Note on the rating: Rated T for character death and descriptions of battles, wounds, and a destroyed village. Although I was trying to focus more on the angst than the gore, I added some harsh stuff in flashback. I guess it's a pretty dark story, but I feel like it ends on a hopeful note, so hopefully it isn't too completely depressing and tragic.

The following plot is AU / non-canon. Flashbacks are in italics. I don't own Danny Phantom. And I think that covers it all…

Introuvable

French for "the likes of which will never be seen again"

It was cold, lying against the jagged stone wall of the cave. He tried to find the smoothest place he could against the rock, but it was impossibly dark and he couldn't move much further back into the emptiness.

When he first found the place yesterday or the day before, he couldn't tell now, time had been so warped since he started running… but when he had finally stumbled upon the cave, there was only enough light left to prove to him that it was unoccupied and to illuminate the shallow space in which he had since taken up residence. He had groped his way along the rocks and explored as much of the place as he dared—no one in their right minds would travel any deeper into a strange cave even in times like these… especially in times like these.

The young man shivered and made a futile attempt to pull his ragged clothes tighter around him. Nothing he did could help shield him from the bitter cold or keep the rough edges of his shelter from cutting into his back. He shifted his weight, trying to get a bit more comfortable, but any relief he found in one part of his body was simply cancelled out by a new ache that would soon become painful somewhere else.

There wasn't really much else he could do. Not if he was going to stay awake and keep and eye on the entrance of the cave. He had to keep a constant watch now. Perhaps when it grew light out, he could snatch a few moments' rest, but danger was lurking at night. No, he could not afford to lie down, could not rest, could not even close his eyes for fear of drifting off the minute he had done so. But, oh, how he wanted to sleep. Every fiber in his body craved a second's respite and screamed at him to stop, to pause, to breathe. To sleep.

He needed rest badly. His head was sagging and threatened to fall to one side or upon his chest if not propped against the wall. His deep blue-green eyes were clouding with fatigue and ringed with dark bags. Sometimes, he would start to see double until he rubbed his eyes, forcing involuntary tears leak out the corners of his eyes. His body no longer wanted to comply with the demands he made upon it. Thinking back, he couldn't remember the last time he had actually slept…

He had, of course, been knocked out during the attack, and must have been unconscious for hours, but, somehow, he didn't really figure that that counted as sleep. Besides, that had been days ago, and he had not really been able to rest since.

At first, it was the images that plagued him whenever he thought of sleeping. When he tried to clear his mind from the thoughts of what was to become of him now that he was alone in the hills, all he could see was the scene he had awoken to once regaining consciousness.

Beyond the rise in the ground, the bodies of his father and uncle, torn apart but very much recognizable, lying back to back, just as they had been fighting and protecting each other to the very end, despite the differences that had come between the twins over the years.

The glazed eyes of his sister staring up as if trying to reach the stars through the murky smoke that blazed orange as it reflected the flames tearing through the buildings that crumbled around him.

His mother and younger sister, he could not find. They were not in the circle of light he had the strength and stomach to scour through. Or, at least, he hoped they were not there, because that would mean they were one of many indistinguishable bodies of the people he had grown up among now strewn about him, bloodied and burned beyond recognition.

He called out in ever growing fear until his voice was hoarse. He hoped, prayed that a friend was there, that someone else had miraculously survived, but the unbearable silence was broken only by the crackle of flames and his own hectic heartbeat.

As he stared around him at the death and destruction he had escaped while unconscious, the weight of the world suddenly descended upon his shoulders. He realized for the first time that he was alone. There was no one else around, no one else left alive in the valley.

He was, thanks to some mistake of fate, the only breathing creature left.

Everyone he had ever known had ceased to exist in any meaningful sense. One moment, he had been alive with his family, the next the attack had begun and he blacked out, and then the next everything was gone. His entire life had been destroyed in the space of a few moments.

Suddenly, that darkness his family had entered seemed so welcoming. The blank state of death seemed so comforting compared to the destructive red flames licking anything that still dared to stand. He could join them, too, just as he was supposed to, just like he should have.

There was nothing left for him in this world. His friends and family, everyone he had ever known, had been slaughtered. The creatures hadn't left anyone else alive in the valley, and they would surely carry out their grisly work in every habitable place until they had cleared the mountain range. Then they would make good their escape from what had been their prison for the better part of a century and leave it behind forever in favor of carrying out their revenge upon the human race.

