Okay so I've said before that all my DP fics take place in the same timeline as each other. Well... NOT this one.

This is post Phantom Planet, but operates on the idea that Vlad eventually returned.

Please review. ^_^ Reviews are my life-source. Without them I wither and die.

Chapter One

x - x - x

My eyelids open slowly. So very heavy. I raise my head, like a boulder on my neck. The sensation of my muscles moving is strange and unfamiliar.

A gasp of oxygen fills my lungs and it is sweet.

I am standing. Back pressed against something cold and hard. This is wrong.

My ears are ringing, and there might be voices somewhere nearby. But they're bleeding into the beeping noises and nothing is real.

The gray-green world swirls in and out of focus, and the dull light is blinding. I close my eyes.

I'm not wondering where I am now but where I was before. I reach out for the dream I just left but it's slipping away through my fingers. I can't recall what it feels like to grasp something in my hand.

The stark purple color of amethyst under running water, a mere inch from my own eyes. That was a part of my dream, but which part?

I strain, struggling with the rush of images leaping out at me. As one floats past I grab at it, try to focus on it.

Hot sticky leather under my legs and hands, on my left is a pale face and a splash of soft orange, behind her a square of glass where the world races by. Leans toward me across the leather smiling, reaching, pointing, pointing at something on a page inside of a … a… the word for what she holds escapes my memory.

Wind and cold white mist racing past my face, reflective silver squares far, far below, littered with patches of black and green and brown, and tiny moving dots, then deep blue all around me, brilliant yellow light streaming down through the mist…

But the more I reach for it the further the images fall away. I cannot name the faces that flicker so swiftly past my closed eyelids.

I open my eyes again. The gray world is more focused than before. My mind searches for terms to describe what I see around me. Florescent lights, blinking monitors, clean steel surfaces, tiled floor. Hospital my mind supplies, but as I glance around more a better term surfaces, called Lab. I do not know how I know these words.

Hsss. The sound of metal releasing. I feel my arms go slack, and then my waist. I did not realize I was being held up by restraints. My legs stumble forward, and I reach up and catch the edge of this metal cylinder I've been standing – sleeping? – in. My limbs feel like jelly. I know how to walk but cannot conjure a memory of taking a step.

Silence in the room, other than the steady beeping of whatever machine lines the other wall. The air on my open eyes and filling my lungs feels more real than anything I've known.

Flashes, faces. Colors, mostly. Sparks of neon green crackling like fire, speeding away from me. Bright bulky orange and slender periwinkle, looming in a doorway, stepping closer. Dark brown, laughing hard, flashing a glowing screen at me across the speckled tabletop.

All I can remember are these. These fleeting senses and pictures that I cannot name. They are all I can remember and yet I know they were a dream. Dulled and dim in comparison to the starkness of reality now that I am awake. Yet instead of fading like dreams do, they linger in my mind, flitting around like so many fireflies. Why?

Quickly I can feel strength coming into my limbs as I lean against the metal frame. I brush white hair back from my eyes. The motion is familiar and yet unfamiliar.

"Ah, young Daniel is awake at last." A deep voice, precise and mannered, echoes from an intercom somewhere above me. Far from startling me, the sudden voice assures me. It wakens a spark of familiarity somewhere in me, and spikes some of the lingering senses from my dream. "Try to relax, Daniel. I'll be right down." A fizzling clicking noise and the intercom shuts off.

As I begin to feel more fully awake, shaking off the haziness of sleep, I study my surroundings more. I feel as if I have been here before. Though I'm not sure of anywhere that I've been before.

A long tiled hallway, shining lockers on each side. One closes with a screech and behind it is a smile I know.

Gritty sand beneath my feet, hot sun on my back, glinting off the waves, cold water washes in and buries me waist-deep, a voice calls out and someone unseen splashes me from behind.

There are several more metal cylindrical containers like the one I've just stumbled out of. All are empty, except the last one my eyes fall upon. I move my legs numbly forward. I look into the mirror. No, it isn't a mirror. Why did I think the word 'mirror?'

The person inside this metal container is held by restraints the way I was. His head hangs limply down, chin against his chest, white hair spilling forward like a waterfall. I lean down slowly, cocking my head to the side curiously, trying to see his face.

"Daniel! The man of the hour."

Daniel. I feel that must be my name but it wakens no surge of familiarity.

I straighten, looking to the door which has just sprung open. There's an amiable face there to match the amiable tone of voice. My gears whir into hyper speed once more, flooding my waking mind with dreamed images.

