Time Ripples of the Winters and the Moon

Summary: Assuming her parents would dissect her was the right thing but did anyone believe her? No. PP did stall it, but you know mad scientists' curiosity… In the pit of her end, she makes a deal and Jack Frost, as always, got the lucky strike to meet her- A happy noble Phantom and a fun touch-starved Frost? Way too much fun!

Not sure if any of you have ever written this so I claim FIRSTIES! This is Female Danny x Jack fiction! Yay!

Disclaimer: Neither Danny Phantom nor Rise of the Guardians is my creation, except for the plot. Purely mine, purely my hobby, purely my stress reliever.

Rewritten again in May 17'th 2015. I've been focusing on Code Geass Code Geass Code Geass Code Geass and went bat shit crazy about Lelouch when suddenly I dreamed about Jack Frost and began to miss this terribly. TERRIBLY!

Chapter 1 : Bite the crumbs or everything at once?

I change into my lavender colored pyjama automatically. My mind was numb, purposely. I sat at the edge of my bed, my feet slipping out of my night - plain white flat slippers.

My left arm stretched and took an innocent looking bottle of pills on my night table beside my bed.

Doctor's orders.

Aspirin.

Mild concussion.

Sleeping pills.

Don't strain yourself.

Rest.

Rest.

Rest.

My… parents… had sent me to the professionals this morning. I didn't pay attention. I didn't pay any attention at all ever since. The words just blurred, all jumbled up in my head. Entering into my ear and left from the other. I didn't care. I couldn't care.

I pass the bottle to my right hand. My left hand opened the lid. I was usually – originally, right handed. But, with how many times my hands got broken during fights, and beatings from Paulina's lost dogs and lackeys, I had to train and use my left hand when the other is currently unavailable to be used. Now I can use both right and left hand perfectly. Ambidextrous.

Weirdo.

The lid was off now, and I let it fall on my bed carelessly. I set the bottle diagonally down, a few pills fell onto my left hand, and I straightened the bottle back up.

I… stare at the small.. round.. pills on my hand.. I wanted to s-so badly i-it terrified me. But a large part of me didn't care, couldn't care, not anymore…

(It'll be easy)

(You'll never experience the pain again)

(You can do it...)

(...I'll be here with you)

I hear you… me… I know… I wanted to. Just a couple. Just a few pills. So I could sleep a little longer. So I won't see that… them… Just enough-

"DANNY!"

A voice, her voice, startled me. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I idly realized this is my first show of emotion this week. My hand lost its grip and the pills and the bottle fell to the floor.

Jazz, my sister, walked slowly into my room, and cautiously picked the bottle and the pills up.

She looked at me right in the eye.

I know how I should feel.

I should feel embaressed, ashamed, guilty.

But none such emotions assaulted me. I didn't even feel a shred of them, be it positive or negative, when Jazz looked at me heartbroken, seeing the depth of my eyes – Eyes of the Dead – as Sam called it.

"D-Danny.. these are sleeping pills. You take them if you're having trouble sleeping, o-or nightmares," Jazz said.

I half listened her explanation. The gears in my brain turned slowly, but they let me figured out what she is saying. Just like what the doctor said. Why is she saying that? I heard the doctor.. somewhat. I read the label too, although it looked like some jumbled up blocks of disoriented letters. Maybe I'm going dyslexia? ADHD perhaps? I know what they're for. Drink one, you'll sleep. Drink enough, you can-

"Danny? Do you… have nightmares?" Jazz asked.

"…maybe…" I answered her vaguely.

Truth is, I don't really know the answer. It wasn't exactly a lie. I don't want to lie.

I don't want to lie anymore.

At the first couple of nights, I do have them. I see their faces. What they did. My hopeless broken self. I watch the whole ordeal from a different point of view.. As if I'm some sick person standing in the corner, watching hopelessly.

After daydreams and night dreams about them, I stopped caring completely.

Before I would cling to Jazz, Sam, and Tuck, I wouldn't cry, I didn't cry, but I hold their hands like a leech.

Then I gave up, I stopped being afraid, I stopped being insecure, and the dreams changed.

I would feel like I'm locked in a dark closet, or locked in my locker, hearing their taunts. I don't have a voice, or rather I couldn't speak, like someone is strangling my neck but by some miracle I was still alive, and awake, with my ears hearing nothing but their voices.