It was an enticing thought, then, to end everything then and there, and he might have acted upon it had he not then heard a series of calls going up in the distance.

The creatures. They were still out there.

They had moved on past this place, but would detect him and finish him off if he stayed. There would surely be stragglers in their party and he couldn't face even one of them, he was sure. Panic began to well up inside him.

He could accept his death if it came quickly. But if they found him, a rebel survivor, they would draw it out, make him suffer even more than his father had while slowly bleeding out his existence in pieces. He couldn't go that way, not when he had actually made it through the attack. He wouldn't go that way. He wouldn't let them take him. He would run, he would go somewhere where they could never find him. He didn't know if such a place existed or if it did, where it was, but he would look for it. He would find it if it was there. Maybe if he headed through the thin point in the hills, toward one of the cities, he could make it. They must have weaponry and the skills with which to hold off the creatures. It was his only chance.

So he jumped to his feet, ignoring the way the world began to spin around him. There was no use trying to find any food or supplies- everything was either already burnt to a crisp or in flames at the moment. So the only thing left to do was say goodbye.

He cringed in shame when he realized he couldn't bury his companions. There were too many of them and he didn't have a shovel. He could only kneel and say a few words—inadequate, but all he could afford. The flames caught the tears that streamed down his face, making them flash and sparkle. The fire was spreading, consuming everything that wasn't yet destroyed.

It was getting hotter, his head was throbbing, his throat dry and parched. But he couldn't bring himself to leave. He would never come back to this place. He would never see his family, the remains of the village where he had been born and raised. He didn't want to look again at the blackened corpses around him, but it was all he had left, wasn't it?

The wailing of their heartless murderers rang out again in irregular intervals, freezing his blood and causing him to look around as if expecting one of them to materialize out of the flames and finish him off. He needed to leave soon, far too soon to do justice to his farewells, but he knew that if he was going to try surviving, he needed to move now.

With a hasty, but meaningful last glance at the flaming remains of his home, he turned toward the southern end of the mountain range and started running.

Since then, necessity made it impossible to close his eyes. The moment he let his guard down, he would be in trouble from which he would not be able to escape.

Perhaps it was a good thing that he could not rest, for as much as it wore down his body, it kept his mind from wandering back to those images. It kept him from completely breaking down. The mental barriers he dared not cross had kept him alive this far. His body could function on its own when he didn't think, just as long as he willed it to continue his struggle. The more he dwelled upon the fate of his family, however, the less he wanted to remain on this unending and eventually ineffectual run.

So he did not try to rest or clear his mind. He just sat guard, blankly staring into the darkness that was beginning to very faintly turn grey. He was no longer peering into pitch blackness now and he thought that he could see the outline of the entrance where it was not covered with branches.

He did not know what he would be able to do in his current physical state if anyone or anything did manage to come past the hidden entry. He had not yet planned that far ahead. He would try to take it on, defend himself, he supposed. Not that it would do any good. He hadn't eaten since before the attack and added to that the lack of sleep, he was in no condition to take on another human, let alone one of those creatures.

He shivered again, and this time, it wasn't just from the cold.

It seemed to him that he could hear their cries, out on the hills.

He began to shrink back into himself as he listened to sound, just as hideous as when he had heard them on the night of the attack. Those same shrill cries had pierced the air.

He had told his sisters about it, but they did not pay any attention to him. He did not think that they had heard them, but he had. He had heard them. And he had not told anyone after his sisters told him to forget about it. It was his fault that the village and everyone in it had been destroyed. He had not warned everyone about the creatures coming over the hills. If he had just said something, just told someone, they would have been prepared. They could have gotten away. They could have hidden somewhere the creatures would not find them. They could all be safe right now; they could be together.

He choked back a sob.

It was his fault that they were now dead, nothing left of them but the bloody and mangled ashes and corpses still burning together in a heap under the glowing ashes of the village.

He wished yet again he had died with them.

He should never have woken up from the blow to his head. It would have been so much easier if he had died in the attack. His troubles would have been over and he wouldn't have to worry about being left alone and wandering through the unfamiliar lands always looking over his shoulder and never able to close his eyes.

What was he to do?

He hugged his knees to his chest and began to rock back and forth, determined not to close his eyes and determined not to cry. The tears began to well up inside him, but he muttered a mantra to himself again and again under his breath, fighting back the urge to fall apart in this black hole.

