Throne of the Ghost Emperor (Danny Phantom X Naruto)
Chapter 81 - 29

Chapter 81 - 29

Chapter 29: "Jogging with Ghosts and Unpacking Trauma in Sweatpants"

In which my childhood bully says something almost nice before totally ruining it.

Back at the Fenton household—also known as the Ghost Zone's least favorite Bed and Breakfast—Jack and Maddie were seated at the kitchen table, surrounded by blueprints, ghost detectors, and a half-eaten plate of nuclear-green waffles.

You know. Typical Tuesday.

"Well, Maddie," Jack said, tapping the butt of his beloved ghost blaster like it was a family heirloom (it wasn't, unless you counted third-degree burns as inheritance), "last night was... something."

Maddie took a careful sip of her extra-strength ghostproof coffee. "Something is one word. Catastrophe is another."

Outside, the smoking remains of what used to be a perfectly good suburban home still lingered in the air. Courtesy of one DJ Ghost and Jack's impromptu Ghostbuster Gone Wild routine.

"Did you see Danny?" Jack said, puffing out his chest like a proud walrus in a hazmat suit. "Our boy wasn't scared. Not one bit. He stood his ground, used music to exorcise the ghost right outta that guy. Just like one of those musical theater kids, only useful!"

Maddie raised an eyebrow. "Jack, he nearly got incinerated. Again."

Jack blinked. "But he didn't! That's the point. He's learning, Maddie. Our little guy is out there punching poltergeists and singing them into submission."

Maddie couldn't deny it. Last night, Danny had acted like a hero. A weirdly talented, karaoke-fueled, occasionally-on-fire hero. And even though Jack's entrance had been more 'Michael Bay' than 'Mission: Impossible,' it had ended with the ghost neutralized and no more fires spreading.

Also, half a neighborhood now thought Amity Park had been visited by aliens. So... success?

"I'm proud of him too," Maddie admitted, sliding over her notes. "But I asked him about last night. He said he has a mentor."

Jack blinked. "A mentor? Like a gym coach or like Mr. Miyagi?"

"More like... someone who trains him in secret. He wouldn't say who."

Jack's eyes went wide. "Is it that sensei guy from Channel 5?! The one with the exploding dumbbells?!"

Maddie gave him a flat look. "No, Jack. That man has been banned in three states."

"Oh." He looked genuinely disappointed.

They sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the enormity of the situation.

"He's changing, Maddie," Jack said finally, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "He's not the same clumsy little noodle we used to trip over in the hallway."

"True," Maddie agreed, crossing her arms. "He's stronger, faster. He's... focused. Honestly, it's a little eerie. But in a good way. Like when the toaster finally stops launching bagels into orbit."

Jack nodded solemnly. "It's time."

"Time for what?"

Jack slammed a fist down on the table, startling a rogue ghost detector into squealing like a pig on fire. "Time to train him the Fenton way! Weightlifting at dawn, anti-ectoplasmic sparring by noon, and a full diagnostic run of the ghost gauntlet by bedtime!"

Maddie raised an eyebrow. "You mean the one that electrocuted you into a coma last month?"

"Exactly!" Jack grinned. "Character building!"

Maddie wasn't entirely sold, but she was worried too. Danny wasn't just dipping his toes into danger—he was doing cannonballs off the high dive. If someone was mentoring him, they were doing something right. But the Fentons were ghost-hunters. Protecting people—especially their son—wasn't just a job. It was personal.

"Alright," she said at last. "We ease him into it. No full ghost gauntlet yet. Maybe some light cardio. Controlled training."

Jack pumped a fist. "Yes! Fenton Family Training Camp: Activate!"

Outside the kitchen window, a neighborhood cat cautiously approached the Fenton RV and hissed at the faint radiation humming from it.

 ------------------------------

Four days.

That's how long it had been since Naruto—yes, that Naruto, ghost mentor extraordinaire with the fashion sense of an anime protagonist and the wisdom of a glow-in-the-dark Yoda—had crash-landed into my very normal, totally-not-chaotic life.

And I'm not even being dramatic when I say I was a completely different person now. Like, if my old self met my new self, he'd probably try to ghost-spray me on sight.

It wasn't just the new muscles or the parkour skills that made me feel like the superhero version of a protein shake commercial. It was... the purpose. Yeah, I know, big word alert. But seriously, I felt like I was finally moving forward, instead of just dodging ghosts and gym class.

