Post with 210 notes
Superphantom. Based on this hysterical headcanon.
Sam Winchester accepted his styrofoam cup of coffee with a half-hearted pluck from his brother. He set it down beside the humming vent of his laptop, untouched.
"What? Not even a ‘thanks’?" Dean asked between sips of his own drink.
"Oh, thanks," Sam muttered in response, but his eyes didn’t lift from the screen. They flickered through text, absorbed with the kind of unbreakable concentration Dean never understood.
"Got something?" Dean asked, his interest piqued. He rested his cup on Sam’s shoulder, and his free hand gripped around the back of his brother’s chair.
"I think so," Sam answered as he shrugged his brother off. "How’s a ghost hunt sound to you?"
"Better than another day of cable tv and internet porn."
Dean smiled and took another gulp of his coffee.
"I can’t get much of a concrete source on this, but," Sam slipped a hand around the backside of his computer and snatched a newspaper folded against its creases, "a whole town disappeared off the grid yesterday. No phones, no internet, no power as far as I can tell, and they’re saying no one could get in or out."
Dean snorted quietly and leaned around Sam. “And you think we can get them back?”
"No, they came back on their own, sometime around 10 or 11 last night, but supposedly they’re blaming the whole uh—inter-dimensional travel they called it—on ghosts."
Dean scrunched his eyebrows together, lips parted in doubt. “You ever heard of a ghost that could zap an entire city off the planet?”
"That’s why they’re saying ghosts, plural, and that’s not all.” Sam shifted his attention back to the computer screen; Dean’s eyes followed. “Apparently this town has been under ghost siege for two years, at least.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed as he did the math. “And we’ve never heard of them?”
Sam laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, well they claim they’ve got their own personal ‘ghost hero’ who cleans these things up before they get out of hand. Town’s small and pretty remote, so that doesn’t help news travel.”
Dean smirked at the image in his mind. “What they’ve got…vigilante Batghost looking after them?”
Sam leaned back and tilted to computer to his brother, face empty as he waited for a response. Dean straightened up, surprised.
"You’re telling me Casper here’s been saving everyone." Dean nodded toward the scrawny white-haired boy on screen. The ghost offered the camera a forced smile, a reporter on his arm and a mic shoved under his nose. Sam zoomed in, and flecks of green blood lighted on the boy’s cheeks.
"Danny. They say his name’s Danny." And Sam clicked on the still frame, setting it into motion. A 2 minute clip rolled past the screen, starting with the boy locked in mid-air as he wrestled an iron-suited giant into submission. He flicked the cap off of something in his hand, tilted it toward the beast, and consumed the thing with hazy blue light. As he landed, the onsight reporter swarmed him, rattling off a few questions too quick for the ghost kid to catch. He only smiled back uncertainly.
Dean snorted quietly, shaking his head with something like awe.
"That device he’s using is effective. The…thermos looking thing. He takes out most of the ghosts with it." Sam paused the video as an ad started to play. “He’s got this pretty figured out.”
"Until the whole town gets erased from the map," Dean said with a laugh. He sipped his coffee, grimaced, and glanced casually at the host of newspapers on the desk. "Any idea who the kid was when he was alive?"
"None. No teenage ‘Danny’s died in this town far as I can tell. I’ve been looking around for any violent deaths that fit him, in case Danny is a pseudonym, but the best I got is a 13 year old who drowned back in 1967. Doesn’t fit."
"Yeah well don’t sweat it." Dean took the mouse and scrolled to the top of the article, the banner of which featured a widened shot of the hero’s uncertain face. "He’s a celebrity. I don’t think it’ll be too hard to get a little face time with him."
Sam let out a bemused snort. “So what? We go in, play the adoring fans, interrogate him and then…take him out? Isn’t that a little low?”
"We’ve done way worse."
"Yeah, but he’s just a kid."
"We’re not killing him, Sammy." Dean sank onto his bed, snatched the boots that had rolled underneath, and yanked them one at a time onto his feet.
"Just seems a little under-handed, even by our standards."
"Personally," Dean tugged the laces on his boot, "if I was expecting a little rest, I wouldn’t be too thrilled about being dragged back to life to spend all eternity butting heads with ghosts. He’s dead, Sam."
