Danny Phantom 1. Rough Landing

Pamna Mauyaq knocked on his daughter's door gently, balancing a tray of food in his other hand. From within, the sound of sobbing could be heard.

He ran a hand through his jet black hair, which was pulled back into a braid at the base of his neck. Smoothing it back was a nervous habit that went back to childhood, and although as an adult he'd mostly stopped it, parenting undid his attempts to stand tall and unshakable in a way nothing else did. The door wasn't locked, and even if it had been, their little house wasn't the most sturdily built. He did repairs for all the buildings in the town of Atqunaqtuq – he could have kicked it open easily and repaired it later. But she had to let him in, or he would have just put another hole in their relationship, and those were holes he couldn't repair even with the most creative of tools and materials. So the tall man stood outside awaiting a response. The grain of the dark wood was beginning to be familiar to him. The patterns were becoming recognizable.

This would not be the first time he stood outside her door with dinner and left it by the door to find it untouched in the morning. But it would also not be the last. He knocked again, more firmly. "Samantha. _Please._ Please just talk to me."

"Go away," she snapped, and he had to admit, that _was_ progress and it was such a Sam thing to say his mouth twisted into a small, sad smile. "I told you to leave me alone."

"And I told you, you need to eat. You can be mad at me and eat, you know. They're not mutually exclusive," he replied with every ounce of humor and calm he could manage.

Truthfully Pamna was scared. If this kept up they'd need to seek a hospital and the transportation alone across Alaska to a city that could help her would wipe out their savings. He might not be able to help her. All his work, all the things he'd taught himself to do, this house he'd rebuilt for them, it might all mean nothing if he lost her to this madness. All his life he'd been able to sustain himself on the love of his life, his faith, and his community, but if he lost his daughter after everything he'd gone through in life – he wasn't sure he could take it. He didn't want to find out. Every night after he was done waiting for Sam he went outside where it was too cold to cry and sat behind the house, looking down the hill at the coastline as if the waves could give him answers. He was like the rocks on the beaches where no sand formed; the tougher edges were being worn down bit by bit. His wife was out and he knew if he looked he wouldn't like where he found her, so he didn't. He stood here instead, trying to act like his world wasn't crumbling all around him.

"I made soup," Pamna offered up to the silence. "Don't you at least want to lecture me on how eating meat is morally wrong?"

There was some sniffling, but no answer.

"Can I at least come in?"

Silence. He counted the minutes. Seconds built painfully into one, then two, then eventually seven minutes before she opened the door. Her black hair had been trimmed to shoulder length but she had put some up in a ponytail. Gingerly, he entered and placed the tray of food on her desk, taking in the room with sweeping glances of his warm gray eyes. It was as if she hadn't touched anything after ransacking the closet and her backpack. He didn't expect it to make sense and didn't comment on it. Instead he turned to his black-clad teenager, smiling at her as she crossed her arms in front of her chest, looking at the floor. Those black clothes were his hand-me-downs. She'd always preferred to wear anybody else's throw away clothes that weren't made of animal material, but the black suddenly appealed to her, seal skin, fur trim and all.

"You look so grown up," Pamna said softly, causing her to look unreadably at him. "God, sixteen… it's hard to believe, isn't it? I guess I always thought you'd be a little girl. But you're not." She huffed and looked away, a pained expression crossing her face. He reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Please just talk to me. Please. Your mother and I are scared, okay? Not just worried. You're scaring us – you're scaring _me_."

She shut her purple eyes, identical to her white mother's, so tightly it looked like it hurt. "She's not my mother. This isn't my house. This isn't where I'm from. I've told you."

With a heavy heart, he swallowed and struggled to continue as if this were a rational discussion. "We looked, Sam. You looked. The facts are-"

"Ghosts," she cut him off, arms tightening around herself as if to shield herself from an assault. "I made a wish to a ghost. I told you already. I explained everything! Why won't anyone believe me?"

Reaching out, he pulled her close. She was as unyielding as a statue in his arms, but he could wait it out. That was the thing about Pamna, he could endure anything for seemingly impossible amounts of time. He could dig his heels in like no other. And for his family, he would do so even if every second of it hurt. She didn't quite make it up to his chin, so he rested his cheek on the top of her head, and waited patiently for what he sensed was coming. She was her mother's daughter, so it took a while. He felt the subtle shakes of her body first before the slightly quickened breathing, and then the tears forced their way out. She still didn't hug him back, but she leaned against him, and he took it for the progress it was, soothingly rubbing her back as the tears flowed more freely. They seemed endless this week. After a few minutes, her sobbing doubled as if something had hit her, some loss she felt that she couldn't explain to him. She'd babbled about so much the day this started, about friends and a boy and enemies and a school and parents and a dance and ghosts. It was hard to tell what she was mourning for anymore. All of it, maybe. Some specific parts. Pamna held her regardless as she finally let her arms go limp by her sides, and after a few more minutes, wrap around him.

"I want to go home," Sam choked out. Her voice had never been so raw, so completely broken. He felt like he was being stabbed with each word. "I just want to go home."

"You _are_ home," he told her firmly, and she shook her head, opened her mouth to tell him for the hundredth time he wasn't her father, but he cut her off. "No matter what happened, this is your home now. I am your father. I love you more than the world. I will always love you, no matter how long it takes for you to believe it. I love everything about you, even the things that I don't understand, and there is nothing in this world that could make me give up on you. So however long it takes to get through this, I'll be here. We'll get through this together. Because I love you and that's what makes people a family and a family is what makes a house a home."

He looked into her eyes, begging her to understand. His parents were long dead when sickness had swept their tiny town of seven hundred years ago, his wife was out drinking somewhere because it was better than dealing with her dream life falling apart, he had prayed until dawn twice in one week. Pamna was a man without options left, holding on because it was all he knew how to do. He needed her to just nod, smile, give him a chance to make up for whatever had brought this on.

She pulled away from him in one fluid motion and sat down at the desk, resolute, features slowly turning from vulnerable to cold, as if they were carved from stone. "Thanks for the food." She did not look at him.

Pamna forced a smile anyway, feeling chilled to the bone despite wearing his best winter cat indoors. "Anything for you, sweet pea. I'll be outside if you need me, okay? Just holler if you need anything."

There was no answer.

Whatever she had wished for, he thought as he made his way through the clutter of their tiny home, she surely hadn't gotten it.

"_I'm so tired of this! I hate you! I wish I had a _good_ dad!"_

"_So you wish, so shall it be…"_


	2. Some Turbulence

**Author's Note: **I would just like to thank the four of you who reviewed. I am not used to this much feedback, let alone positive feedback. I'm glad that this idea, as uncertain as I was about it, has made at least a little emotional impact. I always accept constructive criticism, suggestions, feedback and basically anything anyone feels like saying, as I'm still trying to get back into the swing of writing. This is my first multi-chaptered fanfic on here and my first one to even get written and saved to the computer in a long time. It's my hope that you'll stick with me as I take this to the conclusion I have planned for it and tell me if there are any bumps along the way.

* * *

Sam stared at the food.