And today? Today was "Heroic Community Service Day," apparently.™

No, it wasn't a national holiday—though I'd totally vote for that if it came with free smoothies—but a Naruto-requested mission. According to him, earning "points" through helping people would unlock goodies from the Super Secret Ninja Santa Vault (not its real name, but I'm lobbying for it).

So I called up Sam and Tucker.

Correction: I begged Sam and Tucker.

And surprisingly, they agreed. Sam probably because helping people was "punk eco-activism with emotional growth," and Tucker because I promised to buy him chili fries. Heroism tastes like debt.

We started our day at the local park, where we found a half-collapsed swing set and a family of squirrels holding what looked suspiciously like a gang meeting. While Tucker distracted them with a peanut butter granola bar (he calls it "animal diplomacy"), Sam and I tightened bolts, repainted the rusted poles, and replaced the sign that previously read "Enter at your own peril."

Progress!

Next stop: helping Mrs. Lopez cross the street.

Now, you'd think escorting an elderly lady would be easy. You'd be so wrong. This woman moved at 0.0001 miles per hour and kept stopping to swat pigeons who "looked judgmental." But I smiled through it, offered my arm, and tried not to spontaneously combust under the gaze of every driver at the intersection who definitely thought I was part of a school play.

Then we handed out food to some folks at the shelter. That one hit different. Like... it wasn't flashy. It wasn't ghost-hunting or acrobatics or slicing through shadows. But seeing someone's whole day brighten because of something you gave them?

That was real power.

"I feel like a better person," I said as we collapsed onto a bench, covered in paint, granola crumbs, and maybe a little self-satisfaction.

"Yeah," Tucker said, sipping his smoothie. "You're almost... tolerable now."

"Gee, thanks."

Sam smirked. "Seriously though. What's gotten into you lately? You're... not the same Danny."

That made me pause. Because she was right. I wasn't the same guy who used to hide behind sarcasm and invisibility powers when things got hard. I was starting to understand what it meant to step forward because things were hard. That helping people wasn't just a task—it was a choice.

A choice that felt good. A choice that mattered.

"I guess..." I said slowly, "I'm just trying to figure out what kind of hero I want to be."

Sam tilted her head. "Hero, huh?"

Tucker nudged me. "Well, if this hero thing comes with better Wi-Fi and front-row seats to Ghost Thunderdome, I'm in."

I laughed, leaning back as the sun dipped lower in the sky. Somewhere in the distance, I could almost hear Naruto grinning like the proud, spectral drill sergeant he was.

Four days ago, I was a barely-passing student with ghost problems.

Now? I was a kid with a cause.

And yeah, okay, I still had math homework due Monday, and my left sock smelled like haunted ketchup for reasons I don't want to discuss.

But for the first time in a long time, I wasn't just reacting to life—I was living it.

 -------------------------

So picture this.

It's sunset. The sky's going full orange creamsicle, I'm on my way home after a long day of heroic smoothie-sharing and ghost mentor-approved good deeds, when who should appear from the mist like an unwanted gym teacher?

Dash Baxter.

Yes, that Dash. My arch-nemesis since second grade. Slayer of self-esteem. The human equivalent of a wedgie.

He was jogging, which in itself wasn't weird—Dash was the type who probably did pushups between shampoo and conditioner—but he was carrying a weighted backpack like he was training to climb Mount Ego.

He slowed down when he saw me. And I slowed down, too, mostly to make sure I wasn't about to get shoulder-checked into a mailbox.

Then it happened.

"You're looking good, Danny," he said.

I blinked.

"What?"

No punch. No insult. No sarcastic laugh followed by a headlock. Just... words. Slightly compliment-flavored ones, at that.

"You heard me," Dash added, eyeing me like he was evaluating a gym rival. "Looking fit. Your hands don't look like soggy breadsticks anymore."

"Uh... thanks?" I said, confused. "Are you okay? Did you hit your head on a protein bar?"

He frowned. "What? A guy can't praise another guy's progress? Don't you know I respect strength?"

"Okay, that's cool and all," I said slowly, "but what's your problem, Dash? I thought if anything, you'd start being nicer because you have a thing for Jazz."

Dash stiffened like I'd poked a nerve. "This has nothing to do with Jazz."

"Uh-huh. Right. So the sudden years of torment were just—what, a hobby? Extreme emotional cardio?"

"I told you," Dash snapped, his tone hardening, "I've always told you. I bully you because you're a disgrace to your family."

Hold. Up.

"Come again?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Dash rolled his shoulders like he was warming up for a TED Talk of bad life decisions. "Your dad—Jack Fenton—is a legend. Brave, strong, a beast in the field. And you? You used to be scared of dodgeballs and ran like a duck with two left shoes."