Sam twisted in his seat, eyes trained on Dean, ”What about all the other ghosts then?”
"I’ve got an idea." Dean knotted the laces on the second boot. "You ever heard of hordes of ghosts hanging around one spot? They’re territorial, Sam. They’re loners. It’s not normal for them to get so cozy together. That means something’s calling them.”
"…and you think it’s the kid?"
"If the shoe fits." Dean kicked his own foot out as he tightened the laces for good measure.
Sam stared back at Danny’s blown-up picture with uncertainty. “And what if he’s not the source of the attacks? What do we do if we end him and the attacks keep coming?”
"We’ll play it by ear. We’re not ganking the kid until we know for certain what’s going on." Dean stood and brushed off his pants. "You coming or what?"
"Give me a couple minutes," Sam answered. He stood, stretched, and turned the laptop to Dean "But first," he grabbed the neighboring motel chair and swung it around to the table, "you gotta get up to speed on this."
Dean grumbled something about “nerd work” as he fell into the seat, tepid coffee pressed bitterly to his mouth.
At 11:20, Danny Fenton slammed his lunch tray down with more force than necessary. His light eyes flickered left and right, narrowed in concentration.
"You’re a little late," Tucker remarked through a mouthful of burger. "I thought Lancer just wanted ‘a few minutes’?"
"Lancer only kept me until five after." He made to sit in his chair but thought better of it. "Can I talk to you guys for a minute? Somewhere private?"
He jerked his head over his shoulder to the door leading out the side of the school. His friends nodded, Sam with a quiet “sure”, and followed him out the iron door. Danny rubbed absently at the shoulder he’d pressed against it as he turned to Sam and Tucker.
"What’s up?" Sam asked, but Danny had already begun to rifle through his pockets. His hand emerged clutching a tiny steel meter. Its shaft was grooved with finger indents, the top blipping sporadically in tune to the wandering red needle.
"You guys seen anything today? Anything weird?"
"Not since we got back from Bizarro World yesterday," Tucker offered flatly. "Why?"
Danny tapped the device in his hands. “This thing’s been going haywire for almost an hour now but it’s not…not keying in to anything. I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes trying to find what’s got it worked up.” He looked up at the sky, left, right, and back to his friends. “But I’ve got nothing. My ghost sense hasn’t triggered, so I maybe…do you think the meter’s just messed up?”
Tucker’s hand dove into his bag, then his pocket.
"Uh…negatory," He had fished his own sensor out, finger tapping delicately at the glass screen. "Mine’s jumping around too."
Sam quickly followed suit, surfacing with her own EMF sensor. She waved it twice in the air and watched as the needle bounced energetically.
"Mine too. No ghost sense, you said?" Sam repeated to be sure.
"None." Danny looked up from the corner of the school building he’d dragged them to, out to the boundary uniting the front of the school with its side. The town buzzed on the horizon. "Something’s doing it."
"Well we’ve got 20 more minutes for lunch," Tucker said. "If we do a quick fly-through of town—"
Danny cut him off abruptly when the meter jumped. It let out a quick sputter of whines before dying out again.
"It’s close," Danny whispered, strained. "Whatever this thing is."
"Alright alright," Sam breathed, hand to his shoulder, "so it’s not a ghost?”
"Probably not. I should have sensed it by now, but maybe it’s hidden from my ghost sense."
"Maybe Valerie’s got some new equipment that’s throwing this off. Or Vlad," Sam proposed back.
"Valerie was in math with me when this started. She didn’t get up or leave the room or anything."
"And Vlad?" Tucker prompted.
"My ghost sense would have noticed him."
"What about the Guys in White?" Tucker rallied back.
"How would we not have noticed them?” Danny deadpanned. “They can’t enter a 5 mile radius without announcing themselves.”
"Plain clothes, you know?" Tucker said uncertainly. "Like those guys." He tossed his head over his shoulder, thumb extended toward to the two suit-and-tie men looking warily at the building. "They’re about as ‘plain clothes’ as the Guys in White get."
Danny and Sam turned their heads to follow Tucker’s motion. The two men looked back, locking eyes for just a second. There was a quick flicker in the shorter one’s hands, and something in his palm reflected the sun.
"I think the Guys in White have their suits welded onto their bodies, Tuck." Danny backed up defensively against the wall. "And let’s find somewhere more private to talk."