Soup. Stew. She'd never been able to tell the difference but it was meaty and thick and hot, and the smell was enough to make her cave. At first she'd thought this place was a dream. Dreamers didn't need to eat or drink. Dreamers couldn't read in dreams. With that last part obliterated within seconds of waking up, now was the final admission to herself that she wasn't dreaming. She was too awake for this to be a nightmare. With every spoonful she swallowed, she felt how unfamiliar the material she was wearing was against her skin, the smell of food unrecognizable, the wind lonely and endless. How Pamna could stand to be out there like this, she didn't know. She didn't want to know. She didn't want to know a thing about him or this… this _series of houses_ that passed as a town.

The bowl was empty all too soon but she didn't move. She stared down at it, the heavy handmade ceramic, the cheap plastic utensils, the old but well patched up nature of everything. None of this would ever make it into the Manson household. Even she wouldn't have chosen to live like this for all her refusal to act rich. A few tears welled up, and God, she was so sick of crying – Sam didn't cry often, and wasn't used to the way it felt even after this endless week. At least it was in private this time. She had never realized having someone hold her could be so comforting and so painful in the same breath. She didn't know whether to shove him off or hold onto him until she collapsed so in the end she tried for halfway and now he was outside keeping vigil and praying, talking to the sky like God was up there ready and waiting to fix this and make them a happy family.

Meanwhile Jeremy and Pamela Manson had just finalized their divorce in Amity Park according to the internet new sources she'd managed to access. One internet connection in the whole town. Tucker wouldn't last a day up here – she wanted him here to complain about it and cheer on the supply meat stew. She wanted to play video games with him and Danny. She wanted to unsee those articles on the internet, the rumors Pamela Manson was barren, the recent death toll from the last ghost attack with no end in sight since, as far as she could tell, Danny wasn't a superhero without her there to put events into motion. Somewhere out there they were all suffering, they were all alone, they needed her and she was in northern Alaska where it was too cold for trees to grow, and over what?

Over her clothes. Over being _Goth_. Over having a father who wanted to change her.

If she had a do over, she'd put the yellow dress on and just ditch it later. Instead she'd picked a fight with him like the world was ending. Now, it might as well have.

There was a thud as the front door opened and slammed shut. That was Jessica. Her 'mother', the one who she got her white skin from, the women who Sam had driven to drinking… and Sam didn't know how, but Pamna always sensed when Jessica was home. The back door opened and she heard his voice, soothing, gentle, heard Jessica's loud, renewed sobs and slurred shouting. The purple eyed girl shut her eyes and could hear 'at least she's eating' and 'give it time' and 'you just need some sleep, it'll look better in the morning'. She was already very, very sick of Pamna and his inability to crack like a human being was supposed to. Was this all he did? Work, come home and act as morale support for everyone? Sam could hear him helping Jessica to their bedroom. She wondered if he'd tuck her in under the blankets. It seemed like the kind of overly nurturing thing he'd do.

At least tonight Jessica was drunken and distraught and not drunken and angry. She'd come home like that twice this week, ready to tear into her husband at great length, and the worst part was that if his reaction was any indicator this was normal. He took it in stride, because Sam had made a terrible mistake: she'd wished for a good father and hadn't clarified about the mother in the situation. The non-Alaskan native was an attractive woman, something which other men in the town were apparently all very well aware of. When she didn't come home angry, she came home depressed, and then come morning there were awkward apologies. Pamna responded to everything with his typical lack of response and continued tinkering with things in the living room, trying to get work done from home now so he could be on hand if Sam exited her room. There was a thud that signified Jessica had fallen over, and then the labored sigh of Pamna as he helped her to their bedroom. Another night of him sleeping on the couch, then. Sam wondered why he put up with this. Surely he could see he could do better-

Wait. There were seven hundred and four people in this town. Maybe he actually _couldn't_. She buried her face in her hands. Jessica had sobbed so hard the first night, about having been clean for nearly six months. _Sam was driving this woman back into alcoholism._ The Jewish (was she supposed to be Jewish here?) girl rarely felt hate. Anger, sure. But hatred was what she felt for Desiree. This couple, these two, they could function as a marriage. They had clearly been making progress fighting off that personal demon. Then Desiree dumped Sam on them and Sam's epic freak out had broken down everything they'd done. She was ruining their lives whether she wanted to or not. Maybe Jessica _was_ a good mom if allowed to be. Sam wouldn't ever know at this rate, not with how much pain the woman was clearly in.

With time the sounds subsided and Sam heard the door to the other bedroom shut. Pamna muttered something she didn't catch because even if they thought their daughter spoke Inupiaq, she didn't, because she wasn't their daughter. Her 'father' had a language she didn't know a single word in. Gritting her teeth, Sam stood up. She glanced at the trash can where she'd cut the long hair she'd woken up with into her old style. The hair sat there as a reminder she'd taken action that first day. She had done nothing since but mope. It was time to move forward, to try and fix this, and it took several deep breaths before she could move to do so. She almost feared encountering Pamna in the kitchenette that was half the 'living room'. She didn't know what to say to him. She just knew it wasn't in her to sit around and do nothing forever. It was hurting other people. Sam refused to keep doing that.

She ventured into the kitchen with the tray, not sure where to put anything, and found Pamna working on the innards of what might have once been someone's heater. He looked as startled to see her as she was to see him. Awkwardly, she put the tray on the counter and took a few steps towards him and his array of random tools and metal bits, unable to make heads or tails of what he was doing. The black dyed seal skin jacket felt too hot, but it was weird to wear non-black, so she perched on the edge of the couch to sit and wait for a moment to say something. Sam wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. Pamna waited patiently as he put together a seemingly broken beyond repair piece of machinery, turning the heater from trash into something dented that still worked.

At a loss for what else to say, she asked, "How did that thing get so beat up, anyway?"

"Ataramik says his son kicked it. Looking at the size of the dent, I doubt a five year old really has that kind of strength. My guess is he got mad and snapped. It happens once in a while. We've all done it." Pamna shrugged, tilting his head to examine some of the wires. "I've seen worse."

"All the insides are twisted," she pointed out. She had failed Shop class, but even she could see the problems were pretty severe.

"That doesn't mean that they can't work," he replied calmly, and they lapsed into silence again, this time a bit more comfortable, as his long fingers made delicate work possible even in the tangle of wires.

She looked at her own hands. Long fingers she'd gotten from _Pamela_, from her mother with her constant fidgeting. That was her mother, that was who she looked like. All she had do was look at her own skin and contrast it to the man sitting on the floor working and it was all the evidence anyone sane could need. These people hadn't fought ghosts. They had never seen one. So they didn't understand; she'd have to make them understand what had happened without screaming or rushing for the internet's shaky little connection. Sam watched as he took things like coat hangers she would never have thought of as tool and felt a revelation unravel within her. She needed to improvise just like that. Anything she had around her, she had to use. That was the only way to make it out of here and get back home.

"If you're going to be up," Pamna broke the silence softly, "You should get some water. I imagine you're fairly dehydrated after all that time in your room."

"A little," she admitted, getting up and moving to the kitchen. The things plaguing her mind had outweighed the physical discomfort, although she'd drank each cup of water he'd left for her. "I guess I kinda quit noticing."