If he had survived this far, he couldn't just fail now. What, survive an attack merely to meet his end crying and alone? No. That could not be the only thing left to him.

A soft shuffling noise beside him pulled him out of that train of thought and he jerked forward with a startled cry.

For a moment, he had forgotten—he wasn't alone anymore.

He still didn't really know how the stranger had found his way to the back of a dark and empty cave with a hidden entrance, and he hadn't had the chance to ask yet. It shouldn't have been possible with all of the injuries he had sustained.

What the young man did remember, however, was exactly how he had found the stranger the night before…

He finally got his courage up to look for some firewood and food before the sun began to set again and left an inky blackness everywhere. He crawled out, hardly daring to breathe, and after nearly an hour of painstaking searching, he determined that there was no food close by, but there was enough wood to create a good-size bundle.

Moving slowly and silently to the avoid attention of anything that might be around, he dragged an armful of wood into the cave wrapped up in his cloak. Much of the wood had been wet, and he wasn't even sure if he could light a fire without his tinderbox, but, if worst came to worst, he could use a log to bash one of those creatures over the head before he went to join his family in the afterlife.

He hoped he would have the guts to, when it came down to it. Or maybe he would just cower in a corner, waiting for his doom. It wasn't like he could change his fate. The creatures were going to find him. And they were going to kill him. It was as simple as that. He probably wouldn't have the strength to hurt any of them by the time they found his hiding place. He didn't even know if they could be hurt. He knew all too well that they could hurt humans by barely lifting a finger, but never found out if a human could do anything back...

It scared him nearly senseless when he first came back to the cave carrying his load. He pushed the branches covering the entrance aside and as they flopped back in place, their shadows barely made a difference inside the cave. It was very dark. Just light enough to distinguish that the outside was in fact the outside and allowing him to navigate his way into his hideaway via the rock formations inside.

And then he saw one of them move…

In a frantic blur, he grabbed one of the logs he dropped to the floor and ran over to the thing with a battle cry that wrapped his anger and fear together; clearly intent on beating it senseless if that was possible.

He halted, stunned, when the form cried out, weakly but desperately pleading for him not to attack. He had never heard of one of them being able to talk with the voice of a human. This was a living soul. Another survivor…

At once, all of his adrenaline rushed out of him, leaving a trembling mess.

He dropped to his knees. He spit out a jumble of confused questions—who was he? Why was he there? How had he gotten there?—but the man wasn't able to answer any of them more coherently than they had been asked. He decided to leave it until later and rolled the man over so he could try to get a good look at him. He had dark hair. That was all he could tell in this light. In another five minutes, he wouldn't be able to tell anything at all about the stranger.

The man groaned at the movement, falling over to his side again and curling into the fetal position, his arms covering and gripping his torso.

The young man realized that the man was hurt, but didn't realize just how badly until he had put his hand into a pool of warm, sticky liquid where he had just been laying. He didn't need to sniff his hand or taste the metallic flavor on his tongue to know that it was blood. This man's blood.

His blood had been spilt while fighting off those creatures in the mountains, and here he was, hiding in a cave after having done absolutely nothing to stop everyone in his entire valley from being destroyed. He had done nothing. He had stood by while those things destroyed every person he had ever cared about. If he had been honest with himself, he would have realized that he couldn't have been expected to do anything while he was lying on the ground unconscious, but the fact that he had been rendered unconscious without striking a single blow just made him pile on the guilt even further upon his already stooping shoulders.

How could he be so useless? He felt like pounding the wall of the cave until his fists bled, but that wouldn't fix any of his problems. The most pressing was the man lying now senseless in front of him. The young man knew that the wounds had to be treated or he would die.

He scoffed, thinking for a minute that they were going to die soon anyway, so why bother? The man might not even wake up from his now unconscious state. But he had been kicking himself ever since that night for not doing all he could for others; now he had a chance to redeem himself. He could help someone who really had stood up to defend himself, and probably others.

So he spent the next hour trying to help the other man, all the while praying that he wouldn't die before his eyes. After some thought, he decided that strips from both of their shirts would make the best bandages. Ripping the man's shirt without jostling him too much proved to be difficult, but he managed.

The hardest part was the actual bandaging. Without light, he could not really tell where he was wounded without poking and prodding with his fingertips, undoubtedly hurting the stranger further.

