, she tunes back in around the time Tucker says, “Wait, they all studied ghosts together? That wasn’t just a thing your parents did?”
Sam drags her head up. “What?”
“Nah, Dad said it was all of them. Apparently they all built the first ghost portal together, but it was way smaller than the one they have now.”
“What ghost portal?” Sam asks, suddenly finding herself very in tune with the conversation.
“My parents apparently built one in college,” Danny says, glancing over at her. “Along with some guy I’ve never met. Who’s also Jazz’s godfather? And he’s coming to visit.”
“Your parents built another ghost portal before they built the one they have in their basement?” Sam asks.
Danny nods. “Yeah.”
“Why haven’t they ever mentioned it before?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Some kind of bad blood between them and Vlad Masters, I think. Oh, that’s the guy who’s coming to visit, by the way.”
“And his name is Vlad?” Sam asks in bewilderment.
“I know right?” Tucker says, cutting in with a grin. “Like, I’m surprised he asked if he can come visit. Wouldn’t someone have had to invite him first?”
“‘Ghosts are real,’” Danny deadpans. “‘Vampires are just an attempt by ghosts to distract us and make us unprepared for their inevitable attempted takeover of mankind.’”
“Uh…” Tucker says.
“Dad,” Danny says in the same deadpan tone. “Anyway, they promise he’s not a vampire.”
“And you buy that?” Tucker asks, back to grinning.
“I’d have to meet the guy first,” Danny says. “But you can tell me yourselves when you come. Oh yeah,” Danny adds, turning to Sam before she can even ask what he means, “Vlad specifically wants to meet my friends and Jazz’s friends, as like, a show of goodwill. So Dad told me to invite you and Tucker to dinner, tomorrow night when he first gets here. It’s really important to him that this goes well.”
Sam doesn’t miss the jab at her in that statement, and she winces. But as she considers the offer, she finds herself with growing relief.
She can totally do that. Heck, she even wants to.
For one, there’s no way that Mr. and Mrs. Fenton can get out the ghost examination equipment in the middle of dinner— well, okay, they could, but it’s much less likely they will if the aim of the night is to meet up with a long-lost college friend. So Sam’s secret will be safe if she goes.
But if this friend is someone they at least studied ghosts with in the past, it’s very possible Sam can still bring up a “hypothetical” problem with a ghost thermos and it won’t be too out of place. It’s the perfect opportunity to get much needed answers, be safe while she’s doing it, and show Danny she really doesn’t want to be a horrible friend every time it comes to his parents! Could this be any more of a perfect situation?
“Uh, Sam?” Danny asks, sounding slightly suspicious.
Sam startles, and realizes she’s been sitting there grinning like an idiot.
“Sorry!” she says, waving her hands in front of her and forcing her expression back to something more normal. “I mean, yes, absolutely, I’d love to come! It’s been too long since I’ve gotten to see your parents try and make edible food!”
That gets a snort out of Danny, at least— his parents’ cooking skills are safely in the ‘allowed to joke about’ category of teasing.
“Hey, careful, talk like that around them and Dad might just decide that takeout is necessary to save their relationship,” he says with a grin. Sam grins back. The tension in the air lessens a considerable amount, and all of them relax.
“That’s a good question, though,” Tucker says, leaning in. “What are they going to make?”
“Mom was thinking pasta,” Danny says. “Since it’s easy, and easy to make a separate sauce for Sam. Sam, are there any issues with spaghetti and vegan meatballs in regards to your new diet?”
Sam considers this, and shakes her head. Most vegan meats are a godsend, actually, since the very intent of them in the first place is harm reduction. They’re expensive, but it’s not like that’s a problem for her family. And Danny’s parents have never once complained about the price, so either they can afford it, or they make sure they can for her sake, which is another of the reasons Sam generally loves them. Or well, loves them outside of ghost stuff.
“Awesome,” Danny says with a nod. “I’ll let mom know.”
“Anything we should bring in regards to this guy?” Sam asks.
“Nope, that’s my family’s job,” Danny says. He smiles just a little bit. “Dad is freaking out about it. I’ve never seen him care this much about what someone thinks of us before. I think if this Vlad guy wasn’t already on board with the ghost stuff, he might actually be trying to hide it.”
“Woah,” Sam says.
“Yeah,” Danny agrees. “But really, just bring yourselves. And if this guy is a total weirdo, we’ll all have something to mock together.”
“Can’t wait,” Tucker says, and they all move on to other topics.
Sam, however, is suddenly looking forward to seeing Danny’s parents for once.
She brings her thermos with her, because she brings her thermos everywhere, but she doesn’t plan on taking it out. She arrives close enough to on time to be polite because her mother would hound her if she did anything else, but she’s hoping for at least a little time to talk to Danny’s parents before dinner starts.
The thermos question is really the only thing on her mind, so when she walks up towards the front of the house and sees the new car out front, she almost glances past it.
Then something in her head says, “hey, that is a car your parents would buy,” and she does a double take.
It is. It’s not obviously so, like the man who owns it doesn’t want to flaunt his wealth, but it’s an expensive car.
And maybe it’s an exception, maybe he just wanted to own this particular car. But her instincts are telling her otherwise. And Sam’s in tune to this kind of thing. She has to be, to avoid it. She knows most of the people her parents spend their time with, so whoever this guy is, he can’t move in their circles. But still. A guy with her parents’ level of wealth wanting to reconnect with people like Mr. and Mrs. Fenton?
Sam looks at the car for another second, then shakes herself. Maybe he’s not as socially motivated. Maybe he liked them, and wants to reconnect. She’s being paranoid for no reason.
She walks up and knocks on the door, swinging her bag over her shoulder and aiming for a “forgot I still had this” kind of casualness.
The door is opened by someone that, surprisingly, Sam knows, though he’s not a Fenton.
“Oh, hey Spike,” she says. “I haven’t seen you since the book club. How’ve you been?”
Spike, usually a man of few words, shrugged in a way that either meant “fine” or “I really loved The Darkening of the Dark Deathly Manor.”
“That’s good,” Sam says. “What are you doing here?”
“Sorry Spike!” comes a voice from further inside. A second later, Jazz appears, and glances out as she keeps talking. “I didn’t mean to vanish, Mom needed my help with—” she stops when her gaze lands on Sam, and her eyes narrow ever so slightly.
Sam blinks. What on earth is her deal?
“Jazz, is that Sam at the door?” comes Danny’s voice from back inside. “Stop standing there and let her in, you need to come help me set the table!”
Jazz sighs and steps back, then gestures at Spike, with a “Come on.”
They both head back and let Sam in, then head to the kitchen. Sam shakes off the weird behavior and walks over towards Tucker, who’s sitting at one of two card tables set up in the living room, and Danny, who’s shown up at the kitchen doorway.
“Hey,” Danny says. His smile is part glad to see her and part relieved, likely at the fact that she showed up at all, which makes Sam’s chest pinch in guilt. “Dinner’s gonna be another half hour or so, but everyone else is already here. Vlad was here when I got home from school.”
“Yeah?” Sam asks, heading over towards him and stopping just behind Tucker. “What’s he like?”
“And more importantly, do we get to make fun of him?” Tucker asks with a grin.
Danny opens his mouth, but before he can answer, a new voice suddenly says, “You must be Samantha.”