Once she had downed a cup and a half and was refilling it, though, she had to admit that he was right. She returned to the arm of the couch. On the wall behind it were family pictures that formed a time line. The numbers in them dwindled and dwindled to just three; Pamna, Jessica, and Sam. She saw herself as a little girl building the world's most poorly made excuse for an igloo, saw herself sledding, dressed nicely for a Christmas photo, in a few class pictures. For a moment she tried to picture growing up here, living in this little house, speaking those words that she heard her 'father' use, attending a school that served the whole community, wearing these fur and skin coats for fourteen years. It wouldn't be an awful existence. It was a far cry from abuse. But not one single thing felt or looked right. There was no trace of her family, her friends, the person she'd become over the years, the ghosts she'd helped fight. All that was left of that life resided in her head. She felt trapped within her own mind.

After a while, she turned to find Pamna staring at her. "You don't remember," he said weakly. His voice was unwavering, but his eyes were pained. "You don't remember a thing, do you?"

"…no. But I have an idea," she said, looking at the map of the area from the 1920's they had framed and preserved. "I know you think I'm crazy."

"I would never use that word," he said sharply, looking wounded. She cringed, having realized she'd stepped on a raw nerve. "I – sorry. Go on."

"Would you believe me if I could show you a ghost?"

His eyebrows skyrocketed. "You can do that?"

She flashed back to every lecture she'd ever heard from Mr. Fenton, sitting by Tucker and Danny in the basement lab. Sam had never given it all the attention she should have. The day she'd need it seemed far off. Still, after all those hours around two leading scientists in the field of ectoplasmic entities, she had some working knowledge of how to locate ghosts and places to never, ever go because they could potentially have an old and dangerous ghost haunting it. She bit her lip, unable to answer her fake father. Could she do this? If she did, what next? And yet she couldn't sit in that bedroom forever just waiting for things to somehow solve themselves.

"I can," she said with more certainty than she felt, crossing her arms.

_I have to._


	3. Strong Winds Ahead

**Author's Notes:** I actually have an explanation for why Sam remembers this, but I don't know how to put it in early without it spoiling a major chunk of what I'm trying to do as a plot. So bear with me as we go along.

Also I have this idea for a really wrecked universe where due to Sam's absence and some ghostly intervention Danny never became Danny Phantom and doesn't remember her, but I'm not sure if a Danny Phantom story _without Danny Phantom_ is something anybody would want to read. Rest assured I at least know what they're doing without Sam. And _if_ she gets back (I'm still debating that) they will not be as they were before she left. As I said in the summary, this is a story without reset buttons. I intend to keep it that way.

As always, thank you to my loyal reviewers who review at light speed and make me glad I got over my phobia of posting my work. Your encouragement means more to me than you know. I apologize for the lateness of this chapter! I rewrote it a few times and I'm still not satisfied with it, but I really tried to make this good enough hopefully people won't abandon ship after this chapter's end.

* * *

Pamna spread out the scant things Sam had managed to bring with her from her alleged home.

He had to admit, her outfit was pretty inexplicable. It was too cold for where they lived, too light and airy even in black and purple. The boots were Demonia. That brand wasn't anything he'd seen in any store in his life, but it was common in the lower forty-eight states. Her skirt pocket had a cellphone in it that might have provided more evidence had its' battery not been dead. She had a purple quartz ring, the kind of cheap one bought at any knick knack shop, of which there were none locally. She had a pair of new bat shaped earrings not yet taken off of their Claire's packaging. The nearest Claire's was in Juneau. He took one deep breath, and then another. The tea kettle whistled and he went to retrieve it. Too early to be awake, too late to go to sleep, Sam's ideas too insane to take seriously but too serious to dismiss – this was something he would have to keep working on until it turned time to make his rounds delivering things he'd fixed and pick up more work. This whole town was breaking down.

The town was breaking down and so was a part of him. He looked at the blatantly unexplainable and knew he could not put together any kind of explanation for what he was seeing. Pamna could lie to himself about a lot of things, reassure himself everything was fine, and when all failed he could pray, but he was two tea pots in and had yet to find anything that contradicted his daughter's insane story. She had, at the very least, been somewhere far away. He had no memory of her leaving for long enough to acquire these items. With shipping being what it was, it was impossible she could have saved up money to order these things. There was the possibility her boyfriend could have given the outfit to her. For a brief moment he entertained the idea of going over to Alaqaa's house and hauling the sleeping boy out for questioning, but the reality was that Alaqaa wasn't the kind of boy who would buy a skimpy outfit for his girlfriend.

Alaqaa had been worried and came by every day, but even setting aside his total confusion at the situation, the boy was just too reserved to do anything with Sam that was outrageous or daring. They were opposite in temperaments, yet they both were interested in intellectual pursuits that were above and beyond the level of education they'd reasonably be able to get in their lifetimes, not that it stopped them from lurking in the library, hogging the internet and dreaming of college. Alaqaa was just as passionate about preserving the Arctic environment, fighting for better laws and better treatment of Native peoples in Alaska. The big difference was where Sam's passion was burning and self-righteous, Alaqaa was cold and angry, if you dug under the apathetic surface. Still, he had been the last person to be with Sam before she got home, woke up convinced the world was wrong, and so he was going to have to involve him in it.

This was like a court case, a mystery. He needed witnesses, evidence, clues, ways to put all of it together, and right now Pamna just had nothing. There was no working theory, no idea to prove or disprove. There was no way she could really have run into a ghost, not where they lived. There was no way she could have gotten these things without traveling hundreds of miles in a matter of seconds in order to get back home in time to wake up when she did. Pamna didn't want the town talking about his little girl. She'd endured enough for being who she was over the years. But he wasn't willing to let this go, even if her plan of 'let's go seek out a ghost to tell us the truth' was right out of the question. Maybe Alaqaa could talk her out of it.

* * *

"I think it's a good idea," Alaqaa Tuqut said bluntly, in the same bland, nonchalance way he'd say he liked sugar in his tea. He didn't even break stride walking to the Mauyaq household. "Either it will prove or disprove it to her. Either way, without some kind of answer, she'll just go nuts. It's Sam. She doesn't sit still for anything."

"She's a little different right now, and you are taking this _far_ too well," he retorted, immediately getting a sharp look from the pale-eyed teenager. Alaqaa's eyes were so light that they could glint in the right lighting; the green was cold, mint colored and unyielding. "Sorry. I suppose all things considered this isn't the worst thing that's happened to you."

Silence reigned for the rest of the walk to the house. It was a surreal experience for Alaqaa to open the door and see his girlfriend pouring over maps. Her hair had a new style, and he was fine with it. What was not fine was her looking up at him as if he were nothing. Not even an ex to be angry with, or a nuisance to roll her eyes at… there was just no sign she even realized he was supposed to mean a single thing to her. He pushed back his hood and stepped closer, face going from its' usual half-scowl to blankness. She said nothing. He tried to tell himself he'd been through worse since, well, he _had_. She was still alive, at least. She was still her overly perfectionist self if the notes on the map she had in her Algebra notebook was any indicator. After a second her face broke out into a sad smile and she uttered words that would soon haunt his nightmares.

"Do I know you?"

His face became the way it was around everyone who wasn't Sam; unreadable, cold, distant, eyes so sharp it was like ice coated the iris'. And he turned to Pamna without expression. "That settles it. We're going."

"No, really," Sam said, her voice uneasy as she stood up, looking him over. "Who are you?"

"A friend," he replied quietly. It wasn't a lie, not really. They had been each other's only friends since he could remember. "Your partner in crime, most of the time. And the closest thing to a ghost expert for miles, so we have some supplies to pack and no time to waste if we're getting there and back before any storms hit. The scheduling is tight, but we've never had a problem we couldn't manage."