Tucker looked at Danny, then spared another second to watch the suited men. “Why? I don’t think they can hear us.”
Sam though stayed silent, tense, she bit down on her lip in contemplation. ”Something’s wrong,” she remarked.
"With the sensors?" Danny asked, rattling his.
"No, with them." She jerked a thumb toward the men. "Why are two grown men wandering a high school front lawn?"
"They look pretty official, Sam," Tucker said quietly.
"That’s just it—they think they do, but they don’t." Sam motioned to her own collar. "The hems around the neckline are worn, and the cuffs look pretty creased from here. The suits aren’t well fitted, and the button pattern went out of style in the mid 80’s."
"Damn," Tucker whispered with a laugh. "Sam you’re on top of this."
Her face darkened. “Yeah well you spend your childhood at business parties and you learn tired old men have surprisingly little to talk about except appearances.” She sucked in her lip again. “And money. And cars. But it’s all the same.”
"So let’s get out of here then," Danny answered. "Not like we—" He froze as he raised his detector to the two men across the lawn. The needle jumped immediately, squawked, and died again. "…Oh."
“‘Oh’’s right,” Tucker said. His sensor mimicked Danny’s when he rammed it in the two men’s direction. He plunged his hand into Sam’s open backpack. She twisted to swat him away, but not before Tucker emerged with a “Save the Frogs” flyer.
"Tucker I don’t have enough of those to go around a—"
"Trust me," Tucker assured her with an unwelcome pat, "and just follow my lead." He turned on his heels and took off across the lawn. "Sirs! Sirs! Could I have a moment of your time?"
Dean felt a sharp tap on his shoulder. “Look alive—and stash the EMF meter—some kid’s trying to get our attention,”
Dean followed his brother’s advice and stowed the device in the folds of his suit. He set on a fake smile and lifted himself higher as the kid approached.
"Would you gentlemen be interested in a flyer on how we can save the frogs in our school biology room? It’ll take only a moment of your time."
"Sorry kid, we’re kinda here on official business—" Dean started, but Sam cut him off quickly.
"Actually, yes. Don’t mind my partner; we’ve…we’ve got plenty of time."
"Great!" The kid’s face glowed, and he shoved the flyer to the two men. "So are you locals? Residents? Visitors? The senators would love to hear from you about this."
"We—we’re from a few towns over. We work with the FDA," Sam grabbed a badge from his pocket and flipped it open for the kid to see. "There’s been some reports of possibly contaminated food—uh, phosphorescent material seeping into the products. Have you noticed anything lately?" The man shrugged noncommittally, face open, "Perhaps a strange glow to anything you’ve eaten?"
The kid smiled, an expression neither Sam nor Dean could place. “Well the fast food around here is pretty radioactive, and the cafeteria stuff was never edible to start, but who knows?” The kid lifted his shoulders and grabbed a small smart phone from his breast pocket. “Hey would you gents mind if I snap a picture? I’m running for student council president, and I’d love to document some of this.”
Before Sam or Dean could answer, the flash went off.
"Thanks, you guys are great."
"Yeah, yeah no problem…" Sam answered with less assurance than before. His eyes flickered to Dean, who hadn’t spoken for some time.
Dean had his hand pressed into his chest behind the clipboard he held, and from his vantage point, Sam could see the EMF reader Dean held, the needle teetering, stuck, in the red.
"We’ll be going now," Sam filled the silence and knocked Dean on the back. "It’s your principal we’re here to see."
"Right in the front, first door on your left. Great work you guys are doing," the kid answered, and he tipped his beret at them as they left.
With a good twenty feet of distance, Dean finally spoke. “This thing was going absolutely crazy.” He rattled the EMF detector. “Did you see that?”
"Yeah, yeah I did," Sam answered quietly. He hid his mouth behind the flyer the kid had pawned off on him.
"And that kid was giving me all kinds of creepy vibes. No way he’s human. Some kind of…ghost hoard in this town trying to scare us off." Dean gave a mock shiver and froze. "He didn’t even tell us his name."
"Doesn’t matter," Sam said as he glanced at the "Save the Frogs" flyer in his hand. "Says here his name is Sam Manson."
"Think he’s a friend with this Danny Batghost guy?"