All three of them spin around. Emerging from behind Danny in a “Kiss the Cook” apron is who can only be Vlad Masters. He’s taller than she expected, but not as tall as Mr. Fenton. He’s got gray hair that Sam is getting the distinct impression he’d want her to call “silver.” He’s wearing, oddly enough, an incredibly fancy suit under the apron. Something else that fits in her parents’ wealth level, even if this isn’t the style of clothing they’d buy.
Vlad seems to notice Sam analyzing him, because he smiles ever so slightly, in exactly the way rich socialites do. “I’ve heard so much about you,” he says.
“Uh,” Sam takes a step back, “me?”
“Of course!” Vlad claps his hands together in intended delight. “You’re Daniel’s best friend, are you not?”
“Um, we both are,” Tucker chimes in, standing up.
“Of course, of course, forgive me,” Vlad says. He waves his hands, and smiles exactly like Sam’s mother does when she wants to seem apologetic. “Daniel was telling me about that technology you enjoy, yes? Your PDA? Do you have the newest model yet?”
Tucker relaxes, and shrugs. “No, not yet. Nothing wrong with the old one, and it’s expensive, you know?”
“Oh, but a promising young man like you? You need access to the newest and the best. I’ll buy the newest model for you my boy, I won’t hear another word about it.”
Tucker’s mouth falls open. “Seriously?”
“But of course! Think nothing of it, only the best for Daniel’s friends.” Vlad lays a hand on Danny’s shoulder, a little rougher than he intends to (or at least he wants it to seem that way), because Danny winces slightly.
Sam takes a step forward, intent on getting Vlad’s hand off Danny’s shoulder (her mother’s socialite manipulation teaching is good for something), but Vlad removes his hand before she can.
“Speaking of which,” he says, turning to face Danny. “You and your sister need to set the table, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah!” Danny says. He shoots an apologetic smile at Sam and Tucker, then runs back into the kitchen.
“Now,” Vlad says, turning to Tucker. “You go find me an image of that newest model that you want on that device of yours, and I’ll order it for you tonight.”
“You got it!” Tucker calls with a grin, and before Sam can say anything he’s up and running out of the room, likely to grab his PDA.
“You know what, I should go help in the kitchen—” Sam starts, putting on a smile of her own.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it, my dear girl,” Vlad says. He moves just enough to block her way to the door while not being obviously threatening. He starts moving to take off his “Kiss the Cook” apron, the larger movements blocking her way more. “I came with the intent to help, and they haven’t let me do a thing!” He chuckles lightly, and folds the apron over his arm.
“Well, see, I have a very specific diet, so I need to make sure nothing gets mixed up,” Sam says politely, moving to step around Vlad.
“Hm, not a lot of trust you have in your best friend’s parents, is it?” Vlad says lightly. “Why is that?”
Sam has no idea what that question pertains. She says nothing.
Vlad smiles wider. “Don’t worry, my dear, I’m not offended,” he says. “I have some experience myself with the harm their… accidents can cause.”
“They mean well,” Sam says immediately.
“Do they now?”
“Always.” Sam smiles wider.
She hadn’t come in expecting a social battleground, but that doesn’t mean she’s not prepared for a fight. That statement was her first successful hit, given the way that Vlad’s smile twitches slightly.
“Well. That’s good, then,” he says, but they both know Sam got to him, even just a little bit.
And then Tucker bursts back into the room holding his PDA, and talking excitedly about new models and tapping on the screen. Battle reprieve.
Sam has no idea who’s winning, but the night isn’t over yet.
…
Danny’s parents get Sam’s food exactly right, like always. The pasta is tasty, and there’s just enough of a separate batch for her to enjoy. Tucker’s biased against them because their meat tends to come to life, but they’ve always nailed Sam’s plant-based diet. Normally, Sam would love to eat there just for the sake of it, but tonight she has other things on her mind.
One of them is her thermos, which she still has to find a way to bring up, and the other is Vlad Masters, who she needs to keep an eye on. He obviously got Danny and Tucker out of the room to talk to her earlier, and he seems interested in her for a specific reason, which can’t be a good sign.
Why would Vlad care about her, though? Did he hear about her through her parents, somehow? Is this some ploy about her wealth? Maybe he got swept up in a court scandal, needs money, and in searching around found that the friend of the son of his old college friends was rich?
Okay, that’s really convoluted. But she can’t come up with an explanation that makes sense.
Then there’s the fact that when they sit down, after barely giving everyone time to take a first bite, Vlad immediately takes control of the conversation.
“So, Jasmine, Daniel,” he says, leaning across from the adults side of the card tables. “Introduce me to your friends properly, would you? I don’t want to miss any more of my dear friends’ children’s lives.” He ends this with a smile directly at Mr. Fenton, which earns him a delighted beam back.
“Oh, sure Mr. Masters,” Jazz says with a bright smile, down on the far end to Sam’s left. “This is my friend Spike. We met on a field trip in eighth grade whe—”
“That’s lovely dear,” Vlad says, cutting her off with just enough careful politeness and timing that it doesn’t sound like an insult. “What about you, Daniel?”
“Oh, well, you’ve talked a bit to Sam and Tucker already,” Danny says, gesturing to his right at the two of them. Tucker grins at Vlad again and Sam gives her best sickly-sweet ‘I know exactly what the fuck you’re doing’ smile. Vlad smiles back at her in a very ‘and what exactly are you going to do about it?’ way.
“We’ve known each other a while,” Danny adds, since no one else notices any of that. “Tucker and I have known each other since Kindergarten, and we met Sam in second grade.”
“Oh, that is a long while,” Vlad says, pretending to sound delighted. “The three of you must be rather close.”
“Extremely,” Sam cuts in, keeping her tone and smile princess-polite. “Why do you ask?”
Vlad’s smile dips slightly, but Sam can’t read it this time.
“I told you, I’m simply interested in the lives of my old friends’ dear children,” Vlad says, turning right to smile at Mr. Fenton, who beams back. “It’s been far too long since we’ve met, after all.”
“Actually, that’s a good question,” Sam says, smiling wider. “If we’re telling you how we met, you should tell us too! How did you get to know the Fentons?”
Danny gives her a weird look, and Tucker gives her a look like he thinks she’s fishing for teasing material. Sam ignores both of them, and thankfully, Mr. Fenton takes the bait.
“Oh, Vladdie and I were college roommates!” he says with delight, leaning to the side to smack an arm around Vlad’s shoulder. That definitely gets a wince. “And then he and Maddie and I formed our college’s first ever Spirit Club! Of the ghostly variety, naturally.”
“We certainly had our fair share of mockings,” Mrs. Fenton says, giving Mr. Fenton a nostalgic smile. “But I like to think it brought us all together!” She ends that statement with a hesitant smile at Vlad.
Vlad smiles sweetly back at her. “Absolutely.”
“Yeah, we were best pals!” Mr. Fenton calls, smacking Vlad on the back again, which earns him a glare. “I’m so glad you kids get to meet him! Vladdie was one of the key factors that resulted in us making progress on our research! Uh,” Mr. Fenton pauses and smiles sheepishly down at Vlad. “So sorry again about that, by the way.”
Vlad smiles tightly at Mr. Fenton. “Bygones,” he says.
Sam glances curiously over at Danny. He shrugs, looking just as lost as her.