Her brow furrowed. There was an inflection in the otherwise inflectionless voice. _We_. Like they were a team. For a moment she thought she had a flash, a memory from a dream of the two of them laying in the snow, watching the northern lights together, his eyes so much softer as he pointed to a point in the sky. She shook the memory away; false memories were something that Desiree specialized in. It was a miracle that Sam herself hadn't woken up with a mind full of false years. Actually… why hadn't she? She didn't have anything on her to protect her from the full effects of a ghost's power when she had yelled at her father, so shouldn't she believe she was Sam Mauyaq, and this was her home? A horrible chill went up her spine, the sense everything was not right settling around her, and she shuddered.

"How soon can we leave?" she asked, looking at the map. "I don't know where to go. I narrowed it down to a few locations, though."

Alaqaa observed her work, ignoring the perfect handwriting that she always had, that calligraphy-like way of putting words down she was so proud of. Sam had always been one for unorthodox beauty. He didn't have time to be sad. He didn't have time to mourn. He had to stay strong for Pamna and to a lesser degree for Jessica. The Mauyaq family had been there for him and he couldn't let himself falter in the face of even this. That was who he was; cold and unshakable, and he repeated this in his head as a mantra as he looked at her work, aware for the first time of just how vulnerable Sam made him. His eyes took in map locations and he crossed that with his first hand experience of the areas in question.

"There's three that are viable this time of year, and only one is close enough to do a two day trip – a day there and a day back." Alaqaa looked at Pamna. "Two days off of work with your daughter like this is going to raise a lot of questions."

"You can't get through there on your own." Pamna paused as Alaqaa arched an eyebrow at him. "Okay, you_ two_ couldn't do it. I'm coming with you, and the town will just have to keep talking if we're really going to keep this madness going. I won't let anything happen to my little girl out there. I'll go see if Jessica knows anyone she can crash with on short notice. Hold on a second."

And he went to their bedroom, leaving the two teenagers alone.

There was never a more awkward silence. Alaqaa found it bitterly ironic that his name meant 'the sound of despair', and was meant to _ward off_ misfortune, yet here he was with the girl who made life itself a joy and he could neither voice his despair nor explain what had happened to her. And her misfortune was his. As much as they'd bickered about politics, she had the loyalty of a true friend, something pulled straight out of mythology, the moon ready to chase the sun forever in a refusal to let it be alone and suffer in silence. Even now she managed to look worried about him _and she didn't even know him_ anymore. He wanted so much to reach out and touch her, take off the gloves that never ever left his hands in anyone else's presence and lace their fingers together and tell her it would all be okay. She'd coined the term anti-nihilist for him: someone who thought the world was awful and unsalvageable and fought for it anyway. He looked at her handwriting and remembered her showing him how to do cursive the Christmas when they were seven. She was self-taught, of course. Sam had always seemed like she could do anything, but she'd made him believe _he_ could do anything, too. He would still be the boy who ran away from school to avoid the other kids without her vivid discordance pulling him away from a monochrome world.

He would fight for her. And he opened his mouth to tell her as much with all the sincerity in the world when a puff of blue breath escaped his lips. Her lilac eyes widened, but he didn't have time to explain.

"Oh, _aatchikkaaf_," he swore, and then white rings appeared around his body.


	4. Tailwind

**Author's Note:** Well, that went over significantly better than I was expecting. In all honesty I thought at least a few readers would bail out of this at the end of this chapter, so it's kind of bizarre that instead it seems to have attracted… _more_ reviews? And readers. This reaffirms my suspicion this fandom is absurdly supportive and nice and I thank you for it, both those who review and those who show their support by following or favoriting. Even if you don't say anything, it's still support and it's helping me build confidence in what I'm doing and I'm grateful for that. (And I know what it's like to feel too shy to review things, so hey, I can't throw stones, here.)

First order of business: there is now a fanfic in the works to show what Danny and Tucker's lives would be like without the Phantom part of Danny's life. It'll be posted once this chapter goes up.

Secondly: Yes, I have been to Alaska. _Once._ About six years ago, to boot. My family is part of the Inupiaq tribe on my maternal grandmother's side, so there's some extended family for me up there. I butcher some Inupiaq with my family, but it's pretty bad, and I had to consult my Inupiaq dictionary for a lot of spellings in the fanfic and finally decided to cut any Inupiaq-only dialogue altogether for the sake of pacing and reading. But for the most part I've lived my life in the Rocky Mountains of the United States, and as such have a great deal of experience with snow and cold. There was snow last night when I started writing this chapter that only melted this morning.

Now, on with the show! And one final thanks to all my readers for their encouragement, feedback and general support. Feel free to leave any questions, comments, ideas, criticisms or things you've noticed as reviews. I will never take anything as a flame, promise. Yes, even actual flames, because they can still contain nuggets of solid feedback.

Also I swear to God we'll get out of the tiny town and into the Alaskan wilderness next chapter. I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to take this long for us to get to this point. Apologies for flaws in my pacing.

* * *

Sam stared with the eyes of the disbelieving as Alaqaa transformed.

It was simple, really, a white parka with black fur trim that had tinges of gray in it, white pants, black fur trimmed boots that were white, but she'd spent enough time with Danny to identify a ghostly glow. There was a faint eerie grayness to him like Danny's faint blue, Alaqaa's black hair going white as his eyes opened to reveal deep royal purple that sucked in the light. Without a word of explanation he flew through the house's walls, probably to take the fight outside. After all, up here, there wasn't exactly a construction company to call. Sam's da- _Pamna_ was pretty much the guy people came to to get things patched up, including roofs and walls, and so a fight here would be months of collateral damage. In these conditions, if anyone got hurt, they'd probably be weeks from a good hospital, too, so Sam running out the door after Alaqaa was really more a habit from being Danny's friend than anything based in common sense or logic.

The ghost wasn't one she was familiar with – fair enough, distance considered. Danny could go over 100mph but did the average ghost? Did they need to? Her head spun as she watched Alaqaa slam into the faceless, hysterically laughing black-skinned ghost with its' tattered amauti and ash stained body and realized with a sickening twist in her stomach that the ghost had no legs. The pant legs suggested this had not once been the case in life given they were blacked and burnt. It was fast, moving like it had no bones, and it was like fighting a twisting swirl of smoke, which prompted Alaqaa to sweep his white-gloved hands in wide area attacks of dark purple energy that he was good enough, but not great, at aiming. Good enough was not good enough with this thing, though, as the hysterical laughter was choked with sobs and it threw a wave of fire at him. He phased through it without half a second to spare and slammed into it again because that was the only way to actually hit this thing and have those hits land repeatedly. Once he got his hands locked around the neck, under the hood, he let loose enough purple energy to make the world flash a sickly dark violet and Sam shut her eyes on instinct.

There was a thud as the ghost hit the ground, still conscious but powerless. It sobbed. Alaqaa grabbed it under the shoulders and hoisted it up, noticing Sam's presence with a flicker of unease on his face. "I'll explain later. Right now, I need to get this _piifixaaq_ back where she spawned from. Portals don't stay open long."

And then he was gone, a blur of white dragging a load of gray.