"Maybe," Sam pushed the school’s front door open, washing the two of them in the warm current of air stagnating in the school entryway. He shoved the flyer into the breast pocket of his thrift store suit. "At least we’ll be able to find him again if we need to."
"Sam Manson, huh?" Dean echoed as he stepped inside. He surveyed the decaying walls with dislike. He typically surveyed all schools with dislike. "Hopefully we won’t have to. This town’s weird enough, we don’t need any of this Sam/Sam business making things any more confusing."
"You really think this is the best way for us to spend our time?" Danny asked. He hung off his bed, hair brushing the floor as he listened to the steady thrum-thrum of blood in his ears. He kicked absently at the wall behind his bed.
"Patience, Danny," Tucker answered. From his upside down perspective, Danny could see websites flying across the screen as Tucker dug for something. "Also do you think sitting in English is really the better way to be spending our time.”
"No," Danny said as he spun right side up. "I mean we could be tailing those guys. Finding out what they’re up to."
"Not smart when you know nothing about them."
"And what, are you gonna find anything on Thrift Shop Bob and Jim by googling them?" Danny countered.
"Sam and Dean, Danny."
Both Danny and Sam perked up at the piece of information that slipped out their friend’s mouth.
"When’d you get their names?" Sam asked, looking up from her phone. She’d scrounged half-heartedly through a few websites, but didn’t know what to search.
"Just now—I knew I recognized them," Tucker answered with a smug smile.
"You know them?"
"Remember a couple weeks ago when I got the flu and watched America’s Most Wanted in fifteen hour sittings?" Tucker spun his body in Danny’s desk chair. "Well it’s paying off." He clicked something, which opened four or five new tabs on the computer. "And you thought I should have been doing my homework, Sam."
"So wait, they’re criminals?" Danny asked, pushing the topic back on point.
"Yup. Brothers. And they’re wanted for burglary, breaking and entering, grave desecration, destruction of porperty, credit card fraud, bank robbery," he turned to face them, eyes gleaming with interest, "and murder."
A beat of silence followed. Sam broke it by exhaling. “Wow.”
"Still think you should have just followed them?" Tucker asked. Danny only shook his head.
"Then why are we bothering? We call the cops, they get arrested, that’s the end of it. We’re dealing with criminals, not ghouls."
"Well these guys are slippery, you see. The cops had them surrounded at the bank robbery but they—well they just slipped through. Like they walked out the back wall or something."
"Meaning what?" Sam asked as she stashed her phone in her bag.
"Meaning I haven’t told you the best part." Tucker turned the screen to Danny and Sam and beckoned them over. Once they’d come close enough to make out the text on the screen, Tucker prodded at the little line of text under each mugshot.
“Deceased?” Danny and Sam whispered in unison.
"Yup. And the Dean guy—" Tucker stuck up two fingers, "—twice. They had a body and everything, but he just popped up again, alive and well.” Tucker grabbed his phone from the desk, flipped to the picture, and set it against the presented mug shots. Tucker, smiling in the middle, was no doubt standing next to Sam and Dean Winchester.
"I’m some kind of world-class detective," Tucker muttered, satisfied. Danny ignored him and read the bio on the two instead.
"It was them. They were the ones sending our equipment on the fritz.” Danny skimmed the information on the page. Dean had slaughtered some woman in St. Louis. Sam was a suspected accomplice, but they had no concrete evidence on him. “So they’re dead…But still my ghost sense should have triggered.”
"Well they’re running around in human form," Sam offered. She pushed Danny aside so she could read the screen. "And not like they overshadowed anyone since they’re in their own bodies. They could be masking their ghost selves somehow.”
Danny slowly shook his head, turning away with a pang of fear and disgust as the webpage went into the mess of people the Winchesters had slaughtered in the bank. “Serial killer ghosts. I mean…You could get away with anything if people don’t know you can—” A sudden fit of nervousness shot through his heart. “And I’m gonna have to deal with them, aren’t I?”
"It’s in the superhero contract," Sam said, but Danny could hear the uncertainty in her voice. Even Tucker started to shift uncomfortably as he read the details of the Winchester murders.
"Great," Danny breathed.
"What’s the worst that can happen to you, man?" Tucker breathed as he knocked Danny on the shoulder. "You gonna die twice?"
