Chapter 7: Chips, Chakra, and the Future Batman of Amity Park
In which Danny tries to be serious, Tucker throws chips, and Sam might be in love with a lunatic.
At precisely five o'clock—also known as the sacred Hour of Snacks—Sam and Tucker arrived at the Fenton household, which somehow hadn't exploded that week. The ghost alarm was blissfully silent, the lab was sealed shut (probably with duct tape), and the living room hadn't been converted into a monster containment cell in at least three days.
Progress.
Danny's room, a controlled chaos of comic books, energy drink cans, and tech scraps, was surprisingly cozy. On the carpeted floor sat an offering of chips, cookies, and enough fizzy soda to short-circuit a ghost trap. Tucker leaned against Danny's bed frame, chewing through his second bag of chips like he'd been training for a snack-eating championship. Sam lounged in her signature purple beanbag, a silent but stylish observer of the chaos.
Danny himself was in the "Serious Chair"—a computer swivel chair that squeaked when he shifted his weight, which did not help with the gravity he was trying to give the moment. His hands rested on his knees, his back was straight, and he looked like someone trying very hard to look like he wasn't trying very hard.
This, of course, was already suspicious.
"So," Tucker said, raising a brow and gesturing between Danny and Sam with a smirk, "I'm happy for you guys, really. But why did you invite me here to be your emotional third wheel? Did you want to rub it in?"
Danny blinked, mouth twitching upward. "Tucker, my guy. My brother in snack-based diplomacy. I'm offended you'd think I'd do something so petty."
There was a beat of silence. Sam glanced at him. Tucker raised his other eyebrow.
Danny cracked. "Okay, I definitely invited you to feel the crushing weight of singlehood. It builds character."
Tucker, not missing a beat, launched a handful of chips at him. "Man, you suck."
Danny deflected with a pillow. "Your aim sucks."
Sam sighed dramatically, raising her hands like a referee at a supernatural wrestling match. "Can we not descend into another chip war? We're here for a reason, remember?"
Danny turned sheepish. Sort of. The Naruto inside him was still very entertained.
Speaking of which…
Naruto, who had been lounging in Danny's subconscious like a fox-themed mentor-in-residence, shifted gears. It was time for business. Big business. Hero business.
Danny—well, Naruto-Danny—cleared his throat and straightened up like he was about to pitch a TED Talk on vigilante justice.
"This," he began solemnly, "is going to be serious."
Sam and Tucker blinked. Tucker instinctively stopped chewing.
"I've decided," Danny continued, voice dropping an octave like someone on a late-night radio show, "to become… a model citizen. A fighter. A symbol of hope."
Sam's eyes narrowed. Tucker leaned forward. "Wait. Is this… like… a cosplay thing? Because if you're making a Batman suit, I get to be Robin."
Danny shook his head with what could only be described as noble determination. "No cosplay. Real training. Real skills. Real courage. I'm going to become a hero. Like Batman."
That stopped them cold.
Tucker's smirk returned, but this time there was something thoughtful beneath it. "Batman? Not Superman? You're not trying to fly or shoot lasers or something?"
"I'm trying to build a foundation," Danny said. "A real one. One that doesn't rely on powers. Because let's face it—ghost stuff or not, I need to be stronger. I want to be stronger."
Sam sat up straighter, purple eyes scanning him as if trying to figure out if he was joking, brainwashed, or having a very early midlife crisis.
"You're serious?" she asked.
Danny nodded. "I am. I've been training. Fixing my personality. Working on courage. It's not about just fighting ghosts anymore—it's about being ready for anything. I can't do it alone."
A pause. Tucker exchanged a glance with Sam, chips momentarily forgotten.
"And you want to start a team?" Sam asked slowly.
"Yes," Danny said. "Because even Batman had backup. I need people I trust. People who aren't afraid to stand up when things get dangerous."
Naruto, silently watching through Danny's eyes, smiled. Not bad, kid. A little dramatic, but not bad.
"This path of heroism requires sacrifice—sacrifice of our time, our enjoyment, and it puts our lives at risk," Naruto (in Danny's body) said, arms crossed like a sensei with a world-class grudge. "I have chosen you two as my close ones, for your qualities. But I will not hold it against you if you decline this request. After all, we only have one life."