* * *

Sam had consumed enough sleep inducing tea she should have been out like a light.

Instead, she waited by the door. Alaqaa returned looking like his human self, albeit more exhausted. His constant blank expression fought the tiredness and it was anyone's guess which was winning at the moment, but his face tended to trend towards a third emotion when Sam looked at him, and that was nervousness. The nervousness was but the tip of the iceberg; underneath it lay an anxiety he had not known in years, one so deep that he had to keep moving, speaking, acting and planning because if he paused for even a second the fear inside him of losing Sam, of becoming a freak to one of the only people alive who _didn't_ view him as such, was enough to make breathing impossible. Neither of them were shy or subtle people, but he lingered timidly outside in the cold.

"I can expla-"

She latched onto him tightly and hugged him hard. He froze, his breath hitching as fear dropped away, leaving him positively light headed as she murmured, "It's okay. It doesn't matter as long as you're safe."

She would have said and done the same thing to any halfa out there, but she'd never exactly had the chance sans Vlad, who deserved no sympathy. When she pulled away from Alaqaa, for the first time since she'd met him he looked at a total loss. His cheeks were tinged a little red, flustered, and yet relief radiated off of him even in his confusion. In his current state he might stand there in a stupor all day, so she pulled him inside and shut the door. Pamna watched the exchange with a mixture of emotions. Sam was still Sam, understanding, welcoming, kind, open to the insanity that was Alaqaa's status as an _ieuqun_ despite not knowing what that even meant or that it was a thing. Gently, she tugged him over to the well worn couch, where he sank into it gratefully, placing his hands in his head and looking at the map still on the floor, temporarily forgotten. He swallowed thickly and shut his eyes, tired.

"You can stay here for the night," Pamna offered. "We'll leave first thing tomorrow. But you need to get some food in you before you sleep. Like I told you before, if I wouldn't let Sam do it, I won't let you do it."

Alaqaa nodded and looked over at the lilac eyed girl in question. "So, now it's my turn to say this: you are taking this _far_ too well."

"…I think if I explained you'd think I'm crazy. Well, crazier," she amended thoughtfully, looking at him with unasked questions bouncing around her head. "I know I could've asked Pamna while you were gone but it's a personal thing. So just. I don't know. Tell me when you're ready?"

Neither male mentioned this was how Sam had phrased it when the issue had come up originally. It would have been too awkward. Instead, Alaqaa yawned and laid back against the couch, shutting his eyes. Pamna cooked in relative silence, the static-filled radio creating barely understandable music to fill the void, and Sam looked over the list Alaqaa had made and decided to begin to pack before anything else unexpected happened to derail what few plans they had managed to come up with. As she went to her room, she was hit with the strangest sense of having done something like this before. It had to be from all the things she'd done with Danny, though. She'd helped him in and out of all kinds of situations. But it wasn't the packing or planning that made her feel like the past was bleeding over. It was the strangest feeling, this familiarity involving strangers, and she wasn't sure if she liked or disliked it. The world was nothing if not unstable, even back home, but here it was amped up to eleven, and so she went about her business until she decided to get to sleep, which was a time picked in an absolutely arbitrary manner, given it was mostly done to escape her worried pseudo-father and the friend she didn't remember who looked at her with eyes as hypnotic as the moon.

As if to rub salt in the mental wounds, her subconscious dug out a dream for her. A memory, of something that never was but had been…

* * *

_Alaqaa's body was too thin, but bruised thoroughly, and she hadn't realized it until now. He sat on her bed, face so lost in despair he couldn't have found a shred of the mask he normally wore to put on, in nothing but a black T-shirt and pants, hair a mess, eyes so vulnerable she thought breathing too loudly might break him._

"_It's supposed to be a myth, a monster story," he whispered, looking scared. "That's why I didn't tell you. I – I'm a monster-"_

_She pulled him close and they fell back onto the bed together, his body seeking shelter in pressing against hers. "No, you're not," she whispered to him. One her hands found his hair. "You're my best friend. You're a good guy. And I think you could be a hero, if you wanted to be."_

_He snorted, dismissing the idea, but the slight shaking in his body lessened as he buried his head against her shoulder, as if one good friend could save him from the world. "Superheroes need sidekicks."_

"_I can't do that. Too patriarchal and stereotypical," Sam thoughtfully replied, adding with a smile, "But I'll be your manager. First consultation is free."_

"_And your advice as my manager _is_?" he retorted, a smile trying to break across his face even as he tried to look composed._

"_Just know you're never alone. You've got me."_

* * *

Sam awoke to the most awkward family breakfast ever, in large part because Jessica had bailed already and Alaqaa was there in her place, dutifully detailing multiple map routes.

She sat down beside him on the couch as her father made breakfast, noting the coffee cup beside Alaqaa. On impulse she reached over and took a sip from it, setting it back down like nothing had happened. It was only when he paused and looked up from the maps spread out across the coffee table it hit her: she had done that before. Or it felt like she had; it felt like she had sat beside him many a morning, stealing his coffee, talking about class, listening to the news on the radio and snarking at it. Whatever had protected her from the effects of Desiree's wish granting powers might be _fading_, and that was a terrifying thought. She could lose herself entirely, lose Danny without ever even getting a chance to see if they were meant to be friends or more, never see Tucker graduate with top honors and go to MIT, forever forget her parents' warm embraces and the Hanukahs spent with extended family milling around, her cousin Seth telling her that her blacks didn't match and she'd have to go change-

"I need stronger coffee than that today," she announced to the room, shoving down the growing anxiety. She'd already wasted a week crying, a week of very valuable time where she hadn't realized her ability to recall things was fading, and the sense of urgency descended upon her like an Arctic goose upon a fisherman's unguarded catch. "Good on you for drinking girly drinks, though. Gender roles must die."

He fist bumped her when she offered up a fist. "You always say that."

"When it stops being true, I'll stop saying it," she shot back, even as her stomach twisted at the thought of how well he thought he knew her.

He thought she was his friend and they had always been like this, and her response was to lead him on and ultimately take that friendship away. She was using him – only because she needed to get back home, to her parents and friends and family, but what about him? He would still be a halfa without her presence, without the friendship they had, which meant without Pamna's support and it dawned on her then that at no point in planning a two day trip had anyone mentioned Alaqaa's parents or family. Her throat tightened as she realized she might be all that he had. The dream, the memory, flashed back to her in a haze and she recalled bruises and shaking limbs. And Pamna chose that moment to hand her a plate and fork.

Pamna. Pamna, who waited a week for her, who held vigil for her, prayed for her, held her when she cried… she was using him, too, as a way to get back home. She would leave a hole in his life, a world without a daughter, only an alcoholic wife to look after, his lack of family made harsher by the closely knit community. It would be a long and lonely existence she would make for him. He was throwing into this trip money and resources he really couldn't spare for _his daughter_ so she could stop _being_ his daughter. She looked at him, his kind eyes, gentle voice, always so ready to help anyone with anything, and wondered why. Why were they helping her? Alaqaa might think she was insane. Pamna might think she was insane. That didn't explain why they would help her knowing full well that there was a strong possibility that they would lose her forever. What they were about to do today was insane.

