#superphantom fic

[superphantom]

The time was 2 PM the date was today (2/12/23) my task? Prepare for class tomorrow.

And then the age-old question popped into my head: "What if Danny calls Dean 'Dad' for a cover story but it has unintended emotional consequences?"

So I spent... 5? hours writing this. Hope you enjoy!

Read it now on AO3

[wolfeyedwitch]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 3/5 Fandom: Danny Phantom, Supernatural Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Danny Fenton & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Danny Fenton & Bobby Singer Characters: Danny Fenton, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer Additional Tags: Danny Fenton's parents are terrible, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Medical Torture, references other works in this series, Smart Sam Winchester, but he doesn't always show it very well, this whole thing is just him working towards apologizing to Danny, and it takes multiple chapters, seriously, More tags as I go, no beta we die like Sam and Dean Series: Part 3 of Hunters and Halfas Summary:

Sam Winchester is many things: a hunter, a brother, a son. And currently? A hypocrite.

Bobby points out that Sam should have known better than to treat Danny as poorly, because Sam himself has been hunted for powers that weren't in his control. This is Sam trying to apologize.

------------

I finally added another chapter! Sam and Danny finally talk!

[ladylynse]

"No way! You see this too, right?" (Fandom of your choice)

*grins* I did another Superphantom fic for you. Enjoy!

“No way,” breathed Tucker as he stared at the horrific scene in front of them, where people—including Sam—were strung up like sides of meat. Tucker’s hand flew to his mouth, and he mumbled, “You see this too, right?”

Danny nodded, feeling sick himself as the smell hit him, and regretted ignoring those two crazy (or not so crazy) men who’d been asking after Sam and muttering about djinn.

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[wolfeyedwitch]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 2/5 Fandom: Danny Phantom, Supernatural Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Danny Fenton & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Danny Fenton & Bobby Singer Characters: Danny Fenton, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer Additional Tags: Danny Fenton's parents are terrible, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Medical Torture, references other works in this series, Smart Sam Winchester, but he doesn't always show it very well, this whole thing is just him working towards apologizing to Danny, and it takes multiple chapters, seriously, More tags as I go, no beta we die like Sam and Dean Series: Part 3 of Hunters and Halfas Summary:

Sam Winchester is many things: a hunter, a brother, a son. And currently? A hypocrite.

Bobby points out that Sam should have known better than to treat Danny as poorly, because Sam himself has been hunted for powers that weren't in his control. This is Sam trying to apologize.

——

In the latest chapter, we see Sam and Dean talking to Cas about their newly acquired stray teenager. Takes place around and references the Castiel chapter of Introductions.

[superphantom]

Superphantom Saturdays #24

The days really don’t stop coming, do they. Well, they’re made more fun with more awesome fic! This week I’ve procured:

Bottom of the Barrel by Sapphireswimming

(here on ffn)

Jack Fenton, loving father, dedicated scientist, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. And this, is a short not so sweet fic about what he might do to get what he wants, without stopping to consider the consequences. 

Sapphireswimming is a legendary writer not only for superphantom but a plethora of other fandoms, no time spent reading their stuff is wasted. 

If you’d like to be featured or have any ideas/posts/concepts you’d like to talk about feel free to contact me however, I’d love to hear from you! See yall next time, stay safe!

[superphantom]

Superphantom Saturdays #2

Hello everyone and welcome back to Superphantom Saturdays!!

Today I have “What’s Sup, Danny Phantom?” By allakimbotoday on ffn.

It’s a WIP, and a few years old but with great bones and an excellent story, as well as incredible characterization. A must-read for any Superphantom fan imo. Seriously, the humor and the one liners are spot on, along with some great just below the surface issues in Danny’s life. I cannot praise the character interactions enough!

I couldn’t find their tumblr if they have one, or any of their other social media’s but if I do find one they will be linked in the replies!!

Thank you so much for participating and please remember to show the author some love!! A review takes two minutes but can make a writer’s day.

