To explain: Well, I wanted to do a series of oneshots on Danny's encounters with Death- try counting how many times he half-died already. And it needed a prologue. And this popped out.

It's rather horrible, actually. I don't like the idea of Ghost Writer being from Shakespeare's era- attire, keyboard and speaking manner aside- but it was needed to highlight the concept. But I need to throw something out here, so I have more reason to actually write. School starting kind of impedes that, but I'll update... eventually.

I honestly don't know if I was trying to go for serious, macabre, or humor when writing this. It ended up being a bit of all.

Disclaimer: If I owned Danny Phantom, the series would be as emo as Those Ninjas. (Not really.)

Lancer had had it. Given, in Amity Park, nothing is completely free of ghosts, but if he heard another student trying to-

"Dude, it'd be, like, totally cool if I could be like Danny Phantom! Wonder how he got his powers."

"Well, he's a half ghost, right? So maybe if we half-die, we can have cool ghost powers like him!"

"King Lear, people!" He slammed a hand down on the table, and barely stopped himself from yelping in pain. It was worth it, though- the entire class had gone silent, staring wide-eyed at their usually non-violent teacher.

"Do you hear what you are saying? 'Oh, let's half-die so we can have ghost powers!' Has the meaning of death been so glamorized to you?" He ran a hand on his face, frustrated. "Dying is permanent. It's not some game where you can just hit the reset button. When you die, you stay dead, and sometimes you don't even become a ghost."

"But Mr Lancer," Baxter raised his hand, indignant. "Ghosts are cool!"

"No, ghosts are not 'cool', Mr Baxter." The bald teacher snapped. "Will someone who is sane please give us the definition of a ghost?"

Manson raised her hand. "Ghosts are believed by some to be the souls of the dead who have unfinished business in the real world. A better definition in Amity Park would be dangerous ectoplasmic creatures with destructive urges, but that's just Amity."

Appreciative smirks appeared on Fenton and Foley's faces, and the African-American sniggered. He trailed off into silence when Lancer glared at him.

"Mr Fenton, your thoughts on the matter?" He rubbed his forehead in exasperation.

Silence reigned. Every eye was fixed on the halfa, who had a thoughtful expression on his face. "Well... I've cheated Death so many times that I'm hardly objective on the matter. But I've managed to make friends with most of the ghosts, when they're not trying to take over the world, kill me, or hang my pelt on their walls-"

Lancer's face was revolted.

"-and... I found out that there's a reason these ghosts have been hanging around since forever. Ghost Writer, for instance; he's always hosting the Christmas truces recently. I asked him about it once, and he told me that after I dragged him from his keyboard, the memories he was trying to avoid of friends and acquaintances long dead and gone came back. It hurt so much because he wanted to pass on, disappear into oblivion after them, but the new connections he made in the Ghost Zone wouldn't let him. He already lost one group of friends, he didn't want to lose another. He's from Shakespeare's era, by the way." He added.

Sanchez spoke up. "So... this dude's been around for a few hundred years-"

"Approximately four hundred years." Lancer corrected absentmindedly.

"-and he hasn't seen his friends since?"

"Not those he had in life, no."

You could hear a pin drop.

Fenton broke the silence once more. "Being dead yourself doesn't matter sometimes. But when you factor in friends, family..." His fists clenched. "Being the only survivor is the worst punishment, sometimes." He ended with a harsh whisper.

Lancer- and the entire class with him- felt as though they were missing something when Manson looked at him worriedly, and Foley slapped him lightly on the back. "Hey, dude, we're still alive. We're still here."

"Tucker brings up a good point." Gray pointed out. "You died, but you're still here. How does that work out?"

The tension broke as Fenton let out a loose laugh. "Oh, yes. The halfa issue. I can tell you, Death is not happy to be cheated of my life so many times."

"Death?" Lancer cocked an eyebrow. "Are you personifying the concept of death, Mr Fenton?"

"Huh? Oh, no, Death is... well. Death exists. I've met Death several times before- he's a lousy conversationalist."

"Is he a skeletal being with spiky hair and wings, who only eats apples?" A nerd asked eagerly.

"..." The entire class stared.

"... Never mind." He shrank in his seat.

"Anyway..." Fenton started again. "Me only half dying was a fluke, a one-off thing. Two-off. No, three-off." He paused. "Well, anyway, whatever it is, don't try it at home, kids."

Manson groaned and slapped a hand on her forehead.