'_And my love be the height of insanity; it is as boundless as the ocean and as deep,' Mr. Lancer had read to a bored class, Dash muttering something about girly stuff being useless and Paulina texting on her phone as the English teacher continued. 'For true love is to give knowing it shall not be returned, and so you may have my wife with my blessing, as her happiness must be as steady as the waves upon the shore.'_

Tears filled Sam's eyes, splashing onto the plate, and she couldn't explain why.


	5. Headwind

**Author's Note:** So I realized that the next chapter might be a long time coming as I debate whether or not Sam should get to go home or not. Thus I decided to put this out faster to make up for it.

The continued lightning speed and depth of the reviews I'm getting is really great, and I appreciate the support. It's nice to be able to get into the flow of writing and feel like maybe, just maybe, I have a place in this fandom after all. I wish I had more to say here but honestly I'm annoyed with myself that this chapter, if not this and the one before it, both feel like filler to me. I appreciate that others don't think so, I just don't want to wake up one day in December and find myself writing Chapter 209 of this thing.

But! I ask of you, readers, to bear with me. There's a light at the end of this tunnel and it's a freaking bioluminescent diamond, we just need to keep going.

* * *

She no longer spoke Inupiaq.

Pamna wondered if the reason he wasn't crying was because there were no tears that could express how much he felt like he'd lost with that simple fact. She couldn't speak the language he'd taught her since she was old enough to make sounds, desperately trying to coax his tiny, pale little baby into words and beaming with pride when she learned 'aapaga', 'aanaga', and 'qafaa' like she had found the next wonder of the world. She had always been picking up things and demanding names for them. She was always ahead of the other kids. He remembered when Sam had told another boy in perfect Inupiaq he was going to Hell after said boy made fun of Sam's white mother. That had been a very interesting conversation with the school principal; on the one hand, that was awful, on the other, that was a pretty big word and complex sentence for a six year old. He'd tried to be mad and ended up teaching her more polite ways to insult people while Jessica laughed and snapped a picture for the family photo album, shaking her head at this indignant, adamant daughter they'd brought into the world.

They took Alaqaa's snowmobile and enough gas that Pamna was fairly certain Alaqaa was going to be totally out until next spring's supply shipment, but the teenage boy seemed fine with this development. If they ran out on the way back he could go _ieuqun_ and push them back. That was the rockier part of his normal relationship with Sam: formidable together, they were too strong-willed to fight without that fight going on for days or even weeks. Neither had the ability to yield. The only reason she had bitten back objections was because time was of the essence and she didn't have enough information to fight with him at the moment. Pamna saw the need to fight in his daughter's eyes and the general need to unleash every last ounce of everything she was feeling. Unfortunately, even though she accepted a warm hug from him before they left, she opened her mouth and no words came out, though she certainly wanted it to. They were out in the snowy plains for a good twenty minutes before she even shifted position in her seat.

It was a squeeze getting three people onto a machine build for two, and Sam ended up pressed closer against Alaqaa than she would have liked. Fortunately, he kept quiet other than offering up directions and suggestions, all of which cut their arrival time down. Sam knew it did because in spite of not knowing what a naturally haunted area in Alaska would look like, it was astoundingly hard to miss one you were actually in it. The world seemed dimmer even though there were no clouds, the light cold and gray, lifeless as the air managed to get even colder and then colder than that as they drew closer. Something else was wrong, but it took her a while to identify it: the wind. The wind was blowing and howling but not a single snowflake budged nor did the fur on their coats billow. It broke the laws of physics so blatantly that she wasn't surprised when a puff of blue breath escaped Alaqaa's mouth and he ordered them to stop.

"Alright," he said, adjusting his gloves. "Let's see if there's a ghost here and not the usual _piifixaaq_."

She was still wrestling with the concept of a _piifixaaq_. The murdered souls were doomed to roam the ghost world and area they were killed in, unable to speak or be recognized by anyone. Most of them were violent in the way one who has suffered too many traumas became mad; crying, laughing, moaning, they killed people the way they had been killed. The implication the one Alaqaa had fought yesterday had burned to death was something that turned her stomach, and she wondered if there were any of these in Amity Park. With bigger threats always on the radar, she, Danny and Tucker put together could have missed them, especially since the thing had to practically be on top of Alaqaa before his ghost sense had gone off. The thought everyone she knew was currently and had always been in danger unawares made an already miserable situation one notch higher in desperation. Still, that was the difference – a talking ghost was in fact a ghost and not whatever those things qualified as, which meant a conversation would prove she was not, in fact, insane about everything.

They had come to a stop near a stretch of terrain too rocky to traverse on snowmobile regardless. The sound of running water reached them from a small stream that bravely fought against the cold to join what was, she saw as she climbed the rocks and Alaqaa took to the air, the ocean. She stared at it long and hard. It was vast, endless, the waves rhythmic, the air's smell now explained by its' presence, all sound of the wind swallowed up by the repeating drum beat of the waves hitting upon a beach of rocks again and again. There wasn't any sand, just smooth stones, and she saw the light of the sky reflected and magnified by the waves in spite of the dreariness of this place. Love as boundless as the sea and as deep? She didn't have it. She did nothing as magnificent as smooth down rocks to make endless stretches of gentleness in a harsh land, she had never put in effort for so long into one thing, never been as blatant as the ocean, which was loud and potent and refused to masquerade as a lake, instead rolling over anything that got in the way. She wanted to find Mr. Lancer and tell him that love like the ocean was the dumbest poem he'd ever read in class, which was saying a lot, because it was completely impossible.

Alaqaa had to grab her and lift her into the air to get her clear of the blast radius in time. She wrapped her arms around him like she would with Danny and they whipped through the air, the ground a white blur with dark splotches of rocks, before he landed beside Pamna and snapped something in Inupiaq she didn't catch at the man. Then they three turned as one to one very pissed off ghost.

He was tall, with stringy, wavy hair, a coat so elaborate in its' patterns and made of the highest quality Arctic fox fur so that even the Mansons would have had trouble affording it. His hair was white with one black streak, his face sharp and angular, body long and movements graceful, and wherever he stepped, the ice became water, which he idly made into spinning and twisting whips of ice-laced water ready to snap at any second. There was a cadence to his voice that was both insufferably superior and sociopathic, a voice that clearly communicated that he'd leave bodies in his wake and wouldn't bother to step around them. He spoke Inupiaq in a way where even the harshest sounds rolled off his tongue smoother than French, and Sam was left hopelessly out of the loop as he stepped closer, Alaqaa's arms out as if to protect them. Pamna had gone very pale and said something back in a very polite tone of voice that was both cut off and laughed at outright, a laugh like music.

The ghost turned to Sam and she screamed without meaning to. His eyes had been ripped out and the too-wide holes were filled with oval chunks of ice that glinted horribly, a silver she would never forget. He grinned. "Ah. That's a bit more like it. Your human companion and the _thing_ you used as an escort don't seem to quite realize what they're up against. But you – you _do_, don't you? You know not all ghosts are moaning parkas with dead weight inside."

She nodded. When she got her voice back, she stated simply, "I need to get back home. I thought a ghost might know a way since a ghost got me here."

An arched eyebrow was the response; even _ghosts_ were skeptical of her story. "The other human claims to be your father," he said, sounding mildly amused. "You do look like you could be his progeny. Unless you're going to claim a ghost switched you at birth with another child, which, for the record, we don't do. That's Fae business and there isn't one left above the treeline-"

"Desiree did it," she breathed out, not meaning to interrupt, but he ceased speaking. His grin was equal parts delighted and sadistic.