Tucker blinked. That last line hit like a ghost punch to the gut. He looked down at the crumbs on his lap—thank you, Ecto-Chips—and tried to remember the last time they didn't deal with supernatural nonsense. Was there ever a time?
"Bro," he finally said, brushing off imaginary ninja-dust. "We've been together for years. If you're jumping into something crazy again, you better believe I'm already halfway in with you. What do you need me to do?"
Sam, ever the gothic voice of calm logic and fierce loyalty, stepped closer and placed her hands gently on Danny's—not-Danny's—shoulders.
"I trust you," she said, and somehow, that three-word sentence managed to carry the weight of a thousand "I told you so"s and every silent time she'd stood beside him when the odds were awful.
Danny—well, Naruto-Danny—looked down for a second, the moment cracking his dramatic sensei impression just enough to let some honest emotion through.
"Thanks, guys," he murmured. It was hard to sound humble when you looked like you were trying to project chakra from your nostrils, but the sincerity was all Danny.
Then Sensei Mode reactivated.
"This is something long-term," Naruto said, glancing at them like a coach trying to assemble the most underfunded superhero team in history. "We're not starting immediately because we need to build up our strengths and cover our weaknesses. None of us have gone through a real fight yet. And trust me, the first time you get punched in the face, all your brilliant plans fly out the window along with your last brain cell."
Tucker snorted. "So basically… gym class all over again."
Sam rolled her eyes. "With fewer dodgeballs and more chances of spontaneous combustion."
They both turned serious again as Naruto continued. The plan was… ambitious. Grand. Slightly terrifying. But also oddly cool.
"Tucker," Naruto said, switching to his mission commander voice. "You'll focus on tech—hacking, building gadgets. I'll help you get started, then you're free to go full Iron Man meets Q from Bond."
Tucker straightened like he'd just been handed the keys to Stark Tower. "Okay, now that sounds awesome."
"Sam," Naruto continued, turning to her with the same respect he gave his top-tier shinobi friends. "You'll take lead on bio-chemistry. Think Poison Ivy, minus the homicidal plant obsession. You'll be our expert in chemical warfare, biology, antidotes—anything that helps keep us alive or gives us the edge."
Sam's eyes lit up in that I'm going to raid the school lab for all it's worth kind of way. "You had me at biochemical edge."
Danny finally took back control for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck like he'd just woken up from a really intense dream about calculus and moral responsibility. "We'll all work on physical training too," he added, clearly quoting Naruto's earlier words. "And mental prep. Because apparently, getting good at punching things also means being emotionally available."
There was a moment of silence as that truth hung in the air like a forgotten gym sock.
Then Sam, ever the first to get serious again, nodded. "Let's do this."
Tucker raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, I'm in! But don't blame me if you end up with a few extra bruises, Danny."
Danny gave a weak smile. "Just make sure you don't accidentally electrocute me again with your first prototype."
"That was once, and technically it was only half-voltage!"
They all laughed, the tension finally breaking like a soda can under ghost pressure. But then Tucker, grinning mischievously, leaned forward with a question that made the room go quiet again—though this time with anticipation rather than dread.
"So…" he said, eyes darting between them. "What's our team name gonna be?"
Danny blinked. Sam arched an eyebrow. Even Naruto inside his head raised a spiritual eyebrow.
Great. They had a plan. They had skills.
Now all they needed was branding.
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Danny Fenton was not having what you'd call a "normal" teenage experience.
Then again, how normal could your life be when a powerful ninja from another world was secretly living inside your soul?
Not that Tucker or Sam knew, of course. That tiny detail was kind of... confidential. Classified. A whole need-to-know situation. And as far as Danny was concerned, they absolutely did not need to know. Not yet.
At the moment, the three of them were gathered in Danny's room, a place that had seen its fair share of ghost invasions, sibling squabbles, and leftover pizza slices that had achieved sentience. The atmosphere, though, was surprisingly serious. Like, "we're about to form a superhero squad" serious.
Tucker leaned forward, eyes flicking between Danny and Sam, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "So, what's our team name gonna be?" he asked, eyebrows raised in hopeful curiosity. "Please don't say 'Team Phantom.' We're cooler than that. Slightly. Maybe."
Danny rubbed the back of his neck, the weight of Naruto's words still clinging to him like ghost slime. "We'll take one once we start," he said, voice even. "No point naming a team that hasn't done anything yet."
