Shock of a Lifetime
Warnings: Mentions of Death, Swearing
AO3
He’s always been a one for mystery and phenomena, that’s no lie. Chasing down the slightest hint of something off kilter, keen to dig down into the truth.
This? This is ridiculous. Absurd, stupid, every synonym he can think of.
Wes sits on the side of his bed, clinging to the bedsheets, praying that he won’t fall through onto the floorboards again. Luckily he hasn’t gone through the floor yet.
Maybe this is payback for discovering Fenton’s secret, he doesn’t know. Surely there’s a ghost out there currently relishing in the consequences of his actions.
Because he’s dead. Or, somewhat. The same thing as Fenton—but he’s never been sure what that is. Only that he’s Phantom and a pain to deal with.
Wes currently doesn’t have the tolerance to try and deal with the whole emotional baggage that death comes with. He just wants to go to school, get outside with his camera again, rewind.
A familiar tingling, and suddenly his left hand is gone.
“Great.” He yanks his hoodie sleeve down.
It’s not going away anytime soon.
Admittedly, it hadn’t been Wes’ smartest idea to enter a haunted house late at night. Even worse, to try and jumpstart the very clearly ecto-contaminated electrics.
Not his finest hour.
But he can’t exactly tell anyone either.
Hesitantly, Wes stands up and enters into the hallway, vigilant of any sudden change to his body. Thankfully, his arm returns to the visible plane.
“Wes, breakfast!” His dad’s voice echoes from down the stairs.
He manages to make it down the stairs, albeit slowly.
“You look pale.” His dad says when Wes enters the kitchen, midway through splattering jam on some anaemic-looking broad, “Anything wrong?”
Yeah, I’m fucking dead.
“I dunno.” Wes mumbles, shrugging as he slinks into a chair. And it’s not even far from the truth. “Just don’t feel good.”
“Too many nightly expeditions?” His dad chuckles, pushing the plate of toast towards him. “I know you break curfew a lot.”
“Sorry.” He mumbles, because what else can he say? At least his Dad isn’t grounding him. More opportunity for him to supervise his every move.
“As long as you don’t get yourself into trouble or injured, I suppose a bit of exploring can’t hurt you.”
Wes takes a bite of the toast, wincing at the sour taste of ectoplasm on his tongue. Ever since his incident his taste hasn’t been the same. Wes hope it’s just a temporary side effect.
“Yeah. I might go out tonight.” He lies. Truthfully, he can’t stomach the thought of going sleuthing right now. Too soon. But it’ll give him some time out of the house.
-
When Wes walks down the corridor to his locker, it feels like all eyes are on him. Or maybe it’s the fact that every bone in his body is rigid stiff, his chest pounding unevenly, a constant humming in his ears and sour bile on his tongue.
Is this what Fenton feels like? Constantly worrying about every single slip up, that one wrong move will cause everything to falter?
Approaching his locker, Wes notes the A Listers rounding the corner, Fenton and his two sidekicks waiting outside a classroom door.
“You’re toast.” He mouths to Fenton, who narrows his eyes. Better to keep up the charade than nothing at all.
Wes goes to unravel the combination on the lock, but his hand slides right through.
Crap. He bites his tongue, pulling his hand back like it’s been burned. A quick glance around. The A Listers are gone, But Fenton’s still stood by the door, blue-green eyes narrowed. No sign of Manson or Foley.
“What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.” Fenton leverages back, pushing open the class door. “But you’re gonna be late if you keep messing about.”
“Since when have you cared about truancy?” Wes snaps, straightening up. There’s no point in trying to get his books now, not when Fenton’s on him like a hawk. He’s about to add ‘since you’re always ghost fighting’ but holds his tongue.
“Since when are you so clumsy?”
Wes stiffens, silent. How can he even respond to that?
“I’m not.” He retorts sharply, shoving past Fenton towards his chair.
Science, as usual, is a bore, with Mr Falluca copying equations on the board that Wes isn’t even sure is part of the curriculum. But he’s still stuck tense, rigid. Waiting for something to go wrong.
He remembers them months ago when Fenton had been berated for constantly dropping beakers and eventually banned from lab equipment. That’s the last thing Wes needs now, and would certainly arouse more suspicion from Fenton.
Then, the lights flicker. The thing in his chest hums louder, more intense. He clenches his fists, hairs on the back of his neck prick up. Wes isn’t exactly sure what it is yet, some equivalent of a ghostly heart?
The lights flicker again, dimming and brightening in intensity. Students start to chatter, pointing and looking up at the ceiling.
“Class—“ Fallucca tries, drowned out by noise.
But Wes isn’t thinking of that. He stares at his notes, all a blur of pointless knowledge. The thing is cold, thrumming in his chest, unwavering and uncertain. He can feel the pressure building like lightning bolts in his veins.
The lights are so bright, they’re blinding.
Then a pop. Glass shards rain down, sparkling diamonds scattered across the linoleum. Confused screeches and shouts of his class, Fallucca trying to herd them out to the hallway.