“Uh, okay,” Jazz says after a pause that lasts slightly too long. “So why weren’t you here when Mom and Dad figured out the ghost portal in the basement, if this stuff was so important to you?”
“Well I didn’t hear about it at first,” Vlad says, smiling at Jazz. “We lost touch over the years, after all. But rest assured that as soon as I learned what had happened, I made my way down here. It not only intrigued me, but also reminded me of everything I’d been missing out on.”
“Well, we’re glad to have you back with us,” Mrs. Fenton says. “Let’s make sure this time it sticks.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Maddie dear,” Vlad says, smiling much more warmly at her.
Sam glances at Danny again, and thankfully, she’s not the only one who picked up on the weirdness that time.
Mr. Fenton certainly doesn’t notice, however, and slaps Vlad on the back in delight a third time. “Well, you’re welcome for as long as you want, Vladdie! I’m sure everyone in this room is thrilled to get to know you!”
At that, all of the kids at the table exchange a glance. Tucker hides a smile behind his hand, and Sam even sees Spike’s frown twitch slightly. Sam exchanges a smirk with Danny. None of them say anything.
“And I’m thrilled to get to know them,” Vlad says, seeming sincere enough to pass to most people. “But if I may also ask, how have the recent ghostly attacks been going? I heard there’s been some close calls with more than a few students.”
“Oh, yes, we’re working hard on that,” Mrs. Fenton says with a frown. We’re trying to come up with some sort of sensor that will warn us when ghosts will attack, because right now we don’t have much of an idea. Danny’s poor friend Sam has been caught in the line of fire so often we’re just letting her hang on to a ghost-catching thermos.”
“Really now?” Vlad asks, faking concern. He turns to Sam. “Well, I’m certainly sorry to hear that, my dear. Are you alright?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Sam says, even as her own smile tightens. “The thermos is pretty easy to use.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Vlad says, smiling overly sweetly at her. “I had a much harder time figuring it out when I made my first one. Especially on how to tell when it was getting too full.”
Sam freezes. “Too full?”
“You’ve made a thermos too?” Mr. Fenton asks in delight. “Vladdie, that’s wonderful!”
“Oh, yes, it was quite simple to figure out,” Vlad says casually. “Much easier to figure out a way to contain a ghost that’s already there than to build a portal to their world, after all.”
“Sorry, what was that about it getting too full?” Sam asks. On both sides of her, Danny and Tucker have also cued into the conversation.
“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that yet, sweetie,” Mrs. Fenton says, turning to smile at her. “Danny says you’ve only got one ghost in there, that won’t hurt anything. But if you get more trapped in the thermos over a longer period of time, the risk of them getting out will get larger. Just pop by whenever you get a chance and we’ll show you how to empty it safely.”
Danny and Tucker sit back next to her, clearly relieved. Sam’s mouth is going dry.
“And how, uh, how would you know when they’re in danger of escaping, just out of curiosity?” she asks. She has to fight to keep her voice from rising.
“Well, if there’s too many ghosts in there over too much time, it’ll start bulging, like a spoiled can of soup!” Mr. Fenton says brightly. “It’s pretty convenient, that being how it shows that. Since it’s a thermos! Get it, Danno?”
Danny snorts and rolls his eyes.
“And if they’re really close to getting out it’ll start sparking,” Mr. Fenton adds, sounding almost excited at the concept. “But don’t you worry, Maddie’s right! One ghost isn’t going to cause any damage.”
“Okay,” Sam says tightly, forcing her princess-smile to stay on her face. “Great to know. And uh, when you say you’ll show me how to release it—”
“Oh, don’t worry about it during dinner,” Mrs. Fenton says. “We’ll show you later.”
“Okay,” Sam says again, though she’s probably breathing a little too quickly. She can’t push, they’ll ask why. They’ll ask why and then she’ll have to show them her thermos, and then she’ll have to explain why she has so many ghosts in her thermos—
“We can do it later tonight if you don’t mind staying!” Mr. Fenton says in delight, cutting off her thoughts. “We’ve got a containment unit down in the basement that’ll be perfect for keeping that ghost in there locked up until we’re ready!”
Sam blinks. “Ready? Ready for what?”
“Why, the dissection of course!” Mr. Fenton exclaims. Next to him, Mrs. Fenton nods in excitement.
Sam can’t breathe. “I— what?” she manages.
“Well, how else are we going to figure out what makes them tick! It can’t hurt them, after all, since they’re already dead! So even if we really cut into ‘em and dig around in all the ectoplasm and guts— metaphorically speaking, of course— it won’t cause any harm! And personally I highly doubt that mere echoes of past humans can feel pain in the first place.”
“Oh, that could certainly be part of the experiments, though,” Mrs. Fenton says brightly.
“Mom,” Danny grumbles.
“Oh, come now Danny, it’s not like there’s anyone here who doesn’t know about ghosts. Honestly, I know it might not exactly be your cup of tea, but real science involves going out into the field and getting your hands bloody!”
“Well, it would technically be ectoplasm in this case since ghosts don’t bleed,” Mr. Fenton adds. “But either way!”
“Guys, come on,” Jazz says. “Not during dinner, please.”
“Oh, alright,” Mrs. Fenton says. And she goes on to say something else, but Sam can no longer hear her over the ringing in her eyes.
“Okay!” she says, and she just has to pray that it comes out normally. She pushes herself to her feet. “Okay! So, I have to go to the bathroom!”
She all but sprints from the table before anyone can reply.
The Fenton’s lab entrance is technically in the living room, but Sam is running on pure adrenaline at this point, so this should work. She makes it upstairs, locks the bathroom door, and transforms. Then she dives through two floors so fast that no one can see her.
Danny’s parents weren’t lying. There is an enormous cage in the lab that wasn’t there last time. It’s labeled “Ecto-Containment Unit,” and inside is a table with restraints and notes about how to make them ghost-proof. Also inside is a tray table with scalpels, syringes, and plain-old knives.
They don’t know she’s Gaia. They don’t know she’s a ghost. They don’t know they said all of that to a ghost.
Of course they wouldn’t— if they knew— they wouldn’t hurt her. They wouldn’t. She’s known them since she was eight years old. She’s known them half her life. They wouldn’t hurt her. Not if they knew.
Just like Danny wouldn’t call ghosts it, if he knew. Just like he wouldn’t hate her for the misunderstanding with Paulina. Just like— just like—
“Oh god,” Sam chokes out. She drops to her knees. Her backpack. She left her backpack upstairs. She can’t let them get to anything in there. No ghosts deserve to— to be—
Sam tries to stand again, but her legs are shaking, and she can’t do it. But she has to. She has to find a way to get to her backpack without them noticing, because no one else is going to help her in this. She is completely alone. She has to save those ghosts, has to hide from her best friend’s parents, has to hide from her best friends, all alone. And if she can’t do it, she could end up on that table.
“On your feet,” Sam snaps to herself. “On your—”
“Looking for this?”
Sam screams, and spins around and raises an arm to blast at whatever’s trying to kill her this time—
It’s Vlad Masters.
“I— you— what are you doing here?” Sam asks, lowering her arm. “What—”
Hanging from his grip is her backpack.