"Ah, Desiree! Now, there's a name I haven't heard in these parts before. Not on the human side, at least, though she's thrown a few newborn ghosts around from time to time." He held out a hand for Sam to shake, coming closer. "I am Ipirukuyakka. And you are very fortunate to have both caught me on a good day and offered up an _exceptionally_ interesting reason for me to get involved in this. Desiree is my… _pixuun__tuvaaqatiga_, of a sort. Now, leave your little monster of a pet and would-be father and let's strike a deal, shall we?"

Sam had no idea what that Inupiaq word meant, but made no move to step forward, and faint purple energy glowed in Alaqaa's hands as he took one step forward in her stead, protectively. Ipirukuyakka looked at him with a sneer of disgust that took his face from gorgeous to borderline monstrous. Even with smooth ice in place of eyes, the implied glare was obvious to everyone present. The air dropped further in temperature and Alaqaa's expression became that one Sam hated, so schooled and blank, pure nothingness, a mask that he seemed all too familiar and comfortable wearing. But why? Ghosts in Amity Park had never had a problem with Danny, not like this, where his species was concerned. Skulker wanted Danny dead because he was rare, and other than that it was Danny putting a stop to their fun that annoyed most ghosts. They never looked at him like this. She placed a hand on his back, and Alaqaa only tensed further even though she looked at him with concern in his eyes. Pamna shut his eyes and muttered something that sounded like a prayer under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Don't think I don't know what you are. You may act like your mother, but you've got your father's face, his hands – human hands, a human face. Oh," Ipirukuyakka said, delighted, as Alaqaa inhaled slowly and exhaled a bit louder than usual. "Did I hit a nerve?"

Alaqaa held his tongue, though Sam could see the muscles of his jaw working as her head spun. He was – that was how he was a halfa without a Ghost Portal up here – how, though, did that even work with virtually no talking… ghosts… Wait. He knew all the places on the map to go. She hadn't questioned why because Pamna hadn't. He'd used the word 'viable' with authority, like a scientist would. And she hadn't heard mention of his family. His house had been deserted when they swung by it for the snowmobile. There was a very interesting story here she wasn't getting and didn't have time to get, quite frankly, so she cleared her throat to get everyone's attention. _I'm not going to keep getting people in trouble. From now on, I'm getting them _out_ of it._

"Leave him alone," Sam stated, voice firm and belying the vortex of ideas running through her mind. "This is between us but if you keep pushing it I can go back home." It was the first time she'd referred to the tiny town as 'home'.

"I'll keep you here," he shrugged nonchalantly.

"I'll lie circles around you until Desiree's effects kick in and I don't remember the truth anymore."

Ipirukuyakka paused, not having a counter for that level of 'screw you', and smirked after a moment. They both knew she wouldn't do that. The risk of losing everything was too high. What the threat actually did was indicate that there were terms and conditions to this, and she intended to have a say in them. Let the human think she could outsmart ghosts. It made for interesting conversations and intriguing tales to tell the others when they failed and he returned to the Ghost Zone. So he held out his hand again and she stepped forward, giving Alaqaa a look that said 'trust me', and grasped ahold of his fine, bone-white sealskin gloved hand.

They plummeted, the world blurring into slick ice walls, first white then blue then gray then black as the light grew dimmer and dimmer, the speed of the descent sending her hair flying upwards as she strained to glimpse the surface, the sunlight, which became a pinprick in the black, a star, before it was gone. There they stood in silence as she brushed her now messy hair out of her eyes, which didn't help since she couldn't see her own fingers touch her face. Down here it was so silent her breathing sounded like thunder. There was no wind, the air dry and stale, incapable of supporting life for prolonged periods of time, and the ice she found when she blindly reached out for a wall was smoother than any she'd ever known. For a moment, she thought she had been tricked, and then the floor glowed to life – or a circle of it did, anyway, showing a picture of the human world, the village she'd left behind. With a snap of the ghost's fingers, it changed to showing Alaqaa debating something with Pamna now that Sam was down here. She looked over at Ipirukuyakka, who now stood in the shadows of the room made by the walls of ice. It was perfectly round, and she stood opposite of him.

His smile glinted in the light, reflecting in the ice of his eyes. "Now. Let's _talk_, shall we?"


	6. Eye Of The Storm

**Author's Note:** I want to first address the language usage in this fanfic. I tried to go for a lack of glossary so the readers could feel just as lost as Sam is given she doesn't speak the language. I also tried to avoid, say, writing a whole conversation in Inupiaq because that's just fluffing up my word count to make the fanfic look longer and more impressive when the words 'they had a conversation in Inupiaq Sam didn't follow' works just as well. That said, some things just flat out do not translate. I could try and give you English approximations but I'm really not sure they work. _P__iifixaa_ are actual things in Inupiaq mythology. That's not a thing I can translate. _Ieuqun_ is a really hard concept to explain, kind of a ghost-human hybrid that don't have minds, just the destructive and unknowable nature of a ghost, although in the Danny Phantom universe that would of course not work because we have a different definition of 'ghost' we're working with here. Sam's first words were 'dad', 'mom', and 'no', respectively. The word Ipirukuyakka used for his lovely relationship with Desiree is multi-faceted. Partner/ loyal friend/wife/girlfriend who is sinful/cruel/sadistic is the gist of it. Take from it what you will, it's supposed to be vague because in my head their relationship is an ill-defined but destructive force. (Oh, and Ipirukuyakka calls Sam a southerner in this chapter because... well, compared to Alaska everything is southern so it's actually not even an insult, it's accurate.)

I realized when I took a coffee break that this is long enough to be a chapter, and actually might benefit from breaking here. I say might because I'm not sure if that will drive home the message or if it instead slams the momentum into a wall headfirst. This is something I'd appreciate feedback for. I know I say that a lot, and I'm sure it comes across as fishing for reviews, but I am genuinely not sure how I'm doing or even what I'm doing sometimes. I really want to be a good writer but there's no way to improve without screwing up, and there's no way to know you screwed up unless someone tells you you've done so.

But regardless I want to thank my readers. The reviews have been interesting and insightful, the number of hits has surprised me given this concept is more than mildly insane, and the people following this make me feel like I'm actually putting forth something people look forward to. At the risk of sounding sappy, I really sincerely want to thank everyone for hanging on here with me as this story goes on.

* * *

"Would you like to know what my name means? You see, sometimes Desiree doesn't like to rewrite that part of minds that handles languages. We get our fun where we can." He grinned, clearly and thoroughly enjoying the fact the deck was automatically stacked against Sam. "_Ipiru-kuyakka_: drowning you along with myself. A fitting way for how I died, although that was quite a long time ago, when the Thule still walked the Arctic. Still, I decided to keep it. Ghost names warp and change as their bearers change and the languages around their haunting grounds shift. I did not change, not really. I simply allowed myself that which I had been denied and then took it in excess.