“It’s a ghost!”
“Dude! The lights just exploded!”
“Someone get Phantom!”
Wes doesn’t listen to any of it. Heart pounding in his ears, the constant thrumming in his chest, he sprints away without thinking. The nearest door is the boys bathroom, and he shoves the door open without a second thought.
It’s dark, the lights in here are also dead. But there’s no glass on the floor, at least.
Panting, Wes approaches the mirror, trying to calm himself. That was him. The ghost heart—thing. All that power.
What if he’d hurt someone?
He can’t—none of this makes sense. He should be dead, after the haunted house, after the electricity had fried his veins and boiled his blood and agonised him. But he’s not.
His heart still beats, he’s got a human appearance. No ghost form, or perhaps not yet, but invisibility and intangibility. And now electricity too.
The electricity is the only thing that makes sense—electric based death—electric based powers?
But yet, Wes still has no clue of what he is. In the mirror, his appearance is the same. A bit paler, but the ginger messy hair and freckles nonetheless.
Back when he’d hunted Fenton (and Wes isn’t sure if he’ll still do that), Wes hadn’t cared to define him in any specific terms. What only mattered was Fenton was Phantom and people refused to believe him.
Would be helpful to know what the hell Fenton is. Wes thinks, prodding at his chest. The thrumming isn’t as strong anymore, thankfully. But there’s still bustling and chatter outside, disturbed by the events.
I did that. Wes’ stomach unsettles, queasy. It could’ve been worse, yet, there’s all this power, waiting. Uncontrolled.
“So, what was that for?” An echoey voice behind him. Wes shoots up instantly.
There in the reflection, glowers Fenton, hovering slightly off the ground, arms crossed with a satisfied smirk upon his face. Green eyes narrowed.
“Piss off, Fenton.”
“Oh come on. Something’s clearly wrong. I mean, what happened to shouting about me being Phantom?” The ghost edges closer, and Wes turns around.
“Why are you so bothered?” He retorts, “As you say. I’m always going after you.”
“Oh come on. Something’s clearly wrong. I mean, what happened to shouting about me being Phantom?” The ghost edges closer, and Wes turns around.
“Why are you so bothered?” He retorts, “As you say. I’m always going after you.”
“Because you’re not usually like this, that’s why. You’ve been off for a week and now when you come back you don’t even start ranting about my supposed identity!”
“So supposed, Fenton.” Wes rolls his eyes, deflecting. Was he really that excessive about proclaiming Phantom’s true identity?
“Come on, Wes.” The ghost drops to the floor like a lead weight, tone softer. “I know you hate me for being a liar, or whatever, but I wanna help.
Wes considers. Fenton does look sincere, somehow his ectoplasm-green eyes managing to show a hint of concern.
But what if he does? Will Fenton flip it around and claim the same about Wes, exposing his new abilities when he’s barely got a grip on them? And, yeah, he supposes it would be hypocritical and such. To shout Fenton’s identity from the rooftops yet keep his own schtum.
Consequences of being reckless and thoughtless. Brilliant.
“Fine.” Wes looks to the floor, the white tile cracked and dirty, “I was in this haunted house. Y'know the one out of Elmerton?”
“Yeah. The one where a family haunts it? Blue and it’s got lots of trees outside?” Fenton asks.
“Mhm.” He kicks a tile with his shoe, the visions playing like a tape in his head. “I’d seen it on these forums about abandoned places. Thought it looked interesting, so I got my camera and decided to go last Friday after school. There was a window on the side open, so I went through there.”
“When you were in there you found the ghosts?” Fenton scans him up and down, as if scanning for injuries.
“No. There was no one.” He can still remember the eerie silence, only his heart thumping. “I was about to pack it in but I saw a green glow from this cupboard, thought I might as well do something productive.”
“And?”
“I—it was a fuse box. Or had been.”
“Oh.” He didn’t think it possible, but Fenton goes a few shades paler.
“Um—I. Yeah.” There needs no explanation, really, and Wes is silently grateful that Fenton doesn’t ask more. Maybe his experience was similar, he doesn’t know.
“Me too.” Fenton says, “It was electricity too. My parents' portal.”
“Damn.” Wes swallows down a gulp. Two weeks ago he was hunting Fenton down, now they’re discussing death similarities. What’s next? Comparing powers and singing kumbaya?
The bathroom lights flitter again.
“Stop that!” Fenton hisses, hands on his hips.
“I’m not doing anything!” Wes protests, crossing his arms. His chest feels tight, pressurised again.
“It is! Clearly the lights are reacting to your core’s temperament?”
“My what?” The heck is a core?
“It’s the new thing in your chest. The key part of a ghost’s being—like a heart, essentially.” Fenton clarifies.
“At least there’s a word for it.” Wes sighs, turning to the sink and splashes water on his face.
A core. He’s got a core, despite being human.