If you want to be featured in a future Superphantom Saturday please dm me! I’d love to see your work. Till next time!!

[ladylynse]

"Ghosts? If you want to know about ghosts, you should ask that Fenton kid." SuperPhantom?

Here you go, @lypten-tee! If anyone’s wondering, it’s a different vein than the one done for @sapphireswimming, even though both are SuperPhantom.

Ghosts: [FF | AO3] Sam and Dean had heard of Amity Park, but no one seemed to take it seriously. When they decide to swing by and check it out, they get a bit more than they bargained for.

-|-

“Ghosts? If you want to know about ghosts, you should ask that Fenton kid.” The blonde girl pointed to the corner of the restaurant (if you can call a place named the Nasty Burger a restaurant) where three other teenagers sat. “His parents are all over that kind of thing. He’s the loser in the white tee that looks like his hair has never seen a brush.”

“Uh, thanks.” Sam eased the lid of the laptop closed and smiled at the teenager. He wasn’t used to people reading the laptop screen over his shoulder, but most days, he and Dean could pick a booth that wasn’t as exposed as this one.

Still, he couldn’t afford to look a gift horse in the mouth. The information on this place was a mess. For all that Amity Park and even the neighbouring Elmerton seemed to be a hub of ghostly activity, it was difficult to find someone past the city limits who believed the stories that came out of either place. Most hunters had written it off as some kind of elaborate tourist trap, but Sam and Dean had been nearby, and, well, they hadn’t had much luck finding Cas, so they’d decided to swing by on their way back to Kansas.

Fifteen minutes in, they hadn’t seen a ghost, but they’d seen far more construction and property damage than was usual for a town this size. Dean had said they might as well get some grub while they waited and had picked this place because the name had amused him. Sam just hoped the food was edible.

“Foley’s Ghost Tours are a rip-off,” the girl added. “He’ll probably try to sell you on one, but it’s not worth your money. Ghosts don’t stick to routes like the tour has to, but you’ll be sure to see some if you hang around. It’s rare not to see Phantom fighting someone.”

“Phantom?” The name kept coming up, but never from what he’d consider a reliable resource. Practically nothing on Amity Park was coming from something he wasn’t convinced was made up by a kid holed up in a bedroom or basement. He’d actually learned more useful information within ten seconds of talking to this girl than he had in ten minutes with only semi-reliable WiFi.

The girl smiled. “He’s definitely the best ghost hunter in this town, and cute, too, but don’t say that to Danny because his parents are ghost hunters and that’s probably a sore subject.” She turned her head as the door opened and then said, “Oh, that’s Paulina. I’ve gotta go.”

She ran off to meet her friend, and Dean came back to the table with a tray laden with food. “Got you a tofu burger,” he announced, tossing a package to Sam. “And a soy shake. So stop making that face at me. You can at least pretend to be a normal human male.”

“Choosing to eat healthy doesn’t make me abnormal, Dean.”

“Dude, this is America,” Dean said around a mouthful of hamburger. A bit of sauce dribbled down his chin, and he grabbed a napkin to wipe it off. “The only people who eat healthy are the ones who have to and the weirdoes.” He took another bite of his burger and moaned with pleasure, saying, “Man, this is good,” before he swallowed.

Sam decided now was not the time to rehash an old argument. “There’re some hunters in town who’ve gone domestic,” he said quietly. “The Fentons.”

Dean shook his head and took another bite. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“Sounds like they specialized in ghosts, which explains why they ended up here.”

“Or explains the ghosts.”

“Dean—”

“What? We can’t be the only ones who ever messed up big time. For all we know, these guys released all these ghosts like we released all those demons. Or sprang Lucifer. Or—”

The list was long, and Sam didn’t want to hear it again even if Dean wanted to make his point. “Dude, piercing the veil is not like opening a hell gate. And even if it were, they wouldn’t have needed to try something that crazy to deal with a few ghosts.”