Perhaps that is why Desiree and I have such a bond. We know the power of _want_, the way it drives people to forsake their senses, their gods, their families, their own lives. We also know the personal price of it, the suffering, the self inflicted wounds. And as a consequence," he continued, stepping towards Sam in a way that made her back away, around the circular room they were trapped in since he left her without room to move otherwise, "We have some issues with people who confuse 'I want' with 'I _need_'. Believe it or not, she leaves the truly genuine needs, the selfless ones, fulfilled without a price to pay. I… well, I play different games with humanity but abide by the same rule: those that cry out for a need are very different to me than those who whine for their wants. My guess," he kept going, and by now they were in sync, circling the circle on the floor as Sam tried to keep space between them, "Is that you had a particularly petty want. Tell me, little _kivaknaq_, what did you ask for?"

His voice resounded in the icy acoustics of the room. Each word was amplified, every tone of voice intense, each step loud, and yet there was no echo. Sounds were swallowed up. The cold hurt her eyes as his literal icy orbs fixed on where she was so well she was sure he, if anything, saw better than the average ghost. The effect was unnerving. She could glimpse her reflection in his eyes as they moved, for split seconds, and it was hard to find her voice. All at once the weight of the words she had said settled upon her shoulders, thick and heavy as the ice above them, so intense she couldn't find the words for it as she kept moving. Sam wanted to defend herself. She wanted to be in the right. She was not a fool.

But it had been a fool's words. "I wished," she admitted, shoving the words out with the same amount of force required to push a boulder up a mountain, "I wished I had a good dad."

Ipirukuyakka laughed, a harsh, cruel sound that seemed to invade her head. The ink-haired girl looked to the floor where a scene from Amity Park was playing out, an argument between the Mansons – her _parents_, she snapped at herself. These slip ups were alarming and if she'd had time to think about it the effect would've been crippling. Therefore she pushed it down because this ghost, this monster of a man, was already gunning for her and she'd shown up to this fight unprepared and unknowing. _Stupid_, she thought, mentally kicking herself. _What did I think, that I'd get a lift through the Ghost Zone back to Amity?_ Sam had never been accused of idealism, so why – oh. Oh, God, the madman had a point. Want had overruled reason or she wouldn't be standing here with him. It was the same kind of thinking that got her here in the first place.

"You're actually pretty lucky," the ghost interrupted her thoughts. "Given how vague the term 'good' is, you could have ended up in all kinds of situations, all kinds of places. Desiree must be mad with some of the others if this was all she did to you. Tell me, what would you have done if you had gotten a religious fanatic as a father, looking out for your good by keeping you brainwashed? What about a father who beats his child so she understands his rules and stays out of trouble? A father who demands perfect grades, extracurriculars, music and sports so you'll have better opportunities? A father who makes sure you behave well by beating the bad behavior out of you with his fists? Or what about a combination of some of the above? They're all dedicated, so they loosely qualify as 'better'. Now," he clapped his hands together as if dismissing the diatribe. "Let me hear it: what did your father do that was so hideous and unforgivable that you just couldn't take it?"

Every word she spoke was humiliating, degrading, and infuriating. She wanted to leap across the stupid circle and choke this gorgeous Inupiaq ghost with his slight accent and neverending words that rolled so sweetly off the tongue only to strike so deeply into her heart. He wasn't just twisting the knife deeper, he was forcing her to admit to how the knife got there, and it made her want to scream. Surely he could do whatever he wanted to do to her without this. He was powerful and his specialty was ice and water; they were in the Arctic, he could probably slaughter a town without anyone knowing or noticing for months if he wanted to. He could pierce her with ice, freeze her to death, drown her like his name implied he'd apparently done to someone at some point, and instead he was making her recite the story from beginning to end, pulling out words that were better left unthought, let alone unsaid.

"He didn't like the way I dressed or the music I listened to."

This time he didn't laugh. He actually managed to do a double take, which made Sam feel significantly worse than if he'd thought it was funny. Cocking his head to one side, he very slowly said, "You know, I think I just figured out why Desiree sent you here. You're shallow enough you wouldn't learn from being stuck _anywhere_, and she needed to let me know she wasn't angry with me, so she sent another person up to my territory. No reason to waste a slot in another family on someone so superficial, I suppose."

Her temper finally flared back to life, or perhaps the anger she felt over this entire week was just bursting forth and he was the only available target, whether that was an intelligent way to view him or not. "I'm not shallow or superficial! I-"

"Do you want to go back because you want your parents not to worry, or because it would make your life easier?"

Silence.

Sam stopped walking around the circle in her attempts to avoid him. His footsteps were all that broke the absolute quiet. As he did not breathe, only the inhale and exhale of her own lungs filled the stale, stagnant air. She expected, even _wanted_ him to keep going instead of leaving her with no distraction from the question. Ipirukuyakka had not put her in the water; he had drowned her in the ocean of her own mind, throwing her in without a lifeline and leaving her to swim for the shore herself, after she figured out which way the shore was. She stood ramrod still as her gaze fell to the glowing circle on the floor showing her parents arguing. It didn't matter that she couldn't hear the words. Their frustration was visible, as were their clothes, uncharacteristically expensive and designer brand, the house ten times as decadent as it had been when she lived in it, paintings so famous she remembered them from Art class on the walls, diamonds adorning her mother's neck, ears, wrists and fingers.

Without her they had a void to fill. They had tried to fill it with everything that they could, down to the top of the line custom car her mother got in when she stormed off or the five hundred dollar bottle of vodka her father cracked open when her mother left. And Sam had been thinking about Danny and Tucker. She'd been thinking about school, the social strata there, the places she was so familiar with, the common luxuries of a house that was not Pamna's. If she was honest with herself – and in this sphere of ice that was all she could be – she had not given as much thought to her parents as she should have. Her days locked in her room sobbing had been over her own suffering and hopelessness. She had been afraid and worried and anxious for herself. She'd worried about Danny and to a lesser degree, Tucker. But if she were totally, brutally honest, honest without any filters, the reality was she hadn't worried about her parents. Even after she found out they were divorcing through the town library, she just assumed they'd somehow be okay. They'd always been better than okay, they'd been borderline perfect, these moral and upright figures who busied themselves advocating for censorship and better standards for morality in all these different areas. They weathered ghost attacks, anti-Semitism from some, constant opposition from people who thought they were too old-fashioned without ever breaking down. Sam couldn't even remember her parents yelling at her.

As she watched her father cry and his hands shake as a war between wanting to drink and wanting to run after his soon to be ex-wife was waged on his face, she was forced to realize that he was a person. He prayed. He cried. He laughed. He _felt_. He loved. Oh, he loved, he loved her and the things she'd brought into his life, he loved going to PTA meetings and helping fund the school district when it needed new things, he would do more for her than she'd ever admitted or let herself see and she had thanked him for none of it. She had never thought to. All her time had been spent mad at how he wanted her to conform, but now, in the dark, with no one to lie to or rant at, for the first time she had to admit that maybe he didn't do that to pick on her. Maybe he just wanted her to fit in so she could be happier, maybe he was worried she'd attract bullies dressing like that in high school, maybe he was against her music because he didn't understand why she liked the sadness of it and the anger in it and thought she was sad and angry, too, and he could help. All he had ever done was reach out to her. All she'd ever done was smack his hand as he did so.

Ipirukuyakka's hands clasped ahold of Sam's shoulders. They were cold enough to go right through the seal skin, making her shudder. She didn't turn to look at him. She did not pull away or snap at him. There was nothing left she could say in defense of herself.

He had won, because at no point in her life had she ever been winning.


End file.
