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This couldn’t be happening. Danny had to prove to his parents that he was still their son. He didn’t want to be cut apart like some biology class practical. “Mum, dad, please, it’s me,” he called out.
“Don’t listen to it, Maddie,” said Dad urgently. “It would say that. Anything to save its ectoplasmic skin.”
Scratch that. This wasn’t even supposed to happen. He’d come out to his parents three times already: once to say he was trans, a second time as half-ghost (although time-shenanigans erased that moment) and a third time as half-ghost (although reality-bending shenanigans had erased that one). They’d been accepting every single time so why not now? What had he done so differently that now he was strapped to a cold, metallic table, unable to phase through the restraints as his mother—his own mother—was going to cut him open.
“Please,” he begged. “You can’t do this. You’ll kill me if you do that.” Well, end him completely, that is.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” screeched his mum. She slammed the scalpel back onto the trolley. “I can’t do it, Jack. I can’t do it whilst it’s using my baby’s face and voice.”
Dad rested a big meaty hand on mum’s shoulder. “I’ll do it,” he said with a badass grim determination that was nothing like the jolly—admittedly kind of bumbling—Jack Fenton that Danny was used to seeing in everyday life. “I’ll cut that ectoplasmic scum out of our son.”
It would have been admirable—had been when Dad had single-handedly fought off overshadowing through sheer force of will—but less so given what was at stake here.
“Please, Dad, don’t,” Danny begged. He did not want to die… again… or permanently, that is, if he failed to survive this.
Would he survive this?
Danny wasn’t sure if he would prefer surviving being cut open—without anaesthetic, he might add—and feel his dad rummage around inside his chest. “Please, it’s me,” he begged again, but dad didn’t react, not even to shout at him.
Dad just picked up the scalpel wordlessly, his face stony. The only sign of distress was him taking a few deep breaths before he lowered the scalpel towards Danny’s chest.
This was almost like some Desiree wish. He hadn’t unwittingly wished to go under the knife, had he? Because this is clearly not what he had…
Wait.
Wait!
Wait a minute!
Why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t that happen?
“Whilst you’re there, would you mind giving me top surgery?” asked Danny. “I mean, it’s illegal, but so’s vivisecting your son. If you’re gonna break the law, might as well go all in, and give me something I want whilst you’re at it.” Might as well, right? “In fact, could you do that for me first?” If his dad was to tear him apart, he’d rather it be done without the gender dysphoria, thank you very much.
Maddie grabbed dad’s wrist firmly. “Jack,” she said slowly, “honey, I don’t think Phantom is possessing our son.” She gulped. “I think… I think this is Danny.”
Dad squinted at Danny, before he turned to face mum. “You sure, Maddie?” he asked.
“Why would an ectoplasmic imprint of human consciousness care about body image?” she asked.
“Well, that’s…” Dad began, only to trail off slowly, his shoulders sagging. “Well, it’s mimicking our son’s appearance, maybe it’s also mimicking his personality?” He turned his gaze to Danny.
“What are you doing?” shrieked a voice from the staircase.
Everyone turned to the stairs where Jazz stood, face pale, the horror clear in her eyes.
“Tearing Phantom apart molecule by molecule?” suggested Jack.
“That’s Danny!”
“Well, sure, it’s using Danny’s body but…”
“The Fenton Ghost Catcher is right there!” shouted Jazz with a gesture to the corner of the lab, at the massive—and culturally insensitive—machine that was just standing there, gathering dust. “You could have at least tried throwing Danny through it before you did anything else.”
Danny looked at the machine in the basement corner. He saw Mum and Dad staring at it as well. In his panic, he’d forgotten all about that machine. He guessed they had as well.
“So,” said Danny, “I’m guessing that’s a ‘no’ to the top surgery then?”