Mercifully, Dean swallowed before opening his mouth this time. “Fine, so you think we, what, go ask these Fentons why they haven’t dealt with this town’s ghost problem? You don’t think they’re just trying to retire?”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Really, Dean? How many retired hunters do you know who are just going to pretend they have no idea what’s going on when something like this is happening in their backyard?” Dean’s look was telling him, quite plainly, that Sam had tried to run from this lifestyle, but it’s not like he’d ever ignored a problem that was right under his nose. “At the very least, they would’ve called someone in. They must still have contacts.”

“And if they had talked to someone still in the business, people would’ve heard about it and not just ignored this place,” Dean finished. “So what’s your theory, Sammy? Elaborate hoax? Tourist trap? Or something we need to deal with before we hit the road?”

“I think we should at least touch base with the Fentons. Even if they’re out of the business—and I’m not sure they are; people around here seem to know them as ghost hunters—but even if they are, they’ll be able to fill us in on what we need to know, and if this is something that’s been too big for them to handle, I’m sure they won’t mind more help.”

Dean sucked on his milkshake for a moment before saying, “More help?”

Sam nodded toward the laptop. “Two names keep popping up, and one of the locals confirmed one for me. Phantom and the Red Huntress.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “These guys need to learn how to lay low. And what kind of ghost hunter picks the name Phantom?”

“That’s the thing. There are all kinds of reports of this Phantom fighting off ghosts, but from some of the descriptions….” Sam shrugged. “He sounds like he really is a phantom.”

To his credit, Dean caught on immediately. “You think this is like that situation with whatsername, the chick who was keeping the murderous kids in line.”

“Leticia Gore.”

“Yeah, her.” Dean returned to his burger. “So, what, we leave this Phantom alone till we torch everyone else?”

“It’s not going to be easy to find him when we don’t know his real name,” Sam pointed out, “so we can at least hold off on the research until we get the story from the Fentons. They might be able to provide us with everything.”

“If they could, they woulda done the salt ‘n’ burn themselves.” Dean swallowed and picked up a few fries. “Maybe that’s why they left this situation alone. Figured Phantom wouldn’t turn on them if he was kept busy keeping the other ghosts in line.” He shoved the fries into his mouth. “How long has this Phantom guy been active? You figure we’ve got time before he turns all vengeful spirit on us?”

“The oldest reports I’ve found so far date back to about a year and a half ago, but I haven’t even scratched the surface on this. It’ll take me a while to sort everything out.”

“Assuming the Fentons haven’t done all this already.” Dean took another drink, looked at Sam, who hadn’t touched his food yet, and said, “Aren’t you going to eat?”

Sam pointedly unwrapped the burger and took a bite, washing it down with his shake. The shake was good, but he’d definitely had better burgers. Even with the sauce, it tasted bland.

The token actions were enough to satisfy Dean, who continued, “So where do we find these guys?”

“We can talk to their—” Sam broke off, suddenly realizing that the trio who had been sitting in the corner was absent.

And then he heard the screaming.

Dean crammed the last of his burger into his mouth with a curse and got to his feet with a handful of napkins. Sam shoved the laptop back into his bag and slung that over his shoulder before following Dean out the door.

Almost immediately, he had to dive to one side as something that looked like a missile exploded when it hit the restaurant mere inches from where he’d been standing. Dean was crouched on the other side of the door, pulling dozens of little salt packets from his pockets and opening them. Every time there was another explosion, Sam saw his hand jerk as he fought the instinct to reach for his gun. A handgun full of silver bullets wasn’t going to help them fight a ghost, but ghosts weren’t supposed to have heavy artillery like this. Normal people didn’t have that kind of firepower just lying around where a ghost could manipulate it.

“What the hell, man?” Dean muttered, his eyes still searching the skies. “I thought we were dealing with ghosts.”