His fingers were soon covered in blood and the cold night air made them numb.

It was nearly impossible to tell what was a deep cut and what was merely a superficial scratch, so he ended up bandaging everything he could find.

He had to turn to ruining his own shirt. He hated to do it, not because it was a nice shirt—it has torn and stained with ash from his ruined home and the dirt in which he had slept since running—but because he knew how cold he would be once the wind was able to freely whip through the thin shield his shirt gave him. But if it was a choice between his discomfort and potentially saving this brave stranger's life, he knew in an instant which he would choose. He would never forgive himself if he chose differently.

After finishing with his crude medicinal skills, he moved the man into what he thought would be a warm and comfortable position before tucking his cloak around him. He then moved to a part of the cave where he could keep an eye both on the man and on the entrance to their hide-out.

He had stayed there, staring at the inky blackness, and wondering about the stranger until he realized that his conjecturing would get him nowhere. Questions would have to wait until the man woke up, if he ever woke up at all. So he turned his attention blaming himself for what had happened in his valley until he heard the man moving beside him.

The stranger was still alive…

He had not been sure because his breathing, which he expected to be ragged considering the extensive wounds, was too quiet to hear. And he had been hesitant to check throughout the night, because if he discovered he had indeed died and he was consequently stuck with an ice-cold body in a dark cave after what he had been through for the past few days was not something he thought he could handle.

So he sighed in relief at the signs of life coming from the man. He didn't know a thing about him, but he was all that he had and he somehow felt that if the man died, he would too. He was the only other living person he had encountered since running so many days ago. When crudely treating his wounds, he formed a bond with the stranger, the bond of lost survivors, not knowing what to do next.

His startled cry must have woken the man, because soon afterwards there were shuffling noises from the far corner as he stiffly adjusted his position and groaned with discomfort before fingering his makeshift blanket with curiosity. Pulling it down to inspect his bruised torso, he patted the bandages, as if wondering where they came from. He blinked several times to clear the haze away from his eyes, but continued to look perplexed.

A moment later, the outline of the man suddenly bolted upright, hissing as his body refused to accept the move without sending pain coursing through every vein. He stared warily around him, as if taking in every detail of his surroundings even though it was still far too dark to make out any details.

But then, the man looked straight at him.

He sharply drew in his breath. It unnerved him— the way the stranger had known exactly where to look without faltering. It was uncanny. He hadn't moved or made a sound since the man had awoken. The stranger must have had eyes like a cat to see in this light after just having woken up. For a moment, he had almost thought that they reflected green like a cat's does at the right angle in firelight. But it was gone and he told himself that he must have imagined it, just like he had imagined hearing the creatures again… He was losing his mind.

"Thank you." The man's voice was hoarse and tired as it broke through the silence, but sounded younger than he had expected.

The young man shifted uncomfortably, not quite knowing what to say. He finally settled on, "well, I couldn't just let you bleed to death."

They were both quiet for a moment; the stranger had laid back down on his cold, hard bed and closed his eyes, trying to find relief from the pain that was now catching up to his newly awakened state.

Meanwhile, the young man had a thousand questions racing through his head. There were so many things he wanted to know about the stranger and where he had come from and how he had gotten his injuries, but decided to start simply. He softly asked, "What's your name?"

At first the question didn't register in the clouded and pained head of the man on the ground, but once he understood, he still hesitated. He was reluctant to divulge any information about himself, especially to strangers in this part of the country, but he realized that answering the boy's questions was the least he could do after he had saved his life.

"Danne."

And then he turned again to the boy, staring at him partly to get his mind off of the dull pain that coursed through him with every heart beat and partly curious to see who had saved him. The memories of the past day were hazy, but he knew that the bandages covering his body hadn't just appeared. But they were far from any populated areas—or, he corrected, areas that had once been populated, but there wouldn't be many people still there now—and the young man staring back at him was hardly more than a boy. How had he gotten here? What was his story?

His voice was soft as he asked "What is your name?"

"Aroan." The young man's voice was harsh with lack of water and suppressed tears, but he was desperately trying to hide it.

The stranger groaned and clutched his side as the pain began to flare in one of the deeper gashes littering his body. He lowered himself again on the blanket and then, gritting his teeth, he asked a question. Talking and listening. They took your mind off the pain.

"And why are you hiding in a cave in the southern hills, Aroan?"