Weirdo!

Freak!

Loser!

Monster!

After my fourth day, the voices stopped.

Now, my dreams… I was dreamless.. but I was dreaming too. It was dark.

Full of nothingness.

Darkness.

Emptiness.

I don't feel cold, nor hot. No temperature. I'm just floating in an endless dark Abyss. I feel nothing there. It's just… hollow.

And at the same time I was drowning, not by water, sea nor ocean, but my own hellish despair.

Nothing.

"Danny?"

I didn't answer my sister. I locked myself up in my subconscious. Like I always do nowadays.

I could faintly tell.. and feel.. that Jazz is… hugging me.. and tucking me in. But I didn't respond. I didn't even blink when I heard a soft click of the door closing.

Like I was dead, hypothetically.

.

.

.

… But I wish it was literally.

Today, even I could tell it was different.

It's not weird.

Actually, what is 'weird'?

My whole life would fall onto the categorize of 'weird' to an outsider, but to me it's normal.

Normal?

The life of a teen with ghost hunters as parents who became half dead half alive one day.

Weirdo.

I even expected that to happen. It was one of the first things I thought when I found out about my new, unique condition. But I always cling to hope, let myself get fooled by imaginary thought. It let me down.

Usually, Jazz would wake me up in the morning, earlier than I usually would with the help of my stupid alarm clock. She then would drag me downstairs, made a quick breakfast, just the two of us, without them.

Today, Jazz woke me up, ordered me to changed my pyjama quickly, didn't bother getting me to breakfast, drag me into her car and drove to school. Without my backpack. I didn't put much thought into it.

I just stare blankly at the road, focusing my hearing on the car buzzing. (A/N: 'buzzing'? Yea, I don't know what's the word, this is the only thing I could think of now)

I did not want to look back.

I couldn't, I can't look back and see my hom- house.

(No more home, huh?)

The two story building, the sign, the 'roof'. The outside hasn't changed, not one bit. People who pass by would assume 'Those Fentons are probably doing 'weird' things as usual'.

But they didn't know.

They don't know the inside. What had happened, while the outside is still looking 'normal'.

I hardly noticed Jazz had stopped the car in front of the school. My body numbly followed Jazz.

Pass the yard.

Pass the front door.

Pass the hallways.

Pass the lockers.

Pass me that cutter, hon.

Jazz knocked the door and we enter the principle's office.

"Ah, Jasmine. I've been expecting you. Did you have a good morning? Please sit down," Principle Isyiyama greeted and beckoned Jazz to sit down on the two chairs in front of her desk.

"Thank you for your time, Principle Isyiyama," Jazz said and sat down, pulling my hand and I sat down at the chair on her left.

Even in my dazed state, I noticed Jazz didn't comment on 'Did you have a good morning?'

Principle Isyiyama just asked. "So, Jasmine, you asked for an appointment this fine Monday morning. What is the occasion for?" she asked.

Jazz inhaled, "I want to drop my sister out of Casper High."

She gasped, clearly not expecting this. I blinked in shock - my second burst of emotion – not expecting this from her too, and glanced at her.

She's serious.

She was not kidding on her statement. Why? I think this is a bit rash. 'Jazz' and 'rash' doesn't go together last time I checked.

I'm doing fine at school. As fine as it can be when all I did is staring blankly on my blank notebook. Paulina didn't bully me anymore... Sam suspected it's because she was scared of her 'dead' eyes.

Dead.

Half-dead.

Slime.

"I-I'm.. pardon me... but, you will have to bring your parents if you want to do so."

Jazz flinched a bit at one of the words the school's headmaster just said. (A/N: Can any of you guess which is it?)

But Jazz didn't waver. Instead she became.. more determined.

"I had just turned 18 years old a few weeks ago, I am now a legal adult," I didn't recognize any smug or pride tone in her voice, something she made obvious every time she spoke the word 'adult' like usual, "I have the signed copies of files that legally states that I now have full custody of Danny." Jazz brought forth a few documents on her table.

I didn't know she bring anything in the car, I idly thought.

"A-Alright. But I would also need to know what is the reason behind this?" Principle Isyiyama said after taking a quick read on the documents, still shocked.

"With all due respect and no offence, Principle, but it's not of your business"

.

.

.

This might be 'weird' in my book.