“That’s mine,” Sam stumbles forward, reaching for it. “Give it back, I—”
“Samantha, please,” Vlad says. He sets the bag down to the side and takes a couple steps forward from his place at the base of the steps. How did he make it down without Sam hearing him? “This lab might be designed to be soundproof but let’s not test our luck with another of Jack Fenton’s inventions, shall we?”
“What— what are you— why aren’t you at dinner? Won’t they notice—”
“I am at dinner,” Vlad says. He holds up his hands in the universal gesture for ‘I come in peace.’
“What are you talking about? You’re right here?”
“I’m also at dinner,” Vlad says calmly, as if that makes any sense. “Samantha, please. I completely understand your distress, but if you want to set those ghosts free you need to calm down.”
“How do you know about that?” Sam asks.
Vlad doesn’t say anything, just picks up Sam’s backpack and offers it out to her. Sam watches him for a second, wary. Vlad doesn’t say anything, just waits calmly. Eventually, Sam takes the backpack. Immediately, she looks inside, but the thermos is sitting there, just as bulging as it was this morning. It doesn’t spark again, yet.
Sam tries to glare suspiciously up at Vlad, but there’s probably still too much desperate panic for it to work. “Who are you?” she says anyway.
Vlad draws himself taller. “I am Vlad Masters,” he says. “And I am a half ghost just like you.”
Sam opens her mouth. Nothing comes out.
After a couple seconds, Vlad smiles, seeming a little amused. “Take all the time you need,” he says.
“But you— you can’t be— and I—”
How would he know about half ghosts without her telling him? How, unless…
As if in response, Vlad takes a step back, and then Sam sees a black ring form around her waist. Just like hers, it spreads up over his head and down to his feet, and when it disappears, someone completely different stands in Vlad’s place. A ghost. A ghost with bright white clothes and a red cape, red eyes, fanged teeth, and hair that almost looks like horns. Overall, it makes for a ghost that looks startlingly like—
“Oh my god,” Sam breathes. “Tucker was right.”
Vlad’s eyes narrow slightly in confusion. “I’m sorry?”
“Uh— nothing. But— I don’t understand. How did you find me? How did you know that…” she trails off.
Vlad smiles sympathetically. “You can say it.”
“…that I’m a ghost,” Sam manages.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t looking,” Vlad says, taking a step forward. Sam lets him, this time. “But then all of the ghosts I sent started going missing, so I looked a little closer.”
“You sent—” Sam says, aghast.
“Not all of them,” Vlad says, waving his hand dismissively. “Just a couple Ecto-puses and a hunter I had on hand. Nothing I couldn’t handle myself if I needed to. I wanted to test Jack Fenton’s skills.”
“Mr. Fenton?” Sam asks warily. “Why?”
“I needed to know for myself if he could handle what he’d unleashed on Amity Park,” Vlad says. “And like I expected, he couldn’t. But I never would have expected his negligence would actually kill someone. A child, at that.”
Sam looks away. “I— that’s not—”
“It’s alright, my dear,” Vlad says. “I’ve been through the same thing. I didn’t come here to judge you. I came here to ask you something.”
Vlad steps forward until he towers over Sam, and Sam struggles to swallow. She’s prepared to put up her hands and fight when Vlad asks—
“Would you like some help?”
Sam blinks. She blinks again. “What?”
“Help, child,” Vlad says, seeming almost sad. “I want to help you.”
“You… really?” It comes out embarrassingly hopeful, but Sam can’t help it. Is he saying she doesn’t have to do this alone anymore? She can learn from someone? From someone exactly like her?
“Of course,” Vlad says, like that should be obvious. “I’ve been where you are, Samantha.”
“It’s Sam, actually,” Sam says, then immediately winces.
But Vlad nods and just says, “Sam. I know what you’re going through. You have powers you don’t understand, your biological makeup is changing, and your friends would hate you if they found out what you are.”
Sam winces. “I mean,” she starts, but she can’t quite find it in herself to deny it.
“I can help you figure all of this out,” Vlad says. “How to control your powers, how to hide them, everything I know about being a half ghost. What do you say, my dear?”
“What do I— yes!” Sam exclaims. She quickly blinks back tears of relief. She’s not going to embarrass herself right now. “Yes, yes please. Oh my gosh, it’ll be amazing to not have to do this alone. Thank you, thank you!”
Vlad chuckles warmly. “Don’t mention it, my dear. And don’t worry, I’ll come up with your excuses for you. You’ll be much better off without those Fentons anyway.”
“Than— wait. Huh?” Sam says. “What do you mean, ‘better off without them?’ Why would I be without them?”
Vlad pauses, then looks at her in confusion. “Why would you want to be with them, my dear?” he asks. “They hate everything we are.”
“Well, sure, but they just met their first ghosts like, this past month. They haven’t really gotten a chance to talk to them yet,” Sam points out.
Vlad’s gaze goes icy. “I have been here for twenty years.”
“I— look, I don’t know what happened between you guys,” Sam says. “And I’m sorry. But Danny’s one of my best friends. I can’t just ditch him.”
“My dear,” Vlad says, folding his hands behind his back. “You would be better off without him. His kind dealing with ghosts, it only causes trouble.”
“His kind?” Sam asks, wrinkling her nose.
Vlad sighs. “His father is the one who killed me,” he says. “It was his botched math that made the ghost portal from our college days go off and give me ecto-acne. It made me what I am. Do you honestly think his son will turn out any differently? Was he not the one who told you about the portal that killed you?”
“I…” Sam trails off. Turn out any differently? How could it be a bad thing if Danny ended up just like Mr. Fenton? The person who can always make Sam laugh, who knows how to make a miserable situation just a little lighter, who for all his faults and mistakes makes sure Danny and Jazz know they’re free to be themselves? That’s something Sam often finds herself wishing her own parents could do.
Besides, Danny may have told her about the portal, but he also told her to leave it alone. It was Sam’s own curiosity that led to her dying, alone, in this basement.
“It’s alright,” Vlad says, seeming to have misinterpreted Sam’s silence. “It was difficult for me to accept at first too. But trust me, they’ll never accept us as we are. You’ll be safer and happier away from them.”
Sam glances hesitantly up towards the steps, thinking about everything that had just happened.
Safer? Maybe.
Happier? Not a chance.
She shakes her head, turning back to Vlad. “I can’t do that.”
Vlad’s eyes narrow. “You can’t?”
“No. I’m sorry. You haven’t seen the Fentons in a while, but I can tell you, they’re not like what you said. And I won’t leave Danny for something that he hasn’t even done to me.”
Vlad stands up taller. “Then I suppose you don’t really want my help,” he says.
Sam’s mouth falls open. She stares at Vlad for a moment. “Are— are you serious?”
“I can’t help you if you’re so determined to stand by these terrible influences,” he says. “When you realize that you’re wrong, come talk to me.”
Sam tries to come up with something to say, but in the next second, Vlad vanishes like he was never there.
…
It takes Sam probably too long to figure out how to get the ghosts back into the portal, but she manages it. As she does, she hears the enraged screams of the Lunch Lady, Skulker, and Sidney Poindexter, along with about a dozen ecto-puses. She’s not looking forward to the next time she has to deal with them.
Because there will be a next time. She has to do this again. She has to fight the ghosts to keep the humans safe or Danny will hate her, and she has to keep the ghosts away from the Fentons or they’ll have to go through things no one deserves. Catch and release. At least she already has a means of doing both.