"The creatures attacked our valley several days ago. They…" He continued on, brokenly. Saying the words to somebody else made the whole situation concrete and just that much more awful. "It was… nobody… I'm the only one who got out." He licked his lips, suddenly overwhelmed. It was as if every memory of that horrid night threatened to resurface with just a couple words. But he couldn't let that happen, he couldn't break down.

"I've been running since." He bowed his head, determined not to cry in front of this hardened warrior, even if it was too dark to tell. He was desperate to change the subject and make his mind focus on something else. "What happened to you?"

There was no hesitation this time. Danne explained starkly but somberly, "The ghosts… the… creatures you faced… they came to us. There were too many of them. We were able to hold them off at first, but then a couple of more dangerous ones came out of nowhere… you know, the ones with red eyes?" The young mans' eyes widened in alarm. He had heard that those powerful creatures could blast you where you stood and if they got their poisoned claws into you, you were dead within five minutes. And Danne had fought them off…

"I knew that no one else could fight them, so I tried to draw them away from the people. I don't know what happened to everyone, or if they got out… I was not able to get back to them…"

"Because you… you were fighting the red eyes?"

Self-reproach for his inability to help seeped into every part of that question, but the stranger didn't notice. It was easier to miss emotions in the dark when you couldn't see the other speaker's face.

"Yes." Danne sounded weary. "I have been fighting them for a long time."

"For days?"

Playing cat and mouse around his ruined valley for days with beings bent solely on his destruction … the thought sent shivers down Aroan's spine. How could the man have survived?

"Years."

He stared at the man's faint outline in awe. Anyone who could survive a single fight with one of them must be incredibly strong and powerful. They could help. They could protect their friends. He could not do anything. This man had been fighting them for years; he had fought them and he had won, time and time again.

"Like the Phantom?"

Danne made no reply to that question.

There was silence until he suddenly said, "I have to go out and face them again…" He struggled to stand up, but the feeble attempts made the young man blanch and rush over.

"But not now; you haven't recovered enough to face one of those things." Danne tried to protest, but Aroan cut him off, "No, you were lying unconscious in a pool of your own blood just a few hours ago. Going out again so soon would be suicidal. You can't help anyone if you're dead."

As if to prove his point, he heard another wail on the hills.

Danne gasped as he heard it too.

That meant that he wasn't going crazy, then. They were out there.

Aroan shrank back into himself, but the stranger seemed to see him retreating and pulled him out of it before he was scared silly and unable to help at all. They were going to have their work cut out for them already without any further complications. He lightly shook him. "Go get that club of yours; but be quiet." The young man complied and returned to his side.

"Good, now, help me up."

"But you cannot stand."

"That's why you need to help me."

"That's not what I meant…"

"I'm not going to let them take me while I'm down." Danne's eyes flashed with determination, even though he had to lean against the wall in order to support himself once he stood. "Now we have to wait; they may pass us by. Try not to move or make any noise at all. If they do come, though, hit them with everything you've got."

They sat together, perfectly still and with baited breath. Each silently prayed that the specters would pass them by—neither thought they would be able to live through another encounter.

The wails outside became longer and much more eerie when the two humans were waiting for their deaths to come. Slowly, ever so slowly, as if meant solely to torment them, the sounds came closer.

The young man tensed as he realized that they were truly coming. Danne reached out a comforting hand and squeezed his shoulder. The boy seemed to take strength from the connection, straightening himself and setting his jaw firmly.

Danne allowed himself a small smile at the young man's reaction, but then turned with an anxious face to the front of the cave, where the sky was at its darkest, just before the dawn. If the ghosts were going to attack, they would do it before it became light out. That gave them a very small window of opportunity that was shrinking further every moment.

He thought that perhaps they wouldn't come. Maybe they wouldn't feel his presence in the back of a cave. Maybe they would travel further on to more glorious conquests and more populated areas. He thought… he hoped… that is, until he heard the shrill cry from what seemed like a few feet away.

They were hardly given any more time to prepare themselves before three ghosts found their way past the hidden entrance and were suddenly upon them.

These three creatures were all similar, with mostly human-shaped green bodies. Fortunately, these were a lower class of ghost—unlike the creatures with red eyes, they couldn't speak, didn't have any built in toxins, and could rarely create blasts of much intensity. Their claw shaped hands, however, and pupil-less glowing eyes, bespoke of their shared animosity for the human kind.