“And what are we, then?”
“It’s called being a halfa. Half-human, half-ghost.” Fenton says casually, as if it’s not a piece of earth shattering news.
What the fuck. Half-dead. Like the cat in a box
“Well that’s just brilliant.” Wes drawls, wiping his hands on his shorts before walking out the bathroom, ignoring Fenton all the while.
Now back to pretending everything hasn’t changed.
-
When Wes goes into school the next day, people are staring. Lots. He’s sure it’s not a figment of paranoia as people gawp and even stumble when they catch sight of him.
That’s him!
This whole time?
I suppose it makes sense, doesn’t it?
Wes doesn’t have a clue what exactly makes sense, but there’s a sneaking suspicion it’s probably to do with the core in his chest.
First period is English, something he really can’t be bothered to deal with. As expected, everyone is staring. Even Fenton, who looks a little sheepish.
“Wesley.” Lancer begins as Wes slumps to his desk. Another late mark, great.
“Given your…circumstances that I’ve recently been informed of, you are free to leave when needed.” The teacher says, taking him by surprise.
What circumstances? Certainly his powers are new, but only Fenton knows about those…or.
Did he get payback?
Wes swivels to face Fenton who looks caught out, shaking his head rapidly. Danny’s got every right to spill, yet there’s a genuity to his expression that unnerves him, that Danny is just as baffled.
It’s then he realises Lancer is looking at him.
“Oh.” Wes coughs. “Thanks for the…lenience.”
They’re allocated group work. Because of course.
And then the entire classroom erupts, practically diving towards him except Fenton and Gray. Talking so fast that Wes can barely understand anything.
“Hey Phantom! Why’d you claim that Fenton was you the entire time?” Dash practically shouts in his face.
“I can’t believe Weston is the ghost boy.” Paulina looks far from happy, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
“What.”
He doesn’t even know how they’ve managed to jump to this chasm of a conclusion. Either Fenton told them about his powers..or...what? He’s not got a clue.
“How? Uh..how’d you find me out?” Wes coughs into his sleeve.
“Yesterday, of course!” Dash insists, “Fallucca’s class and the lights went all creepy. You disappeared and then Phantom showed up.”
“You have to be Phantom because you disappeared when he was here.” Paulina adds on.
As if that’s not the exact same thing he’s been saying about Fenton for months. How fucking dense can the people in Caspar High be?
“And, dude, you look a lot like him.” Kwan chimes in.
“Right yeah. That’s…certainly something.” He folds his arms, not sure what else to respond. They all stare intently, as if by some chance they’ll see any indication of Phantom, the green eyes, the confidence.
“What about Fenton then?” Wes asks breezily, not missing the way a person a few chairs down drops their pen (definitely Fenton).
“You used him as a cover, of course. Dunno why you picked him though, of course no one would ever believe that wimp was a ghost!”
“Sure did.” He nods, because none of this makes any fucking sense. So his class have decided that he’s Phantom based on the sole fact that Wes wasn’t present when Phantom was, that he’s using Fenton as a cover. Despite a full detailed analysis of Fenton and Phantom, no one dared believe him.
“Go on then, show us something!” Dash insists, eager. Forgetting that Wes isn’t the former basketball star he shoved around just last week.
“Why should I?” Wes retorts, eyes narrowed.
He thinks of all the times he’s followed Fenton, the photos and the notes. Corkboard with red tape, everything. He’s nearly lucky it’s come to this. How close could it have been for someone to actually take Wes’ words and believe them?
Because now that Wes is like this, a halfa. He certainly doesn’t want anyone gawping at him, invading every single type of space surrounding him. He doesn’t want a mishap of powers, being vulnerable in front of people.
Let alone the stream of ghost hunters and government agencies.
God, he hadn’t even thought of that. The Fenton’s hunting their own son. Wanting to destroy him molecule by molecule.
“Why should I show you something? Phantom has a damned good reason to hate me, and yet he still helped me”
"Why is he talking about himself in the third person?” A small voice mutters.
“You think everything would change just because I’m the ghost boy? That I’m instantly going to warm up to you and should comply with everything you say?” Wes can feel his core beginning to thrum again. “You threw me to the floor two weeks ago, Baxter.”
“Meh. Forgive and forget.” Dash waves a hand.
“I don’t think so.” Wes twists to see Fenton, head tilted and eyes narrowed. “I’m not him, although I doubt you’ll listen. But he could be anyone in this class or school.”
Wes remembers the corkboard again. His recordings. Swears when he gets home he’ll burn them, everything gone. Start again.
“ I dunno about you, but maybe think before you act, yeah? I know I should’ve.”
Multiple times. Fenton. His own death.
In a way, his half-death? A chance to start again.
A/N: My first phic of the phight in 2025! It’s good to be back since I missed out on 2024. And ofc the first fic is a Wes one.
Prompt: Wes has become half ghost, and everyone assumes he was Phantom the entire time.
Word Count: 2688