Bright black rings of light splitting, then white, floating, laughing. Neon green flying away from me, fire from my hands.

"Who are you?" I ask, though I feel that somehow I already know. My vocal chords are raw.

A grin spreads across the man's face. "Of course, I forgot that your memories would be a bit… scrambled at first. Do not worry, my boy. Everything will become clear. My name is Vlad. And I am your father."

Vlad. A sudden rush of sensory images floor me. Vlad- The memory of how the name felt coming out of my throat, the feeling of hatred. VLAD. Searing, biting, anger. Attached to that face. The emotion is there and vivid, but it feels somehow dim at the same time, like a fire that someone is smothering with a thick blanket.

As Vlad steps forward across the room, I step back, confused by my instinctual reaction. My back hits one of the metal containers, this one closed off with glass. I stare up at him, trying to reconcile the rush of images. "Vlad," I spit out. I do not know much, but I can feel a hatred for him resonating deep in my bones, somewhere under the haze in my mind. Where it comes from is beyond my grasp of reasoning. "You are not my father." I don't know where my words come from but as I say them I know them to be true.

Vlad simply laughs. "I will let that slide. You're confused now, and for good reason. I assume the memories you're experiencing must be quite conflicting."

"Memories?" I ask absently, thinking of those vivid dreams.

There is a twinkle in his eye, a mischievous smile. "Yes. Memories, Daniel."

I blink at him. Memories. The word takes shape in my mind and it has no meaning. I have no memories, only vague ghosts of a dream.

"I will explain it in terms you can understand in your fragile state of mind. Of course, I wanted to leave you with only the memories suitable to my purposes. A clean slate, if you will. But I couldn't very well get rid of the rest of them and leave you with the mental development of a toddler. There simply wasn't a way to get rid of some without losing them all, so I think I will find that this way was better than the alternative. I have ah – how should I put it? – dimmed some of the less important memories."

"I don't understand."

"You will," he said, his smile growing still wider, "in time, Daniel."

Daniel. I can summon no memories bearing the name Daniel.

. . . . .

I sit upright on a cold aluminum table.

Vlad is standing at the monitor next to my table, typing as I answer his questions.

"Daniel, could you please demonstrate for me your control over ectoplasm once more? I shall be taking a reading this time."

I look down at my hands. White gloves. I send a spark of energy coursing through my veins, and watch as it erupts from my palms, a glowing ball of green light. It is one of the things that, since waking, I have come to remember quite clearly. It comes as naturally to me as breathing and walking. The ectoplasm swirls around ceaselessly, an eerie crystal ball in my hands.

"Yes, very good, you can stop now."

I release the energy, letting it evaporate away into the air. I watch Vlad, attempting to coalesce the drifting images I have of him. It's difficult. The half-memories attached to him are conflicting. He has told me I should not trust the emotions attached to my memories, as they would be scrambled and misleading. I try to imagine that the unwarranted rush of hate I feel when I look at Vlad's face is unreal. A mere by-product of scrambled memories.

It's difficult.

Vlad comes over to me and attaches a set of sticky rubber pads to the sides of my forehead, connected to his machine by thin cords. "Right, now would you mind changing form for me once more? This is the last time, I promise."

I gaze idly about the room for what feels like the five thousandth time. So blank and uniform in its clean, stainless laboratory environment. I search within my range of vocabulary, still slowly coming back to me, for a word to describe what I am feeling about these proceedings. One surfaces above the others. Boredom.

But I nod. I reach under all the cold for that familiar warm sensation. This, like the ectoplasm, is one of the memories that surfaced so clearly. It is as inherent to me as the beating of my heart. Bright rings of light spread vertically across my body and my black jumpsuit disappears. What is left is a pair of soft blue pants and a matching shirt- scrubs, my mind supplies absently. White bangs half-covering my eyes turn to black, and I brush them away with the back of my hand. Vlad has had me demonstrate my transformation at least ten times since I woke a few hours ago.

Vlad nods at the monitor, and I hear the clicking of keys on the keyboard.

If I close my eyes, it is easier to focus on the dreams. Memories, I correct myself. It's hard to think of them as memories when they are so fuzzy and faded. Some have come into sharp relief. Like the ectoplasm, like my transformation, like flying. Things like walking, running, eating, sleeping. But these aren't the ones I'm searching for.

The stark purple color of amethyst under running water. On eye level with me. Very close.

Which part of the dream was that? An emotion is attached to it this time – anxiety, butterflies, the racing of my heart.

A question bubbles up in my mind, and I speak it before it can drift away. "Why?"