With high shrieks, they attacked, one ghost going after Aroan and two of them attacking Danne, who, though wounded, still posed the larger threat.

Danne's adrenaline kept him pushing through the pain of the wounds he had received before the fight began. He rolled first to one side and then to another in order to avoid their claws, lashing out with punches of his own.

He had a more effective attack, but he didn't have the energy to execute it now. He just hoped that he would be able to fend these two creatures off with normal means, and that the boy was holding his own. He couldn't spare a glance to make sure he was alright. That would give the ghosts the opening they needed to finish him off and then they would both be dead…

Aroan's heart was racing and his only thought was to hit the creature that came at him with all his might. He swung the log around with a ferocity that would have startled him a week ago. But that was before everything had been completely changed. He was fighting now for his very life. And he was fighting for the lives that had already been lost, the lives that he had been unable to save.

It fueled him with a righteous anger and he attacked the green creature, bashing it about the head with his heavy wooden log-turned-club again and again, unaware if his efforts were even doing anything to harm it. He did not dare to stop and see what results he was getting. He was angering it— of that there was no doubt. It snarled and slashed out with its jagged claws and it connected with his side, causing the blood to run freely and stain his shirt a deep, deep red, but he barely acknowledged it with a grunt. For the moment, he was too focused on taking this thing down to register the pain.

Danne was just managing to hold his own between the two of the ghosts attacking him. Fortunately, they didn't move in flawless teamwork, but rather attacked on their own volition. It made it easier to separate them and take on one at a time. He kicked one in the face and it was sent reeling back, clutching at its face and hissing like anything. The other one, however, took advantage of the position that Danny had adopted to make the kick and sent him tumbling to the ground.

Both ghosts leapt on top of him, but he pulled the boy's discarded cloak off the ground and flung it at their heads, tangling them together and bewildering them for the moments he needed to get up and take care of them.

There was a blinding flash and he thrust his hands into the green ghostly bodies and they crumpled to the floor with a shriek.

Once sure they were no longer a threat, he turned to help the boy, who, surprisingly, was still very much alive. His eyes were blazing and he was wordlessly attacking the ghost. He didn't seem to notice that he was bleeding; he didn't seem to realize that the other two creatures were taken care of.

As he brought his club down on the ghost's head, dazing it for a moment, Danne took his cue and lunged at it from behind, again creating the spark and finishing the ghost off with a cry.

Once it had fallen to the ground, the young man looked at Danne with bleary eyes, as if he had just awoken from a strange dream and was not yet fully aware of where he was. Then he looked at the three green forms on the cold cave floor, forms that were slowly turning transparent. In a few hours, they would have melted away into nothing.

He looked down at his wound, fingering it curiously, as if he didn't really register that it was his own blood that was staining his shirt.

Then he looked up at Danne, who had slumped over onto the cave wall. "You… we just…" then he let out a shuddering breath. "We're alive."

Danne would normally have laughed at the boy's incredulous tone, but he was only able to weakly smile back up at him, from his position of lying with all his weight against the wall.

He didn't think the poison from the red-eyes had affected him quite that much. Of course, he didn't expect his special status to make him completely immune to the attack, but he was not even able to finish three ghosts off without feeling like his mind was collapsing in on itself.

He shuddered to think what one of his actual powers would feel like in this state. But he had to stay alive and awake to protect this boy. There would surely be more of those ghosts around, and what use was he if he couldn't even stay alive against just three weak ones?

And then his eyes widened in horror as he felt a cold sensation begin to flow through the pit of his stomach. There was another one coming…

He didn't even have time to warn the young man before the shrieking specter had come inside the cave, threatening destruction with his glowing hands.

Danne cried out, grabbing Aroan in a desperate embrace that knocked them both to the ground. He tried to create a shield around them before the ghost's attack came, but it fizzled and faded to nothing, leaving his body to take the brunt of the blast. He fell away from the boy at the force of the impact, clutching at his charred side and groaning for all he was worth.

Aroan yelled "Nooo!" as he took in the scene.

The ghost had been taken aback by the interception of his strategy, but his rage was kindled even further when he had a chance to see the bodies of his fallen comrades. He came straight at the now defenceless boy with both hands raised with a deadly glow.

Danne, however, saw the attack coming and how the boy was frozen in place. He grit his teeth and with a yell, threw himself in front of the young man once again to take any attack.