Jasmine Fenton, the school's prized student is talking rather rudely, like a typical rebellious teenager, to said school's headmaster.

"I'm sorry, Jasmine, but I need to know the reason of-"

"No."

"Do forgive me-"

"You don't understand! No one does!"

"Understand what?" Principle Isyiyama was startled when Jazz started to cry.

"D- D- Danny," Principle Isyiyama eyed me, "She- *sob* she tried to kill herself- *sniff* last night."

It has been 3 days since I dropped out of Casper High.

It's Christmas today.

I usually hate this particular day. During my childhood I never once felt the 'joy of Christmas'. Since it's a family thing I spent the whole day with my family. Sam and Tuck spent their day with their own family.

My Dad-

Who the heck do you think we are?! Banzai!

would always argue with Mom-

Ectoplasmic scum!

about Santa's existence. I hated Santa Clause, because of his... unrecorded existence, my parents would argue all day ignoring me and Jazz. All day and night, Jazz and I had to scream to remind them about dinner. And when Christmas morning arrived, and presents are lying innocently under the cheap, home- made, over- decorated christmas tree, they would argue first before letting me and Jazz open them.

I hated Christmas.

Then the incident with Andrew Riter, or known as the Ghostwriter. That taught me a lesson.

A lesson I am not applying this year.

Me, Sam and Tuck are 16. Jazz is 18, she's staying overnight at her collage to celebrate Christmas day. I had to reassure her that I am fine with her going.

She has her own life.

Jazz, you have your own life ahead of you. Don't throw it away because of me. Besides, I'll be with Sam and Tucker.

That's what I said to her, and she left, leaving me in my self loathing.

I lied, like I always do.

And she believed me, like she always do.

I hate it. I hate myself. I don't want to lie anymore. My whole life is a lie. I lied about my identity, my secret, where I'm going, what I'm doing.

(what you're thinking)

(what you feel)

(what you want)

Even after that, I'm still lying.

Sam's mother is obsessed with image. She loathe the fact that her 'perfect' daughter has no outstanding social relationship, is dressing horribly black, behaving as anything but a royal princess, and is friends with a geek and a freak.

Freak!

Monster!

*snap!*

Now, that she is 16, the 'appropiate' age to perceive a suitor to 'secure' her future, as her mom said, Sam and her parents are going to find the 'perfect' gentlemen for her 'perfect' daughter.

Sam didn't leave without a rage attack. And a wall full of bullet holes in a gun club.

*bam!*

*bam!*

Tucker had left yesterday with his own family to a reunion party in California.

Let's hope my Dad's best friend isn't another crazy evil ghost. He joked.

I find it a bit funny, I gave a strained giggle. Tuck was happy though, I think.

I told my... parents... that I'm going with Sam, to make sure she won't burn all the cities they pass. But, I actually lock myself up in my sanctuary.

Clockwork, my mentor, ever since I met him, he pop up occasionally whenever he can, just to talk to me, to ease my stress over the whole alternate- future- evil- self.

Just pointless chat that I cherish everytime.

And he thought me a few tricks too, give me some tips and advice about my fighting abilities and counter attacks. He thought me how to make a lair.

I went deep inside the Ghost Zone, near Frightmare's Forbidden Forest. The location was a tri-junction area with the way to the Far Frozen, Dora's Kingdom, and the Forbidden Region.

.

.

.

It was simple.

Not a hellish maze of deadly traps like Skulker's.

It was just an endless plain of wild, long, but soft grass. With a windy and cold atmosphere. And with an endless view of the starry night sky.

Just stars, no moon.

No one knew I had my own lair, excluding Clockwork of course, not even my friends.

It's my sanctuary, my haven, my refuge.

I'm a half- human half- ghost. I live in the Human Realm and the Ghost Zone. I'm a resident of both.

But ever since the Portal accident I only lived in the Human Realm. The reason and cause of why I had a hard time controlling my powers is because my ghost side had not experience the harmony and stabilize hemisphere of the ghost's natural habitat. That's what Clockwork said to me once, I recall.

It was my sanctuary alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Freak.

Freak!

No one would want you, Abomination!

I can create anything I want in here with my ectoplasm.

Ectoplasm.

Blood.

Error.

Anomaly ecto-signature detected.

Surveing object's molecules.