And she’ll do it alone.
It’s fine. She can manage.
She wasn’t that excited about Vlad’s offer anyway.
…
Sam leaves shortly after dinner, without even giving Danny’s parents a chance to show her how the thermos release mechanism works. Meaning he’s going to have to find a time to show Sam how to release the ghosts into the containment unit. He tries not to be irritated that Sam is blowing off his parents again in regards to something ghost-related. It’s probably for that very reason— just something about ghosts that makes her uncomfortable. She came to the dinner, after all.
Danny’s parents spend most of the evening catching up with Vlad in the living room, so Danny heads up to his room after Tucker leaves. He gets his homework done and plans on playing video games until he goes to bed at way too late an hour, just to make sure he’s appropriately tired tomorrow like a teenager should be.
Instead, at around 10:00, he hears a knock on his door.
“No Jazz, I’m not yelling at Sam and making her come back here,” Danny calls through the door. “And I won’t sit through a psychological evaluation about what that means for our friendship.”
“Well, in that case, I won’t ask you to do either, my boy,” comes a totally different voice.
Danny winces, and climbs quickly to his feet.
“Sorry, Mr. Masters,” he says as he opens the door. “I thought you guys would be in bed already.”
“All us old people, you mean?” Mr. Masters asks, raising an amused eyebrow.
“What? No, I just meant—”
“Relax, my boy, I knew what you meant,” Vlad says, though he’s still smiling. He gestures at Danny’s room behind him. “May I come in?”
“Oh, uh, sure Mr. Masters.” Danny steps back and lets him in. This is someone his parents know and trust, right? It’s fine.
“Oh, please, call me Vlad,” Mr. Masters says. “I can’t stand honorifics. In fact, if you want, you can call me Uncle Vlad.” He winks.
Danny laughs a little. “Did you uh, need something?” he asks.
“I did,” Vlad says, and when he turns to face Danny he has a much more serious expression on his face. “I haven’t been entirely honest about my reasons for coming here.”
“You— huh?” Danny asks, trying to figure out why he’s saying this, and why in the world he’s telling him.
“I’m very concerned about the rise in ghost presence in Amity Park,” Vlad says, folding his hands together. “Ghosts have been mainly attacking your fellow students, have they not?”
“Yeah, I’m… worried about that too,” Danny admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “A lot of people are starting to get really scared.”
“But not you?” Vlad asks.
“Well, I mean— it’s not that I’m not scared,” Danny says hesitantly. “It’s just, when people are going to get hurt I think I can kind of… override it, you know? I have to do something.”
Vlad smiles at him and gives an almost proud nod. “I suspected as much,” he says. “Daniel, my boy, I need your help.”
Danny startles, a little baffled. “Huh? What do you mean, you need my help?”
“I’ve been watching you. You took on a dangerous hunter ghost with only the materials that were lying around. You successfully managed to threaten a ghost into leaving without any weapons to help you. Your instincts are sharp, and your motivation is to protect. I want to give you the proper equipment to actually make a difference.”
Danny stares at him. “You want to— huh? Why me? Why not my parents? They’re the ghost experts, I’m just a kid.”
“Yes,” Vlad agrees, “and as the ghost experts, they need to be down in the lab, trying to understand ghosts and building better weapons to fight them. You wouldn’t want to pull them away from that, would you?”
“No,” Danny says, shaking his head. “No, you’re absolutely right. I just… I don’t know. I’ve never thought of myself as a ghost hunter.”
“You don’t have to think of anything, my boy,” Vlad says with another smile. He steps forward and puts a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “You said it yourself, when these ghosts attack, you just act, and you act in ways meant to protect people from these dangerous monsters who only mean to cause harm. And very often, you’re in the middle of the fray as it begins occurring. I cannot think of a better person to be in charge of protecting the very students who seem to be in the most danger.”
“I— wow,” Danny says, a little stunned. “I mean, thank you. I just…”
Vlad smiles at him. “A little overwhelming?”
Danny nods, momentarily lost for words.
“Don’t worry,” Vlad says. He takes his hand off Danny’s shoulder. “You won’t be in this alone. I’ll help you understand how to use the equipment, and how best to fight these monsters. I have complete faith that you can do this, Daniel.”
Danny nods, starting to grin. “I— wow.”
Vlad chuckles. “You said that already.”
“I know, I just— thanks, Mr. Masters. Or— Vlad. I won’t let you down, I promise.”
“No,” Vlad says, smiling. “No, I’m sure you won’t.”
Danny grins wider. “I can’t wait to tell my parents,” he says. He feels a little childish as he says it, but it’s true— the idea of helping his parents fight the ghostly threat invading their town? Helping them, using their weapons, and getting to protect people together? It sounds amazing—
“Ah, we might want to hold off on that,” Vlad says, and Danny blinks in surprise.
“What? Why? Wouldn’t they want to know?”
“Well, we don’t want to worry them,” Vlad says. “If we need their focus to be on creating new weapons and more efficient ways to fight ghosts, then telling them you’re out in the fray would only distract them, and make them prioritize other things. We need them not to do that. Do you understand?”
Danny hesitates. “I don’t know…”
“You’ll be perfectly safe with my help,” Vlad says. “And I’m certain your parents would say the same. They trust me. We just need them to focus on what will be the most helpful, just like you’ll be doing.”
Slowly, Danny nods. “That makes sense,” he admits.
“Don’t worry,” Vlad says. “When we get this ghost problem under better control, of course we’ll tell them.”
Danny smiles, relieved. “Okay. Okay, you’re right.” Then he hesitates. “Can I tell my friends?”
Vlad’s eyes widen in immediate alarm. “Oh, my goodness! That would be a horrible idea!”
“What? Why?” Danny asks, alarm of his own rising despite not yet knowing the reason.
“You’re telling me you haven’t noticed the pattern?” Vlad asks, in both surprise and concern. “Every ghost who shows up seems to have it out for your friend Samantha specifically. They all go after her.”
“No, but that’s not…” Danny starts, then pauses. The lunch lady. That hunter ghost. The ghost who overshadowed Sam. Three ghosts, three ghosts going after Sam. The only who breaks that mold is—
“…Gaia didn’t,” Danny says hesitantly, using the name scribbled on Paulina’s posters. It feels like a weak excuse.
“No, but you saw what she did to your other friend Paulina,” Vlad says gently, proving that feeling right. “Do you really want to try and fight her with whatever’s lying around? Or just hope that if she goes after Samantha, you’re there and able to catch her?”
Danny chews on his lip. “But why can’t I tell her?” he asks.
“I’m going to train you to hunt ghosts,” Vlad says. “I have no idea what sort of vendetta these ghosts have against your poor friend, and I’m going to try to find out. But in the meantime, do you really think her having a friend who’s a ghost hunter will make it better?”
“I— Gaia got scared and flew away when I told her about my parents,” Danny points out.
“We cannot trust all ghosts to behave that way. If it turns out I’m wrong, then of course we’ll tell Samantha immediately, but if I’m right… well, better safe than sorry, don’t you think?”
Danny looks down in thought. Vlad is quiet, letting him.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe telling Sam would be a dangerous idea. Maybe telling anyone would be a dangerous idea. Maybe knowing someone who’s a ghost hunter would just put them all in more danger. Better to at least wait until they know for sure.