"Okay, that's... kinda true," I admitted, "but still harsh."

"I respected your dad," he said, his voice rising with the kind of intensity people usually reserve for championship speeches or badly written action movies. "And then I looked at you and saw someone wasting that legacy. Hiding in the background. Afraid to fight. It made me sick."

I stared at him. Like, full-on stared. My brain tried to process it all like it was a pop quiz written in ghost hieroglyphics.

"So you bullied me because I didn't live up to your idea of my dad's legacy?"

Dash didn't answer. He just glared ahead, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists like he was wrestling with words he didn't want to say.

And suddenly... I saw it.

The anger, yeah—but also the disappointment. Not in me, exactly, but in what he thought I could've been.

For Dash, everything boiled down to strength. Power. Performance. He saw my dad as a hero and me as... well, a failure to live up to that. So instead of, I don't know, giving me a pep talk like a normal human, he chose public humiliation. Because that's healthy.

"Well," I said finally, "thanks for the unsolicited character development."

Dash grunted. "Don't get soft on me now, Fenton. I'm still watching."

He adjusted his backpack and took off again, jogging into the distance like some grumpy motivational poster with abs.

I stood there for a moment, trying to process the whole weird encounter. Childhood betrayal, accidental respect, unresolved emotional trauma—yeah, that was a lot for a Tuesday evening.

But one thing was clear: Dash didn't hate me. Not really.

He hated the idea that I wasn't trying.

Too bad for him... I was done not trying.

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

You'd think walking home with a ghost would be terrifying.

But at this point, floating next to Naruto Uzumaki—a glowing, barely-solid dude with sun-colored eyes and a tendency to quote life wisdom like some kind of haunted fortune cookie—was the most normal part of my week.

He drifted beside me, hands behind his head, doing this casual sideways hover like it was a breeze. Meanwhile, I was trudging along the sidewalk in a hoodie, replaying my super weird encounter with Dash Baxter on a mental loop.

"I mean, we were neighbors," I muttered. "We used to have barbeques. I taught him how to ride a bike. He once cried because a bee landed on his juice box and I punched it to save him. That guy."

Naruto raised an eyebrow. "You punched a bee?"

"It was a heroic moment! I was five and fearless."

"Right. And now he calls you a disgrace to your entire family line."

"Thanks for that reminder," I groaned.

Naruto chuckled, floating a little higher so he could lay belly-up in the air like a chill balloon. "Look, things happen. Not everything in life goes according to plan. People grow apart, sometimes for no reason at all. Or dumb reasons. Or ghost-related trauma."

I sighed and shoved my hands into my pockets. "I just don't get it. We were supposed to be best friends. Now he's carrying emotional grudges like it's a gym membership."

Naruto was quiet for a second. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer. "Yeah. I get that."

I glanced over. "You do?"

He nodded, eyes on the darkening sky. "When I was a kid... there was someone like that for me too. Sasuke. We grew up in the same village. Same age. Same class. We were supposed to be equals—maybe even brothers in arms. But we didn't really see each other back then. We were just two lonely kids pretending we didn't care."

I blinked. "Dang. That got deep fast."

He smirked. "Life tends to, especially when you've died once or twice."

"Fair."

He rotated lazily midair, now facing me upside down like some ghostly yoga master. "Sometimes, you're not ready to be friends when you should've been. Life has a way of pulling people apart before it throws them back together. Stronger. Or more prepared. Or, you know... covered in ghost goo and accidental trauma."

That got a laugh out of me. "So... what, I'm supposed to forgive Dash because he's got beef with my past self?"

"No. But maybe understand him. A little."

I chewed on that thought like it was a rubbery cafeteria burger. Understanding Dash didn't mean excusing him. But maybe it meant... not carrying the same weight he did.

After a few moments, I said, "You think we'll ever be friends again?"

Naruto shrugged. "If he works on himself. If you stay honest. If fate doesn't throw another soul-sucking monster between you. Maybe."

"Cool. I'll just add that to my growing list of 'Maybes with Dash Baxter.' Right after 'Maybe he won't dunk me in the trash next week.'"

Naruto snorted. "Progress is progress."

As we turned the corner toward my house, I felt a little lighter. Still confused, yeah. Still irritated. But also... kind of hopeful.

Maybe the future wasn't just full of ghosts and vigilante rooftop fights.

Maybe it had room for healing, too.

Even for former best friends turned part-time jerks.

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