Dean rested his shoulder against the doorframe separating the tiny office of Mel Parker, guidance counselor, from the rest of the guidance department. He looked with disinterest at the filing cabinet he’d left open as he thumbed quickly through the permanent records of Sam Manson. “Well, we’ve got one problem,” he called loudly to Sam two tiny offices down, “Sam Manson’s a chick.”
Sam glanced up from his position by the guidance room door. He dropped watch for a second, hoping that no one was planning to enter the room for the split second he looked away.
"Good news," Dean continued before Sam could offer his thoughts. Dean turned the folder outward, presenting the image of a pale unsmiling girl with short dark hair, "she’s the girl toting behind our little president."
"Look deeper in the folder. Maybe she and the beret-wearing kid have gotten in trouble together."
"What do you think I’m do—" Dean cut himself off with a wry smile. He set the folder down and rifled quickly through the adjacent cabinets, yanking out two more files. The first picture he found in Tucker Foley’s file spread his smile ear to ear. “Hey Sammy, found our mystery kid.”
Sam abandoned his post, covered the distance between him and his brother in four short strides, and leaned forward to read the front. “Tucker Foley.”
"Yeah. Says he, Manson, and Fenton cut school together…a lot apparently. And broke into the teacher’s lounge. And triggered some kind of school-wide food fight. Damn this list goes on."
"Working on it—"
"Fenton the ghost hunting family, Fenton?"
Dean paused to consider before flipping open the folder. “Parents: Madeline and Jack Fenton.”
"Well you’re all studied up, college boy."
Sam rolled his eyes as Dean continued to flip.
"Yeah. They’re the ones who pulled Amity from nowhere-land. Also it’s very likely they started the whole ghost invasion thing since it seems they’ve got some kind of functioning port—"
"Wait, Sam." Dean froze, silencing the rhythmic fwip of each page. “…Well what do you know?” Dean remarked quietly.
"What?" Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulder, turning him slightly so he could catch a glimpse of the file.
"Oh this is great." Dean tossed the record to Sam, who caught it with only a second’s notice. Look at that picture and tell me something.
Sam complied, taking in the details of the dark haired, lanky, round-cheeked boy who peered up shyly at the camera. “He’s the third kid we saw outside today, with Foley and Manson.”
"Uh-huh," Dean prompted as he fought down his own smile.
Sam blinked, remembering the off behavior of Tucker Foley. He imagined a ghost holding residence inside the boy, imagined the boy as a ghost, staring down at Fenton’s picture.
The image flashed instantly through his mind: Black to white. Blue to green. Sam exhaled sharply.
"Danny Fenton. Phantom. Is that what you—”
"Yup," Dean answered almost gleefully.
"The ghost hunters’ son?”
Dean smiled, enjoying the revelation far more than he ought to. “Do you think his parents reanimated him Frankenstein style? Or was it an accident? Maybe Mommy and Daddy didn’t lock up their weapons as tightly as they thought.”
"Could be the result of some kind of revenge killing, Dean. The parents hunt ghosts, yeah? So some spirit gets angry at the parents, offs their kid—and the son’s spirit comes back restless and eager to pick off ghosts one by one."
"This keeps getting better." Dean motioned for the record back, which Sam, who’d returned to his guard post by the door, launched just too far to the left. Dean managed to save it with a lunge.
"Guess we didn’t even have to find Casper," Dean spoke into the cabinet as he put each file back and jimmied the paper clip out of the cabinet’s lock. "Casper found us."
"So what’s our plan then?" Sam Manson asked, back to the wall.
Danny snorted. “Meaning how do we deal with serial killers? Criminally minded, ‘America’s Most Wanted’ level serial killers who happen to be ghosts?” Danny stood, pacing. “We shoot first while we’re still alive, ask questions never.” His face hardened as he spoke. “We trap ‘em. We off them. That’s it.”
"What do we do now?" Sam Winchester asked, back to the guidance door.
Dean scoffed. “What do we do with a little kid? A kid who’s ‘Casper the Friendly Ghost’ levels of terrifying?” Dean stood, shoulders loose. “We start a friendly little conversation, Sammy. And if things go south, well there’s always salting and burning.” His face lightened, laughing. “We invite ‘em over, and we have ourselves a nice little tea party. I’ll even buy the scones.”