Slowly, Danny nods. He takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says, his expression firm as he turns back to Vlad. “What did you have in mind?”
Spike is going to his girlfriend's house for dinner to meet her family for the first time, and Man does he regret not doing any research on them beforehand. Now he has to fight for his damn life over a plate of what is honestly kind of mediocre spaghetti.
For @darthfrodophantom's prompt: Jazz brings a date home for the first time. She didn’t exactly brief them on her family’s whole ghost thing. Antics ensue.
Read on AO3
[Warnings for anxiety and overthinking spirals, mentions of abusive parents (not the Fentons)]
"You're sure about this?" he asked. "Parents don't typically like me."
He was standing on the front porch of his girlfriend's house. The sun had just gone down, and it wasn't quite dark yet, but it was starting to get cold, and it made him wish he'd brought a jacket, aesthetic be damned.
"My parents are not your parents, Spike," Jazz insisted, straightening his leather vest and fishnet sleeves, and he relished the warmth of her hands as she did so. "My younger brother has a goth friend who comes over all the time, and they've never had a problem with her. They're not the types who judge based on appearances. They may be... apprehensive, but they'll at least give you the chance to prove whether your respectable or not before they give you the shovel talk."
"Oh, joy."
His sarcasm was something his parents had tried to shame out of him for a long time, but Jazz never did. She said that it was just a coping mechanism, and a pretty common one at that. The worst she would ever do was roll her eyes like she did now.
"Come on, Spike, they're giving you a chance," she said. "The least you can do is extend them the same courtesy."
"And what about the non-binary thing? Have you told them yet?"
"My brother's trans, too, I think I've told you that before. If they hold that against you, then there are gonna be much bigger problems at this dinner than whether they like you or not," she responded, amusement lacing her tone. "I know you're anxious, and that's understandable. If you really don't want to do this, I won't force you, but you're stronger than your fear."
"You definitely want me to meet your parents?"
She shrugged and nodded. "I won't force you to, but yes, I do."
"Then I'll do it," he said. "For you."
She smiled that pearly smile of hers, the one where you could actually see that she'd never forgotten to brush her teeth in her life, and she pushed up on tip-toe to give him a kiss on the cheek. Spike was actually shorter than her, when he took his shoes off, but his platform goth boots alleviated his dysphoria over his height, and they looked damn good doing it. He liked when she stood on tip-toe to kiss him, loved the feeling of tilting his head down and wrapping his arms around her warm body and pulling her flush against him like she belonged there.
He didn't do that now, because they were standing on her front porch, illuminated by the bright neon sign overhead, and all the neighbors could see. But a kiss on the cheek was nice too.
He took a deep breath and smiled at her. His smile was small and dull, barely a twitch of the lips, and nothing like hers, dazzling, and full-toothed. She said she liked it anyway. She said it suited him. And he always believed what Jazz told him, because she was the most brilliant person he knew, and she'd never ever wrong.
"I'm ready," he said.
Jazz pushed open the door and walked in, and he followed a few steps behind her, his steps feeling mechanical and his shoulders tensed. At first glance, the inside appeared to be a perfectly normal home. On closer inspection, however, there were a few things that didn't quite fit. The vacuum cleaner in the corner looked weirdly high tech, and there was a magazine called Ectoscience Quarterly on the coffee table. The air also smell faintly of ozone and something else Spike couldn't place, something sour. Citrus maybe? No... he didn't think that was right.
Standing there, in the living room, Spike became suddenly and acutely aware that Jazz never talked about her parents. She talked about herself, and her dreams, and stories from her past; she would bring up her brother in passing from time to time, and although Spike never learned very much about him at one time, she'd mentioned him enough now that Spike had begun to form a mental image of the freshman in his mind; but she never talked about her parents.
Spike talked about his parents all the time, since Jazz was usually willing to let him vent to her, though he always asked first, just in case. He liked having someone to talk to that he trusted, and he trusted Jazz more than anyone else. She said that his family was manipulative, controlling, and emotionally abusive, and he'd never once argued with her, because they were. Jazz was always right, after all. The second he turned eighteen, he was going to move out, one way or another, and she had an open invitation to join him, although she hadn't accepted it. At least... not yet.
The most Jazz had ever said about her parents was something along the lines of, "and my parents, ugh, they're certainly not making it any easier."
That, she said kind of a lot. He'd asked before if she wanted to vent, but she always shook her head and told him she'd rather focus on other things instead of dwelling on her frustration. Her parents, apparently, frustrated her a lot, though he knew she loved them anyway. He hoped that meant that she could love him anyway, too, even when he frustrated her.
Still, that wasn't to say he knew nothing about her parents, just... almost nothing. He'd heard the Fenton name thrown around enough, at school, and by adults around town, that he'd at least gathered they were somewhat infamous, though he didn't know why. Spike was never one for eavesdropping, or gossip, and his hearing wasn't the best anyway, so he was always out of the loop on the local hot topics—except for the stores.
The Fenton Works sign on their house seemed to indicate that they owned some kind of business, although doing what, he didn't know. Maybe some kind of technology or repair shop? Although most of the business must've been online or their ground floor would be more commercial.
Come to think of it, he had seen them once before, at the beginning of the school year—months before he and Jazz had started dating, back when he was just the classmate who helped her with her psych homework. If he recalled correctly, they'd captured Jazz in a net for some reason and carried her away. Whatever that had been about, he had not wanted to get involved, especially since he honestly barely knew her back then, so he'd just left.
Now that he was in their house, surrounded by that weird, increasingly acrid smell, he was wishing he'd done a little more research before agreeing to come over for dinner.
"They're probably in the kitchen," Jazz said.
He continued to follow her through a doorway, and into what looked, on the surface, to be an ordinary kitchen. Counters, cupboards, tile floors, all perfectly ordinary. There was a decent-sized, round table in the center of the room with five mismatched place-settings, and as many mismatched chairs. There was a homey feel to it. Though it was a little cramped, and eclectic, it still felt much more welcoming than his own dining room ever did, always with a spotless tablecloth and matched sets of dishes and silverware.
But Spike also noticed suspicious green stains on the table's surface that didn't look like they could have come from any food he knew of. Just like the vacuum cleaner, all their kitchen appliances also looked like they'd be more at home on the set of a sci-fi movie than in an urban apartment. Again, he wished he'd tried to learn more before just showing up here.
There was a red-haired woman in a teal jumpsuit standing over the stove, humming pleasantly, and Jazz groaned when she saw her.
"Mom, I thought I asked you to dress normally when Spike came over!"
"But honey, this is how I normally dress," Jazz's mom replied, turning. "And you must be Spike. My, that's a nice vest! Jazz has told us a lot of nice things about you."
"Uh, yeah, that's me, and thank you," Spike said awkwardly. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Fenton."
"Oh you can just call me Maddie," she said. "And it's wonderful to meet you too. My husband's downstairs in the lab, but he'll be up for dinner, you can count on that."
She chuckled like that was supposed to be funny and Spike let out a weak, uncertain laugh so she didn't think her joke fell flat, even though he didn't understand it.
"You can go ahead and have a seat wherever you like," she told him. "Jazz, would you mind letting Danny know that dinner's almost ready? He's up in his room."
"Sure, Mom."