This time, he didn't waste his energy trying to defend either of them with a shield, but instead gathered his energy in his hands until they glowed like the ghost's. He released it and it exploded in a violent burst of green when it met the creature and reacted with the power it had been gathering.

There wasn't even a body this time; the ghost just dissolved into a green mist that looked sickly as it dissipated, catching the light now peeking through the entrance of the cave.

There was a shocked silence from Aroan until Danne fell to the ground, unable to support himself any longer. "You… you…"

Danne closed his eyes and curled up into a ball, wanting to block out everything: the pain, the tiredness, the reaction of the young man. It was always the same; they never looked at him the same way after he used one of his powers, even if he stayed in human form.

This was not something he felt that he could deal with now… not when he was trying to force the stars in the corners of his eyes to go away. Maybe if he squeezed harder, he could forget about everything around him.

"You… saved my life…"

Danne's eyes flew open and he stared at the young man in disbelief. That was not what he had expected to hear. It was always accusation, but this, this was… gratitude and some sort of… hero worship.

"Nothing more than you did."

Aroan closed his mouth, which had still been hanging open.

And for the first time, there was enough light coming through the cave entrance for him to get a good look at this stranger.

He was startled to see that he was not as old as he first thought—he was only a few years older than himself, although his haggard face made him doubt that conclusion a bit. His hair was stark black and fell over the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

His face, though, was deathly pale, and his breathing was ragged. He had survived so much, but it seemed that he was coming to the end of his road.

As if to confirm this, Danne fell over to side in pain as a harsh cough began to wrack his frame. The adrenaline from the fight had completely left him, and now the effects of the past few days were taking their toll all at once. The fights, the flights; he had no more energy to counter the poison running through his veins.

He wasn't even sure that he wanted to anymore, but that didn't have any bearing on the fact that he simply couldn't.

The young man reached out to him, trying to calm or soothe him. As he made contact, however, Danne shivered violently and the section of burnt flesh in his side where he had taken the hit for the boy cracked and leaked out warm blood, causing him to throw back his head and scream from the pain as it threatened to completely overwhelm him. The edges of his vision began to darken…

"Danne!" the young man yelled, shaking him despite the fact that he was causing further pain. He was too scared that the man would die on him right then. "No! Don't… don't leave me. Don't fall asleep!" He began to panic. "I can't make it on my own."

Danne's eyes opened again and he fought the pain for a moment in order to focus on the boy's face and reply with a soft conviction, "Of course you can, Aroan. You are much braver than you believe you are."

Aroan's eyes began to shine with the tears that threatened to fall. "But I can't fight them! I can't do anything. I can't help anyone, no matter how much I want to, or how hard I try! I'm just me!"

"And that's what makes you special."

"But, I… I wish that I could be like you…"

Danne smiled softly, the edges of his mouth curving into a smile that was both sad and happy at the same time, like he was remembering something from long ago.

Remembering helped the pain to dim.

It was so much easier to breathe when he thought back to the days when he had become what he was and was surrounded by the ones he loved. A sister who annoyed him even as she protected him… a boy with dark skin, always tinkering with something or other… a girl with dark hair and the deepest lilac eyes he had ever seen, eyes he loved more than anything else in the world… and everything they had ever gone through together. Always together. Up until the very end.

He was still smiling as the darkness took over and his eyes began to fade from their brilliant blue to a pale, lifeless grey.

Taking the boy's hand, he whispered to him, "So you have wished it…" His eyes finally closed and his voice sank until Aroan could barely hear him. "So it shall be…"

Danne clutched the boy's hand in a death grip that quickly became painfully tight. Aroan was almost frightened by the intensity and was trying to extricate himself until he could feel a tingling in his hand. It changed until it was a rushing sensation that became more and more powerful and urgent. It felt then like all of the stranger's life and power was flowing through his hand into his own body, creating a faint glow around their clasped hands. It began as a comforting source of strength, but increased in speed and intensity until red-hot fire was searing through his veins.

Both young men screamed in agony as the glow brightened and before abruptly disappearing.

They each fell backwards, landing hard on the stone.

Aroan was panting for several minutes, trying to wipe the stars from his vision and let the pain all throughout his body dissipate. He had no idea what had just happened. Danne had offered no explanation, but he needed one. He needed to understand why his body felt like this and what the stranger had done to him when their hands glowed green.