He was trying to sound wise. Heroic. Mysterious, even. Mostly, he was stalling because the only name he could think of was Ghostbusters 2.0, and that just felt legally risky.
Sam, ever the investigative journalist in combat boots, narrowed her eyes at Danny. "How did you get information on poisons anyway?" she asked. Her tone wasn't accusing. Not quite. But it had that Sam Manson is onto you edge that could make grown adults confess to crimes they didn't commit.
Danny blinked. Naruto stirred within him, offering a cool, "Easy. Half-truths work best."
"My parents have tested a bunch of stuff for their ghost research," Danny said, trying not to sound like he was lying. Which, to be fair, he wasn't—he was just... filtering. "I paid attention. Jotted a few things down."
Sam considered that, tapping a black-painted nail against her chin. "I never thought about using my knowledge of plants that way," she admitted, a spark lighting in her violet eyes. "It actually sounds kind of fun. Like Poison Ivy, but less 'world domination,' more 'eco-friendly superteam.'"
She reached out and affectionately tousled Danny's hair, a rare show of tenderness that made Tucker fake a gagging noise in the background.
"Ugh, guys, I'm right here."
Sam ignored him, and Danny fought the urge to turn into a puddle. Not because of the hair-rub (okay, maybe a little), but because every time she touched him, Naruto would awkwardly grunt inside his head like a roommate walking in on something personal.
Tucker, meanwhile, was still mentally rerouting. "Wait, since when do you know how to make stuff, Danny? You're not exactly the 'mad scientist' type. That's usually your parents—or Sam when she's had too much caffeine."
Danny winced. "I picked up a few things."
Not exactly a lie. He had picked up a few things. From Naruto. Who had apparently memorized an entire ninja library of herbal toxins, pressure points, and hand seals while simultaneously being a human glowstick.
Tucker's expression shifted from curious to suspicious. "So... you've been hiding stuff from us?"
Danny froze. That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it?
He wasn't trying to keep secrets. Well—okay, he was. But it wasn't out of malice. It was because Naruto had made him promise. No telling anyone. Not until they were ready. Or at least until Naruto stopped calling everyone "brats."
Sam noticed the tension and stepped in smoothly, her voice calm. "We all have parts of ourselves we don't talk about. That's normal. What matters is that we're trusting each other now."
Danny shot her a grateful look. If she ever went into politics, she'd be terrifying.
Tucker still didn't look totally convinced, but after a moment, he shrugged. "Yeah, okay. Just no more surprise chemical knowledge, alright? And if you secretly have a mech suit stashed in the garage, I wanna drive it."
"No mech suits," Danny said, smiling. "Yet."
There was a pause. Then Sam smiled too. "We'll figure it out. Together."
Naruto, inside Danny's head, chuckled. You've got good friends, he murmured, his voice like a breeze on the edge of Danny's thoughts. Keep them close. You'll need them.
Danny didn't reply. He just nodded faintly, outwardly calm, inwardly spinning.
Because yeah—he had friends. He had a mission. And now he had a team.
They weren't perfect.
They didn't have a name.
But maybe that was okay.
For now, they had each other. And maybe that was the first step toward being the heroes they were meant to be.
Even if one of them was secretly sharing his soul with a legendary ninja warrior from another dimension.
Minor detail. Totally manageable. Probably.
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"So what's our training schedule?" Tucker asked, trying to sound enthusiastic, but his voice cracked somewhere around training and schedule, like it had gotten cold feet halfway through.
Danny grinned like a man with a secret. Which, in fairness, he absolutely was. "We'll start with at least an hour a day," he said, already pacing like a coach who'd watched one too many motivational sports movies. "The goal is simple: 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 pull-ups, lift 50 kilos, and run ten miles every day."
The room fell into a stunned silence.
Tucker blinked. "I'm sorry, did you say ten miles? Like... running? With legs?"
Sam tilted her head. "Pull-ups too? Danny, I can barely do three without looking like I'm being attacked by an invisible ghost."
"I'm built for brains and brooding," Tucker added, gesturing to himself. "Not for becoming a protein shake with legs!"
Danny held up his hands, trying to calm the mutiny. "I know it sounds crazy, but trust me, we can do it."