There was a bright flash of green light and a figure streaked across the sky, hitting the pavement with a sickening crack. But a few seconds later, the figure reappeared and flew—flew—up to meet a second figure, this one looking more like some kid’s idea of a flying robot than a ghost.

Sam blinked.

The smaller ghost bit off a retort Sam didn’t entirely understand—something about hunters and pelts—before burning through two nets with that same unearthly green energy shot at it by the first ghost. The figure flickered out of sight for a moment, but the robot one didn’t seem fazed by this and released another volley of missiles that turned to track the invisible flight of the first ghost.

And then the third figure showed up, clad in red and black and somehow managing to fly through the air on a jet sled. This one shot at the first two indiscriminately, firing bolts of pink energy from a variety of blasters.

Sam glanced at Dean, who had stopped opening the salt packets in favour of gaping.

He knew how Dean felt.

What the hell was going on here? These weren’t ghosts. It was more likely that Gabriel had somehow managed to escape death, happily letting everyone think he was dead so no one bothered him, and had set this up just to mess with anyone who tried to find him.

The first ghost, the small one, dodged one of the pink blasts from what had to be the Red Huntress before shooting what looked like an ice ray at the robot ghost. It wasn’t as quick and froze instantly, dropping until it was caught up in a beam of light from— Was that a thermos?

And then the robot ghost was gone, and the smaller one vanished from sight, and the hunter on the sled growled in frustration and took off.

In the silence, Dean pulled out the EMF meter and turned it on.

It squealed, every light shining red.

Dean met Sam’s eyes. “Let’s go find the Fentons,” he said, shutting off the EMF meter. “I want some answers.”

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[ladylynse]

At some point, I’d like to write a SuperPhantom fic (Supernatural/Danny Phantom crossover), but in the meantime, have a possible starting point from me. (Post The Ultimate Enemy for DP and sometime in the later seasons of SPN, but nothing with a more definitive time point than that yet.)

Visions: It was supposed to be over. Azazel was dead, and Sam hadn’t had a vision since. Not until he heard the girl’s pleas, at least, and found himself standing in the ruins of a residential neighbourhood.

“Help me, please.” It was a soft murmur, more a repeated prayer than even a tired plea at this point, but it carried easily in the eerie afternoon stillness.

Sam spun, looking for some sign of the girl. He could hear her voice readily enough, but he couldn’t—

“Please. Please, help me.”

The girl could be anywhere. The street Sam stood in looked like a bomb had gone off in the middle of it, but the collapsing buildings on either side, leaning in opposite directions, suggested the real target had been the former home—shop?—on the corner in front of him. It was more rubble than anything else, as much dust as brick, and it had its fair share of twisted metal that he assumed had once been supports. He could see a larger metal structure beyond, though its remains didn’t resemble anything he recognized.

A few feet away from him lay the remnants of some neon monstrosity, a sign that had once spelled something beginning with a giant green F, but despite that, it must have been someone’s house. From what Sam could see, this was a residential neighbourhood. Partial fences interlaced the remains of the buildings, and there was a bright snatch of fabric in the ruin of one home off to the right, a cheery remnant of life before the destruction.

But the closer he looked, the less it seemed like an explosion. There was no hint of a fire, no soot or lingering smell of smoke or acrid tang of chemicals. The buildings looked like they’d been pushed aside, crumbling like sandcastles swiped at by a child pretending to be a monster; it was more the work he’d expect to see from a tornado or a plough wind, but the damage wasn’t quite consistent with that, either. The worst of the damage seemed to be directly at ground level, and it wasn’t consistently strewn like it should be if wind were really the culprit.

Which meant, really, that he and Dean had every reason to be here, even if he couldn’t smell a whiff of sulphur.

“I’m sorry, Danny,” sobbed the girl. “I’m sorry. Just, please, help me.”

Sam started forward, picking his way through the rubble and trying to pinpoint the source of the girl’s voice. “Keep talking,” he called. “I’ll get you out of there.”

Silence, as if his presence had surprised her. Then, “No! Go away!”