Jazz left the room without a second thought, and Spike was left with the utterly horrifying decision of whether to sit down at the table, risk taking someone else's usual seat and disrupting the family's usual dinner dynamic, as well as condemning himself to spending time alone with his girlfriend's mom; or backing out to find a seat in the living room, and giving Mrs. Fenton the impression that he was the kind of rude, anti-social person who would just leave her there to cook without any company or conversation.
Oh no, he realized.
He'd been standing there too long to leave. If he'd wanted to wait in the living room, he should have left the kitchen at the same time Jazz did. There was no backing out now. Now his only option was to sit at the table before he gave her the impression that he was an indecisive wuss by standing there too long. But which seat? Should he go with the one that looked the least worn? They all looked pretty worn, but maybe that was just because the seats didn't stay in the same position.
Just sit down anywhere! urged Spike's panicked thoughts. Your mere presence at the table is going to disrupt the dinner dynamic. Sit down now before she thinks your some kind of weirdo!
He reached out mechanically to pull out the chair closest to him and take a seat. Mission success. God, this was why Jazz said he probably had anxiety disorder. He was really trying to stop overthinking things so much, but this situation just made that tendency flare up like it usually only did around his own parents.
"Sorry none of the tableware matches," Mrs. Fenton said, though she was still standing over the pot, and not looking at him. "Jack and Danny are both a bit clumsy, so dishes tend to get broken a lot by mistake around here, chairs too, if you can believe it." She laughed.
When Spike smiled, he tried to make it bigger than usual, stretching his lips a little wider so she wouldn't mistake that he was smiling. It probably just looked creepy. He should stop. Should he stop? He should say something.
"I don't mind," he said. "It makes this place feel lived-in—like a home, I mean. I just think there's something kind of... uh... aloof about everything being a perfect matched set."
"You know, I like that," Mrs. Fenton said. "That's a very interesting point of view. Certainly makes me feel better about it." She laughed again. She was a cheerful woman, that or she just happened to be in a very good mood today.
"I must say, you seem like a nice boy," she said after a moment. "Jazz's last boyfriend was a punk. Very disrespectful and reckless. I don't know what she saw in him."
"I'm actually not..." Spike trailed off, unsure if he should even say anything. Jazz said her parents wouldn't mind, but he was still hesitant to contradict her mom.
"Hm? Not what, dear?"
Oh, damn it, she was already calling him dear, he couldn't lie to her now. "I'm non-binary," he said, trying to keep his voice steady and not let it fall too quiet as he spoke. "I'm Jazz's partner, not her boyfriend."
"Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to assume," Mrs. Fenton said immediately, looking back at him sympathetically. "Would you prefer I use they/them pronouns for you?"
"I actually prefer he/him, but they/them is fine with me, too. Whichever's easier for you."
"If you prefer he, then I'll use that," she told him. "I know that's what Jazz uses, too. I guess that's why I assumed you were a boy, but that's my bad. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."
The only thing stopping Spike from tearing up at a parental figure not only correcting themself when they misgendered him, but also apologizing for it, was the fact that he'd worked so hard on his eyeliner before coming here and didn't want to smudge it by crying.
"It's alright," he said, then cleared his throat to keep his voice from shaking. "It was an honest mistake."
Jazz reappeared in the doorway then, with her little brother right behind her. Spike had seen the kid around school. He kept the company of one of the only other goth kids at Casper High, which was probably the only reason Spike had ever noticed him. He hadn't made the connection that this was Jazz's brother, though.
"Spike, right?" the boy said. "Danny. Nice to meet you." Without waiting for a response, he turned to look at his mother. "What's for dinner?" he asked.
Spike had been wondering that, too. He couldn't tell from the smell because it was overpowered by that other strange scent he still had yet to identify. He could swear he'd smelled it before, but he just couldn't place it.
"Spaghetti, Cobb salad, and garlic bread, and yes, you have to eat some salad before you leave the table," his mother replied. A timer dinged and she turned off the stove burner and put on a pair of oven mitts that were on the counter. "Danny, would you let your father know dinner's ready?"
Danny walked across the kitchen and opened a door on the far wall. Behind it was a dark, sloped hallway and some stairs, probably down to a basement.
"Dad! Dinner!" Danny called down before closing the door and walking back to take a seat at the table.
Jazz, mercifully, hung her jacket on the back of the chair to Spike's right to claim that seat. Then she went to help her mother transfer the food onto serving dishes. While the two of them started to put the food on the table, the building started to shake.
Spike grabbed the table, surprised. Was this an earthquake?
The basement door burst open, and Spike's eyes blew wide as he saw a gigantic man enter the kitchen. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit and a beaming smile that was actually strikingly like Jazz's. This must have been her father. She could have warned him that the man was a friggin' giant.
"Did I hear something about dinner?" His voice boomed, though it didn't seem like he was trying to be loud, more like he was just naturally big and imposing in every way.
"Yes, Jack, now take a seat," Mrs. Fenton told him. "Jack, that's Spike, Jazz's partner. You remembered he was coming over today, right?"
"I did not," Mr. Fenton said plainly, taking the seat on Spike's left. "It's nice to meet you, son!"
"He's non-binary, Jack," Maddie corrected gently. "He probably doesn't want to be called son."
It was true that, from a gender standpoint, son was not Spike's favorite word, but with the amount of affection Mr. Fenton had said it with, he actually didn't mind.
"Whoops, my mistake!" Mr. Fenton said. "It's nice to meet you, kiddo!" he turned to his wife. "Is that better?"
Spike tried not to get too choked up. "Yeah, thanks," he said, wondering if the Fentons could just adopt him now, or if that would be too awkward, since he was dating their daughter.
Everything was put on the table, and Jazz and her mom sat down in the remaining seats, Jazz to Spike's right, and Mrs. Fenton to her husband's left. Then the serving dishes were passed around the table so everyone could scoop themselves some spaghetti and take a slice of garlic bread and some salad (not very much salad in Danny or Mr. Fenton's case).
This part of dinner had little talking, except to ask for the salt or garlic bread to be passed. But once everyone had food in front of them, the conversation—the scary part of dinner with your girlfriend's parents—began in earnest.
"So, Spike, was it?"
Spike nodded at Mr. Fenton's question.
"What's your opinion about ghosts?"
"Dad!" Jazz whined. "Do we have to talk about ghosts at the dinner table?"
"What? It's just a question!" Mr. Fenton defended. "What else am I going to ask about?"
Jazz leaned over to Spike and shook her head. "You can ignore that. Ghosts are not a topic of conversation we have to engage with."
"No, it's fine," Spike said.
He really didn't understand why she was acting like this. They lived in Amity Park, so ghosts were a pretty common topic of conversation. When they attacked the town almost every day, that did tend to make people talk about them.
"Alright," Jazz said, as though he'd just insisted on going skydiving without any training, rather than having a conversation about current events. "If you're sure."
"Uh... I guess I'm neutral about ghosts," Spike answered finally, suddenly very unconfident in his decision to engage. He had thought ghosts would be a relatively safe topic, but he was definitely second guessing himself now. Were the Fentons some kind of ghost fanatics? "I wish they'd stop attacking our school so much, because it's really disruptive, but other than that, I don't really care one way or another."
"Disruptive, huh?" Mrs. Fenton repeated. "Yes, I'd say that's a perfect word for what ghosts are."