Vlad stops what he is doing and glances over at me. "Why what, Daniel?"

I'm not sure what I meant. "Why… why have you done this? With my memories?"

He drifts over to me from his monitor and peers calculatingly into my eyes for a moment. Then he reaches up and plucks the rubber pads from my head. "Only to save you from yourself, my dear boy."

I do not pretend to understand what he means. "From myself?"

He nods sympathetically, crossing his arms behind his back. "You had gotten so many foolish ideas into your head. It really is better this way. I know you are confused, but you will come to understand. And you will come to love me. Son." He emphasizes the last word, a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Son.

A heavy clap on my shoulders.

Stepping sneakily down the staircase. Still dark outside. Brightly lit green tree with colored boxes underneath. A mountain of red and white jumps out from behind the corner and swings me off my feet, twirling me around and around.

The images were more sudden and vivid this time. I definitely saw a face. I look up into Vlad's and am disappointed when it is not the face that flew to mind when I heard the word 'son.'

. . . . .

"Can I come with you?" I ask Vlad as he heads toward the laboratory door. I grow increasingly tired of this stainless steel atmosphere. If my sense of time can be trusted I would say I have been awake now for maybe eight hours. And I feel if I could only look at a world with brighter colors that I could spark some of these buried memories just out of my reach.

He pauses and looks at me, and the look on his face is somewhat triumphant. "All in good time, Daniel. For now I need you to remain here. My top priority is assuring that your health is in the best of conditions. Once we've ascertained that, then the world shall be our oyster. Patience, lad."

With that the steel door screeches closed behind him. I sigh, and jump down off the steel table. He must trust me not to mess with all his machines. I have the urge to, when I look at them, but I refrain from doing so. Something tells me it's a bad idea.

As it always does when Vlad leaves, my attention turns to the least boring thing in the room. The one occupied metal pod. His head is now lolling to the left, his snowy hair still askew, hiding his face. I lean in very closely, pausing in my breaths subconsciously as if I am afraid I might wake him. I press the palm of my hand to his chest. First nothing. Then, slowly, his chest rises against my hand. Breathing. Don't know what I expected. I stand there feeling the steady motion of his breaths for a solid five minutes, my curiosity bursting. My hand moves to his forehead and I am push it back so that it leans against the solid metal wall of his containment. I stare at his face.

Flash.

Leaning over a white sink, spitting minty paste into it. Looking up, into my own eyes. Deep arctic blue.

The feeling of splitting, in my mind and in my body. Struggling, straining. Success. Looking into my own eyes, both sets triumphant. Before one pops and I am left feeling tired, so tired. I'll try again tomorrow…

His face is slack, his eyes closed. Mirror. The word comes to mind without my permission again.

I do not understand.

I don't understand why this face stirs up a million memories underneath the hazy fog in my brain, like dirt kicked up in the bottom of a pond.

When Vlad comes back thirty minutes later, I am back to sitting on the aluminum tabletop.

Before he can set in on the latest test he wants to run, I ask him. "Who is that?" I say, pointing to the sleeping face across the room.

Vlad doesn't have to look where I'm pointing to know what I mean. "Nothing to worry about," he answers. "He was one of my biggest projects."

Project?

"I worked very hard on him you know. But alas, too many things went wrong. I suppose it was never meant to be. However, that's all in the past. I have no real need of him now that I finally have you, Daniel."

Project…

Suddenly one face rises above the others in the cacophony in my mind. A small feminine face, crazy black hair falling in her eyes, which are wide and crystal blue, staring up at me. Project.

A memory leaps out without warning, like a flare from the sun. Pain searing through my body, blue rings trying to cross over me. But I'm fighting them, pushing them back, I cannot let them transform me, I cannot… Then a voice, a rough yet small voice rings through the haze of my torture. You, are NOT, the BOSS OF ME! Explosive noises, flashes of light, the sweeping flooding feeling of relief.

I blink away the sudden memory, shocked. It is the first time words have accompanied the images and sensations.

A new word floats up from my subconscious, delivered by the memory. "Clone," I say aloud. "You… you cloned me."

Vlad isn't fazed. He doesn't even look up from the computer he has begun to type at. "Yes, it's true. I cloned you. But it's not something I would worry yourself over, little badger. As I said, it's all in the past now."

I peer at the limp person across the room. Me, I think detachedly.

"I will likely destroy him soon, but I'm in no rush."

Destroy. It tugs at my heart uncomfortably. Black emotions are tied to the word.

. . . . .