A/N: Hey, look, a fic I started writing…over four years ago…and only finally updated again in the spring after posting some of it to tumblr. Anyway, this bit's the teaser, the hook, to let you know what's coming if you decide to stick with this fic. Lots of blood off the start. As always, standard disclaimers apply.

Mr. Lancer stared in shock at the boy in front of him. He was having trouble believing his eyes. It couldn't possibly be…. But it was. He knew it had to be, even if he didn't understand why.

To keep such a secret from nearly everyone….

His parents couldn't know. Lancer was certain of it. Knowing them, they would have tried to do something about it. But if he'd learned anything from teaching the child, it was that young Mr. Fenton was stubborn. He would have kept on doing it if he felt he was doing the right thing, which he surely did. Nothing his parents said would have been able to dissuade him.

But to see him now would surely break Mr. and Mrs. Fentons' hearts, however proud they might have been of their son for following in their footsteps and hunting ghosts.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

The green smears along the classroom floor were Danny Phantom's ectoplasm, Lancer knew. The wounds had been deep, and they had taken more out of him than he had known. The lifeblood of Amity Park's infamous ghost boy had finally been shed with the hunter's blow. Though Lancer didn't want to admit it, he wasn't certain that the boy's remarkable resilience would be enough this time.

The smudged handprint on the classroom door had been what had first alerted him to this scene. The normal, eerie glow that he usually associated with ectoplasm had been conspicuously absent. There was only the odd speck of ectoplasm between the door and the first desk, but after that, it was clear that Phantom had collapsed. The legs of the desks were sticky with drying ectoplasm, the path to one particular desk laid out in dull, sickly green.

The streaks made it clear that Phantom had been reduced to crawling. Inching his way along, trying to keep moving. But the greatest amount of green was the stain beneath the desk Danny Fenton currently occupied. The pooled ectoplasm still held the distinct shimmer that the other traces had lost, betraying its origin. The alarming size of the pool meant that despite Phantom's efforts, he couldn't stem the flow. And to make matters worse, the stain on the tile was growing.

It was the mixture that made Lancer's stomach turn as much as the sight of poor Danny Fenton himself. Drying swirls of red danced amongst the green, making a mockery of the Christmas colours. These two did not belong together, not here, not like this. And yet there they were, defying everything. Ectoplasm and blood.

The green marks were replaced by red, stretching up the desk. Red coated metal, running along chipped paint before pooling into droplets about to fall. It filled the graffiti on the desktop left by various children over the years, emphasizing the scratched-in scribblings of the past. Most distressingly, blood still oozed from the wounds. It slid down matted hair already slippery with the fluid. Dripped steadily from the slick tips. Landed on the desk and blossomed outwards, gliding downwards toward the edge, ready to gather, waiting to fall, eager to mix with the green coating that marred the white tile floor.

Lancer could not see much of Danny from this angle, particularly as the boy was slumped over the front of the desk, but there was no denying that it was him. It was also no question that he was hurt terribly. He was so pale. He'd lost so much blood.

"Lord of the Flies, Mr. Fenton," Lancer murmured, his eyes following a dark red droplet as it fell free from the desk's edge and tumbled onto the floor. Drop by drop. One after the other. A drip far too steady for comfort. "How did this happen to you?"