"Yes, although, I'll say if they were attacking my school all the time, I wouldn't exactly be neutral," Mr. Fenton agreed. "I'd want them gone."
"You want them gone anyway," Danny pointed out, rolling his eyes as he poked at his spaghetti.
This was, evidently, not the first time they'd heard all this.
Spike leaned over to his girlfriend and whispered, "Did I miss something? What's your parents' deal about ghosts?"
She turned to look at him with wide-eyed shock on her face. "Oh no," she whispered back. "Don't tell me you somehow didn't know? Everyone knows."
"Know what?"
"My parents are ghost hunters," she told him under her breath. "I thought you would have seen them making fools of themselves all over town, I didn't think there was anyone in Amity Park who didn't know, or I would have warned you."
"Oh."
Oh.
So her parents were fanatics, and he'd just decided to play hopscotch in a minefield. Great. At least that explained the weird stains, magazine, and anachronistic technology. And the smell. Now that Spike knew, that acrid smell was unmistakably ectoplasm, and if they were ghost hunters, it was no wonder that smell got stronger the closer he was to the basement where Mrs. Fenton had said the lab was.
How are you gonna worm your way out of this one, Spike? he wondered to himself.
What were his options?
First, he could keep trying to hold a conversation about ghosts with two people who A) knew way way way more about ghosts than he did, B) were way more passionate about ghosts that he was, and C) appeared to be very intense in their opinions on ghosts and would no doubt try to make him feel the same way they did. That sounded awful, but as long as he let them lead the conversation he could probably come out of it without looking like a bad person or a bad partner for their daughter.
Another option was attempting to change the topic, but that would require coming up with a new topic to talk about, and depending on the depths of the Fentons ghost fixation, there was a solid chance they'd find a way to bring the conversation back around to ghosts anyway. If they did that, he'd have to come up with another new topic of conversation, and that loop could continue until the end of the night when he could finally leave. He wasn't sure how fast he would have to cycle through conversation topics, and his mind was already blanking trying to come up with just one.
His final option was to fake some kind of emergency and run, but that would almost certainly lower the Fentons opinion of him, so he would rather put that in his back pocket and use it only as a last resort.
In his silence while Spike considered the best course of action, the Fenton parents had continued talking about the danger ghosts represented for the town's schoolchildren, and how they should really be taking much more thorough precautions than just installing ecto-detector proximity alarms.
First and foremost, Spike's goal for this dinner was to get Jazz's parents to like him. No matter how much he dreaded it, he knew which of the options for conversation would put him in the best standing with them. He only hoped Jazz could forgive him.
"So, you guys are ghost hunters," Spike began. "Have you met a lot of ghosts, then? What would you say the most dangerous ghost you ever fought was?"
Jazz turned to him with betrayal written all over her face. He knew that she hated talking about ghosts, and she obviously hated listening to her parents talk about ghosts even more, but if he wanted to get in good with her family, sacrifices had to be made.
Immediately, Mr and Mrs. Fenton started debating who the most powerful ghost they'd ever fought was. Mrs. Fenton said that it was, without a doubt, some ghost called Pariah Dark, although Mr. Fenton argued that they hadn't so much fought Pariah Dark as held him off. He seemed to be of the opinion that the most dangerous ghost they'd ever fought was Danny Phantom, who had—according to rumors, anyway—been the one who actually beat Pariah Dark.
Beneath the din, Spike leaned over to whisper an apology to his girlfriend.
"I'm sorry, I just really want them to like me, please don't be mad."
Jazz's look of betrayal twisted into a conspiratorial smile. "You sly bastard," she said fondly. "That's actually pretty clever."
"Danny Phantom never pulled the entire city into the Ghost Zone," Mrs. Fenton reminded pointedly.
"Just because he hasn't doesn't mean he couldn't!" Mr. Fenton argued.
That went on for a while until Danny huffed in annoyance and decided to put an end to it.
"Why don't you just tell him about both ghosts?" he suggested.
Spike wished that Danny had specified not to do so simultaneously, because what he got was a double-barrelled lecture on the most dangerous ghosts they'd ever talked. Both Mr. and Mrs. Fenton trying to talk over each other, neither of them pausing to let the other be heard, getting progressively louder and louder, even though Spike had poor audio processing abilities and didn't register a single word they were saying.
Finally, their explanations came to an end, and Spike nodded and tried to look impressed, even though he had absolutely no idea what either of them had said about either ghost.
"Wow," he said, it seemed like a safe response. "Sounds like you guys have had a lot of... uh... intense ghost fights?" he glanced at Jazz, who nodded encouragingly. "I bet there were some easy ones, too, though. Who's the weakest ghost you ever fought.
"Oh, the Box Ghost," both Fenton Parents, and, surprisingly, Danny, said simultaneously.
Spike had been hoping that question would carry the conversation a little longer, but he should have known better. Even he knew who the Box Ghost was, a total joke that didn't present a legitimate threat to anyone.
"Of course, I should have known," he said.
"You kinda should have," Jazz teased.
"Okay, well... how do you... I mean... what do you do with the ghosts, after you fight them?" Spike asked. Maybe that question would keep them talking longer than the last.
"We capture them, of course," Mr. Fenton said, which didn't bode well for Spike's time consuming endeavors.
"Then what?"
"We take them to the lab for study," Mrs. Fenton said.
"How do you do that?" That was it. If Spike could just keep asking follow up questions he could make it to the end of the night.
Mrs. Fenton began to describe her scientific process. It was kind of gross, but a little bit interesting. She finished with, "Unfortunately, I don't get to actually do that very often. Somehow the ghosts we capture end up escaping through the Fenton Portal. We keep increasing and overhauling the security systems in our containment chambers, but there must be some flaw we haven't found yet."
"At least they're escaping to the Ghost Zone and not into town to cause more trouble," Danny pointed out.
"I suppose that's true," Mrs. Fenton agreed. "It could be worse."
Eventually, everyone finished eating, and dinner did end. Mrs. Fenton invited Spike to stay for fudge. He said no, since it was getting very late and he didn't want to miss his curfew, but agreed to take a little box of fudge with him when she pressed. He didn't want to make her think he didn't like her cooking—although when he ate a piece at home later, he was sure that her fudge was way better than her spaghetti had been.
Jazz walked him out so they could say goodbye.
"You played them like a fiddle," Jazz said, beaming with pride. "I think they love you more than me after that dinner." She laughed. "And you were worried you'd mess everything up."
"Oh yeah, I was worried the whole time," he agreed. "But you were right. Everything went fine. You're always right."
"And don't you forget it," she said.
Spike leaned down to give her a quick goodbye kiss, taking her hands into his own.
"Thanks for having me over," he said. "Your parents are good people, even if they are obsessed with ghosts."
"I told you."
"Yeah, yeah," he huffed a quiet laugh of his own. "You always do."
"See you at school tomorrow," she said. "I love you."
"Yeah, I love you, too." Then he let her hands slip out of his and walked down the steps, waving goodbye.
He was not looking forward to returning to his own empty, aloof home, and his own cold, judgemental parents. One more year. Less than a year. Ten months, three weeks, and two days. Then he would be eighteen, and he could leave that awful house and live alone—or with Jazz, if she agreed. He didn't expect her to, but he could hope.