Sam altered his course, aiming more off to the left now, toward what might have once been a garage based on its location but which now resembled a pile of broken concrete. “It’ll be okay. I’ll get you out of there. Just keep talking.”

He had no idea where Dean was. He couldn’t remember dropping his brother off at the local bar or getting dropped off to do some research at the library while Dean went to question people. Or maybe he’d gone to question people while Dean had checked into a motel?

It was unnerving, that knowledge gap, but it wasn’t important. Not right now. Not while someone’s life was on the line. If something shifted just the wrong way….

“It’ll be okay,” he repeated as he examined the rubble, trying to figure out how to move it safely. “You’ll be okay.”

The shriek came again, shriller this time, more desperate. “No, no! I’m sorry! Just go away!”

Sam felt the trembling ground before he really realized what he was hearing. He knelt to try to reassure the girl again—lie, most likely, but they were in the business of saving people, and this didn’t look natural—and the vibrations became stronger, rattling chunks of rock on the street and sending dust into the air as the rubble shifted. “Try to brace yourself,” he called, hoping such a thing was possible. “I’m going to get you out of there.”

The girl screamed again, a bloodcurdling screech Sam had heard too often before, and he was blinded by green light.

Sam jerked, breathing rapidly and suddenly realizing that the shaking, the rumbling—that was all normal. That was the car. He and Dean were on the road. The AC/DC screaming through the speakers might have been what had woken him up, but….

Wincing, Sam reached out and turned off the music. He had a splitting headache and was still blinking spots from his eyes after the brilliance of that flash. He needed to get his bearings. He needed—

“Hey, princess, just because you didn’t get enough beauty sleep last night, doesn’t mean—”

“Dean.” Sam hadn’t been sure he could get his voice to work. His tongue felt thick and foreign in his mouth. “I think…I think I….”

He was going to be sick.

Dean, more likely out of a sense of preservation for his precious car than immediate concern over what he probably thought was just a bad dream, hit the brakes and managed to swerve to a halt on the side of the road before Sam was hanging out the door and introducing his stomach contents to the ground.

“Dude, you never should’ve had that salad for lunch. There was probably E. coli on the spinach or something.”

Sam groaned and hung his head between his legs, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

“Here, man,” Dean said, and Sam realized he was holding out a water bottle. “At least rinse out your mouth.”

The water dulled the vile flavour of bile, but Sam didn’t dare drink more than a few sips while his stomach roiled, so he ended up swishing and spitting most of it on the ground.

“You good?”

No. It felt like the car was still moving, even though Sam had his feet planted firmly on the ground. He grunted.

“Migraine?”

Sam could hear the frown in Dean’s voice. “I think….” It hadn’t just been a dream. It couldn’t have been. They hadn’t fought any djinn in ages, it had been years since his last dose of dream root, and the angels weren’t exactly in a position to mess with them right now. Not like this, anyway. “It felt like a vision.”

The hand that had been rubbing his back stilled. “I thought we were done with that psychic crap. Azazel’s dead. No more Yellow Eyes, no more visions.”

Sam closed his eyes, but the throbbing in his head didn’t want to lessen. “Something must’ve triggered it.”

“Well, what? You’re clean, Sammy. Been clean for years. If you were going to relapse, wouldn’t it have been then?”

Then would have made sense, but Ruby’s blood hadn’t given him premonitions; it had given him the power to force demons out of their hosts, to hold their vessels in place while he ripped their smoking guts from the poor human they’d inhabited.

But he’d seen something this time.

He was sure of it.

Even if it hadn’t been exactly like his visions had once been. He hadn’t seen the cause of the destruction, didn’t know what terrible thing was going to happen unless he could prevent it. And he wasn’t used to being there, seeing things quite like that, because it felt like he’d lived it.

The only name he had—Danny—was far too common to be of any use, and while he was sure he’d recognize the girl’s voice if he heard it again, the only way to find her would be to find the place that had been destroyed. Unfortunately, whatever had caused the destruction had obliterated any street sign that should have been on the corner, so his leads on that were slim.