I'm practically a God in here. I could create anything I want. A star, a comet, the Hubble telescope, snow, an infinite ice cream mountain, spacecraft, rocket, fire, a bomb, a gun, a butcher knife, a metal table...

You're not our daughter, Freak!

Mom!

Will you stop calling me that?!

Mom! Stop!

You won't fool me with your fake tears, ghost scum!

Dad!

She's insane!

I love you..

(I loved you..)

I love you..

(I loved you..)

I love...

(I thought I loved you..)

I...

.

.

.

Here, alone, isolated, I let my emotions go. I cried, for the first time since the week.

"Ella?"

My ears picked up a voice, calling my name. It was calm, and low, and once. Just once. Not repeatedly bothersome. A voice I knew well.

And there's only one person in the world who called me with such a feminine name and could get away from my wrath- a trait Sam shared with me.

"Clockwork."

I didn't turn around. I didn't bother wearing my Bravado mask, to hide my tears. He had watched over me, knew almost everything about me.

He's like a second father to me. Maybe that's debatable now.

I let my tears flow freely, falling to the grass, absorbed. I felt a weight on by shoulder. And I was thankful. It was comforting. Clockwork beside me, not saying anything, but telling me that he's here, patiently waiting for me to calm down. That's the way I always like it, and he knew.

Unlike Sam and Tucker who would pester me with questions and tell me 'Meh, it's not that bad. Come on, let's go to the Nasty Burger!'

Unlike Jazz who would reverse it to her psychology babble and tell me 'It's OK, little sister.'

Clockwork won't tell me it's Ok, telling false lies, false comfort, not lying to me about the situation would be 'alright.'

"I'm done." I sniffed. I kinda hate it crying like this. Makes me feel like a weak damsel in distress.

(You're the hero... no?)

"I am sorry that this must occur to you. But it will benefit you in the long run."

"What positive thing would happen from this besides breaking myself?" I can't help it. Clockwork knew I hated people saying their 'sorry'. But I knew he meant it, unlike them.

"Multiple things."

"Name one."

"I cannot."

"Let me guess, it would ru-"

"-in the timeline."

"Dammit! Stop butting in!"

Clockwork chuckled and turned into his toddler self, "I can't help it."

(You're thoughts exactly)

But then he turned serious, "Ella, you do realize what you are asking me is in no doubt rash. Do you really want me to do as you wish?"

I didn't say anything. I know the hidden meaning of his question. He knew what I was thinking.

Do you really want to abandon the town you swore to protect?

Ever since that night, I stopped doing what I always said. I haven't turned into Daniella Phantom. I let the ghosts roam free. I let the Guys in White deal with them. I let the Red Huntress deal with them. I let Sam and Tuck deal with them.

I stopped protecting Amity Park.

Why did I even wanted to?

('Because it's the right thing to do.' That's what you said years ago.)

The right thing to do.

Protect the innocent.

I must use these powers for good.

If I don't who else?

The right thing to do.

The right thing to do.

The right thing to do.

(The wrong thing to do)

(What is the right thing to do?)

(If it's right, why do they hate you so much?)

These voices.. my thoughts.. I never payed any attention to them. I'm always staying positive. While my thoughts all this time is to pessimistic my actions are complete opposite.

Phantom...

Is my phantom. My other identity. My other spirit. The other me. Ever since the Portal accident I knew Sam and Tuck's claim of me being half ghost is wrong.

I SHOULD have died that day. But I cling to my dear mortal life and for some reason I still exist. My ghost half, my phantom completely disagree. I knew, for as long as I can remember, Phantom is taking me over. I'm at the point of becoming a real ghost.

My human skin is becoming paler and paler. My body heat is becoming colder and lower. My heart is beating faster, and faster, too fast and I'm just waiting for it to suddenly stop one day.

I even started referring humans as mortals in my head. Every time I saw Tucker faint at the slightest sight of a needle, or Jazz crying when one of her essay isn't perfect, I feel pity and my phantom feel disgusted at how weak they are at the simplest of things.

And all these thoughts are getting louder and stronger in my head ever since my mortal parents almost dissected me I'm terrified I might voice them. I'm becoming more like her.