He slowly pushed himself up and turned to look at Danne, who was lying awkwardly on the stone floor, not moving at all. He was deathly pale and, hard as he looked, Aroan could not see his chest moving at all. Even the blood that had been pouring warm and sticky out of the various wounds ranging across his body had slowed to pool under him.

Aroan slowly reached out to touch his ice-cold arm, tears already forming in his eyes. He knew that Danne was dead. He wiped his eyes with the back of his dirty hand. Even though he wouldn't ever know, Aroan didn't want to reveal his weakness to the man who had saved his life.

At the next moment, however, Danne's dead body was the last thing on Aroan's mind because something began to happen.

He gasped as he started tingling all over and an indescribable feeling began to overwhelm him. He felt like he was unable to breathe—he was drowning in the coldest water he could imagine. And then he stared at his body in horror as bright flashes of light began to spread across his body—consuming it and leaving something black in its wake.

He tried to stop it, but he had no idea how. He was petrified. He couldn't scream, he couldn't move. He could only watch in a horrified but fascinated stupor as the light traveled up, up, past his chest and then his heart…

The coldness reached his heart at the same moment and it felt like his whole body had constricted, like it was being wrung in ice. He thought he was going to die; he gasped and clutched at his throat but couldn't breathe.

He wondered how long it would take him to die. He had always been the best at holding his breathe in the valley, when the children would play in the river each summer. But this wasn't how he wanted to go.

Why couldn't he have died during the attack? Why couldn't he have gone down fighting?

Now he had survived the ghosts almost unscathed but was going to die of suffocation.

Danne was already dead; if he hadn't made it, what chance would he have had of lasting out the day? None at all.

Perhaps, though, it was better that this happened now. Perhaps Danne did something that would end it for both of them…

He looked down at Danne again, the cold lifeless body fallen back on top of itself so unlike the brave man who had fought off three of the creatures with glowing hands.

Glowing hands. Aroan lifted up his own hands and saw that they too were glowing green, just as Danne's had done when he finished off the ghosts. Frantically, he tried to wipe them a way, but the glow stayed. He watched them apprehensively, but after a minute or two the glow began to die away.

And that was when Aroan realized that something was very wrong.

He had watched his glowing hands for minutes without breathing. And he was still alive. Not only alive, but he didn't feel like he was being deprived of his life source. But he hadn't taken a single breath in all that time. Even now, when he tried to breathe, nothing happened. He began to panic and would have been hyperventilating had he been able to breathe, but that was the whole problem. No matter how he tried, he simply could not get any air into his lungs.

That wasn't possible. What was going on? Why couldn't he breathe? Why didn't he seem to need to? What had Danne done to him? Was he even alive anymore?

He risked a glance down at himself and stared in disbelief.

Gone were the ragged and discolored scraps of clothing he had lived in since he fled the scene of destruction so many days ago; they had been replaced by a simple pure black suit that was fluid enough to give him ease of motion and belted with a sash of silvery-white. He brought matching gloves that were now no longer glowing up to his face and studied them as if he were in a dream.

He realized then, too, that he was looking at himself through a mess of hair that was the same color, not his natural brown. He fingered it and stared stupidly back down at his new clothes for a moment.

Then he gasped.

It all suddenly made sense to him.

That desperately cold feeling… the light rings changing his body… the inability to breathe… They had changed him. Danne had done something in his last breath that transformed him into something he had only heard about in legends. The same something that had kept Danne alive for so long and allowed him to battle the creatures out on the hills…

He was the Phantom.

So there you have it… Happy Danniversary 2011. Haha.

The basic idea I had was that there was one original Phantom who fought ghosts and did the right thing, but when he died, he passed on the Phantom persona to someone who passed it on when he died, down through time. This is the plotline I came up with to fit that premise (and I did mean for Danne to be our Danny, in case you were confused). I like the way it turned out, but was really hesitant to post because I feel that it's just a really, really weird story…

So it would be great if you could drop a line or two about what you thought. This is about five times longer than my normal short story word limit and I tried so many different things here for the first time (fight sequence, angst, back flash, original character, non-cannon/AU plotline, character death, etc.) that I poured over this story for a long time trying to get things right, but I really have no clue how any of it turned out for you guys. Please let me know what worked and what didn't and what I can improve on for next time or if there should even be a next time. : )

Thanks for reading!