He remembered the F on the neon sign, distinct even half-buried in the rubble, but he hadn’t bothered to try to read the rest of the word. He hadn’t thought he’d needed to. He’d thought he was already there. That part hadn’t felt like the visions of before, but what else could it be? Dreams faded faster than this. Even those that didn’t shouldn’t leave him blinking spots from eyes that had been shut in sleep, but the afterimage left from that light….

“Just get me somewhere with free Wi-Fi.” Sam knew it wasn’t an answer, but he wasn’t sure he could give one yet. He didn’t have one. He just pulled himself back into the car, shut the door, and leaned back in his seat to stare at a stone chip in the windshield as a focus point until Dean started driving. The chip hadn’t yet spread—Dean intended to get it fixed first—but he could imagine what it would look like if it did. He could imagine what it would look like if the entire windshield shattered.

But that destruction was imagined, not real, and it felt less tangible than what he’d seen.

“Dude, maybe you should—”

“I don’t have time to rest. This is a case, Dean. We need to figure it out and stop it from happening.”

Sam didn’t need to turn his head to feel his brother’s gaze. Finally, he heard Dean shift gears and ease the car back onto the road, and he knew he’d won the first battle. “Tell me everything you remember.”

Clockwork knew what had happened the moment he returned to his tower. The Observants seemed to think he had an endless supply of time and had no qualms about squandering it, but for all their talk, they didn’t understand. They didn’t know which rules could be broken and which could not, and they hadn’t realized the danger when they’d tasked him as being the sole guard for a particularly nasty anachronism.

They didn’t know what power had been locked into place the moment the original timeline had been overwritten, nor what chronological catastrophe was likely in any timeline that resulted after the inevitable escape.

It had been inevitable. He’d known that. But he’d hoped to twist time so that the damage could be more contained. Now, since it had happened when he’d been trapped in a meeting with the Observants….

Clockwork swept past the twisted remains of the metal thermos and picked up a medallion from the rack on the wall. There was only so much he’d be able to do. The Observants, for all that they would blame him for this, would also insist he not interfere. If he did too much, they’d simply punish those they believed he’d favoured—compensation, as they liked calling it. Things must be returned to the proper equilibrium. They simply didn’t understand that there was more than one acceptable equilibrium. The balance they expected was not the only balance that could be achieved.

Still, action must be taken quickly, and an unexpected catalyst would be the best one. He would see to that; he already had. It would take—had only taken—a little tweak; nothing the Observants would notice unless they looked too closely, and they’d be too distracted to do that.

He opened a portal, stepped out to where young Danny Fenton was frozen mid-step and mid-sentence in a conversation with his friends, and hung the medallion over his chest.

“—n’t get away with—huh?” The halfa’s eyes grew wide as they found his form. “Clockwork? What are you doing here?”

He was creating a very visible distraction, one he hoped would cover up the minor adjustments being made to the timeline and reality itself. “Your future has caught up to you,” he said, watching as confusion melted into fear. “I cannot stop it now. That task must fall to you and those who would help you.”

“Sam and Tucker.”

It was not the only pair he meant, but it was the only pair that could be safely spoken aloud at this time. He did not need to see the Observants to feel their eyes on him. They had marked him the moment he’d crossed into the Real World. He had to choose his words carefully. “Not everything will be as it seems. You will need to—”

“Trust my instincts? Try not to do everything myself? Actually talk to Valerie and Jazz about this? You know Valerie wouldn’t take this well, right?”

He was so very, very young. He shouldn’t need to face something of this magnitude. Not yet, certainly not again.

But Clockwork couldn’t change this. Not anymore. He could only try to nudge things into the proper place so that it could be contained. If he miscalculated….

“Keep the medallion,” he said. “It may yet be of use.”

There were so many ways this could play out, and so few that were preferable.

“Good luck.”

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