I can take on millions of ghosts. I can take on S-class ghosts. I can take on hundreds of ghost hunters. I can take on Pariah Dark. But I can't defeat her. Not ever. Because I am her. I can't change her mind to stop killing mortals life because I myself sometimes wanted to stab Dash' chest with a pole in the middle of his football game or strangle that bitch Paulina's pretty little weak neck in front of her filthy spoiling father at her 16 birthday party.

"I'm done, Clockwork." I stated again. "You came here so you know what I want." I growled angryly.

"And should I?"

"You made me like this, can't I get a break?!" I shouted. Clockwork told me once he saved me from dying completely at the Portal accident. What electrocuted me was not ectoplasmic radium as everyone thinks, it was just pure radioactive electron atoms inside the portal's tube. The proton and neuron had mutated into a condencity of solid-gas mass. The unstable core needed to be realeased and the gravity of each core of all of these octilion (trillion billion) atoms was so not helping. It condensed into one big ball of electricity which I happened to be in the middle of it.

That one big radioactive mass should've exploded taking Amity Park and the vicinity estimated 5 miles around it.

But it didn't. It didn't exploded to destroy thousands of mortals lives. Instead Clockwork came directly in front of me and surrounded the radioactive mass with the ectoplasmic residue of the newly made unstable and unnatural ghost portal, forcing my body to absorb them all.

The radioactive mass destroyed half of every single one of my DNA, half of every single one of the atoms that build my body, while the ectoplasmic residue and the ecto energy Clockwork 'donated' into my body created a new kind of DNA to complete my destroyed ones. A solid ecto DNA that fuses with my human DNA.

It was all thanks to my stubborn human mind that stopped my ghost half from taking a complete over control of my mind unlike Vlad.

"The 'break' you are referring to is permanent."

"I already punch myself but I can't. I want- I need to forget. I want to get outta here. I can't!"

"You are being selfish."

(Oh yeah, Danny can't be selfish. She has to be unselfish and noble and risk her life for all the selfish people in the world)

"I know what you're thinking. I may not know exactly what you are thinking but I know the idea of it. And no Ella, I do not think like that."

"Nice to know someone agree with that." I said disdainly. Sam and Tuck, ugh, and Jazz and everyone thinks I should be unselfish. All of them! All of them, Hypocrites! I hate it when they lectured me about being noble or praising me for saving people!

I protect because it was my obsession! My own selfish need! But they thought I am suppressing my 'unknown' ghost obsession to do the 'right' thing. My enemies thinks I'm a do gooder attention seeker.

I have my own life. What about my dream? I wanna be an astronaut..

... and my dream is now completely a dream. Super permenant. I can't be an astronaut. Ever. I'm half ghost. One rumour I have some weird 'condition' in NASA and I'm out of the program. Let alone the fact if I can even pass the test to enter the program. With how low my temperature, they would never let a kid like me to land on the moon. They'd think I'd die immediatly of extreme hypothermia.

"Ella?"

"..."

"I will do it,"

"... but?" There's always a but.

"Once you're there you would be on you're own."

"... there? As in, you're sending me to another alternate timeline?" I asked. Clockwork sometimes sent me to the past timelines of other people. Most of them are semi-future 'Hitlers'. I just push a few tweaks here and there so those people won't get much motivation to rule the world and what not. But some are inevitable, thus there are still people who controls a slavery government.

I miss those trips.

Once I stopped a revenge obsesed man from blowing up a Space Educational program for kids in Russia. His sole son's corpes rot in a closet there for days, died of gun shot and he wanted to blow up the place and give his son some friends for company. I sneaked inside his house and gave the guy his son's diary which was hidden under a plank under the garbage bin of his room, according to Clockwork. It reminds him that his son loved his friends in the Space program and he wouldn't want to kill those childrens' lives. I felt proud on that mission.

Sometimes Clockwork let these kinds of schemes continue. He let mass of kids die. 'Cause, well, the mortality rate does need to be balanced. Some born, some die, some live their whole life sulking and next thing you know, they're dead out of dehydration for locking themselves up in a room or playing computer for full 3 days with no meal.

"Yes."

"And I won't remember any of this?"

"A fresh start."

"You're saying I won't be coming back."

"If that's what you wish, and I know that is what you wish. You will never see your family nor your friends ever again. You wanted to take a break, I shall give you a holiday."

"Be specific with 'the fresh start'. Will I forget what happened that day or will I forget every single thing and basically be a newborn in that alternate timeline?"

"..."

"Will I be happy there?"