Sam crossed her arms. "Danny. Be serious. The human body doesn't adapt that fast. That's superhero-level endurance training. It takes professional athletes years to build that kind of stamina and strength. And they get, like, sponsored vitamins."
Danny stood beside the board, posture straight, trying his best to project "motivational team leader" energy. He failed somewhere between "awkward gym teacher" and "tired raccoon." Still, he gave it his best. "Nar—uh… I thought it'd be good for us to start with some physical basics. Strength. Endurance. We'll add tactics later."
Tucker's hand shot up like they were in class. "Yeah, hi, hello—ten miles? A day? Do you know what happens to my lungs after the stairs, Danny? I go up one flight and start questioning my entire life."
Danny gave him a sympathetic wince. "I know, I know. It sounds insane, but it's just the starter goal."
"Starter?" Sam repeated, narrowing her eyes. "As in, the easy level?"
Danny hesitated. "Yes."
Tucker pointed an accusing finger at the board. "That is not easy. That is anime protagonist training arc hard."
Danny sighed and scratched the back of his head. "Okay. Full disclosure: this was… suggested by someone with different standards."
Inside his mind, Naruto huffed.
Different standards? I gave you the toddler version. The kids back home do this before breakfast. The toddlers train in weighted onesies!
Danny grimaced. "Look, I know human bodies don't adapt this fast. Believe me, I've already had the lecture about muscle recovery and joint strain and how we'll probably collapse on Day Three."
Tucker gave him a look. "So... what, we just die trying?"
"No," Danny said quickly, holding up his hands. "That's the part I haven't told you yet. My parents—uh, they've been working on tech that helps the body recover faster. Some gadgets, some serums."
Sam squinted. "Wait. You're telling me your parents just have performance-enhancing serums lying around the lab?"
Danny shrugged. "They weren't intended for humans. I mean, mostly they were for ghosts, and one time a raccoon they thought was a ghost, but... the science checks out."
Tucker blinked. "So your parents invented a super soldier serum, and you're just casually rolling it into our workout plan like we're not all one bicep curl away from a hernia?"
Danny smiled sheepishly. "Maybe... or maybe not."
"Danny," Sam said, eyes narrowing, "you can't drop a 'maybe' when talking about experimental science juice."
He threw his hands up. "I'm not saying we take it now! We just train with the option to take it if we hit a wall. Besides, the gear can help. My dad's got this exosuit harness that stimulates muscle recovery—"
"Oh my immortal, he's Tony Stark," Tucker muttered.
"—and there's this chamber that blasts your body with low-level ecto-radiation for accelerated healing. I think it was originally for ghosts with sprained ectoplasm or something."
Sam exchanged a long look with Tucker. "So we're turning into paranormal gym rats."
"I prefer 'future heroes of justice,'" Danny said.
Naruto's voice echoed in his head, smug and unbothered. You're all soft, but this is a start. With discipline, by six months you might be passable. Maybe even... mildly threatening.
Danny mentally groaned. Remind me why I'm listening to a guy whose warm-ups include dodging shuriken while blindfolded?
Because you want to survive, Naruto replied simply. And if you're serious about protecting your friends, you don't get to stay weak. So start running.
"Anyway," Danny said aloud, "I figured we start light. Fifteen push-ups today. Maybe five pull-ups. Walk a mile. We build from there."
Tucker sighed in relief. "Finally, something reasonable."
Danny continued. "Then tomorrow, we double it."
Tucker let out a dramatic groan and collapsed onto Danny's bed. "Why couldn't I have beenfriend a ghost who was lazy?"
Sam sat cross-legged on the floor, already pulling out her water bottle and resistance bands like she was lowkey into this. "Come on. It'll be good for us. Maybe we won't reach ninja toddler levels, but at least we won't be completely helpless."
Danny nodded. "Exactly. We don't have to be perfect. We just have to get stronger. Together."
Tucker groaned again but rolled over and gave a reluctant thumbs up. "Fine. But if I die, I'm haunting you."
"You'd make a terrible ghost," Danny said, grinning.
"Good," Tucker replied. "I'll leave ecto-glitter in your socks."
They all laughed—tired, overwhelmed, and slightly terrified of what they'd just agreed to. But it was real. It was happening.
The training arc had begun.
And somewhere deep inside Danny's soul, Naruto smiled.
At least they've got heart, he thought. Now if only they had calves.