A/N: Michael!Danny's memories are in anachronistic order as of this chapter.

Disclaimer: I still own no part of the legal things of Danny Phantom. Still writing this for no profit.

Everything Shatters

A Fanfic by MidnightResWri

Chapter Two

Michael had a quiet five days. He went to work, ate a few meals with Ashley, kept his mind off Vlad's visit. He hadn't had another nightmare.

He woke up on the fifth day since his past reared its ugly head paranoid. He opened his window and poked his head out, looking into the streets for any sign of a big metal RV. He looked at the building across from him, expecting an attack to force him back inside. Nothing. He turned himself to look at the sky, eyes searching for any signs of his former enemies. Nothing. Satisfied with the results, he slid back into the small apartment.

Michael made a note to clean up later that day as he stepped over a pile of dirty laundry. He'd have to get on that soon. It was starting to leave a bad odor in the room itself. His phone vibrated on the nightstand. A text message. Probably from Ashley.

He picked up the flip-phone, opened it, and first looked at the sender. To his surprise, he found a number he didn't recognize. Chills ran up his arms as he stared at the unknown number. Did he want to see this message? What if it was from Vlad? He wasn't sure if he could handle it.

"Come on Nielson," he chided himself. "It's just a message. Could be from the phone company."

His finger rested on the needed button for a moment before pressing down. The white text on black background read:

Little Badger, I looked up your number. Sent you a text so you had mine. Call me if you need anything. -V

Michael wanted to delete the message. The last sentence was the same as Vlad has told him a year ago. He didn't need Vlad. He was fine on his own. But his hand wouldn't allow himself to delete the message, and therefore the number. He growled and threw the device on his bed. He stalked out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

He turned on the sink, splashing the cold liquid on his face. His arms were shaking. Vlad should have just left him alone. He should have just eaten his food and left the restaurant, leaving Michael unaware of his presence forever. It would have been preferable. He hated the uncertainty he felt since that day. It had been quiet, but he'd been looking of his shoulder. Again. He had just gotten over that!

He punched the counter top. The surface froze immediately and Michael blinked. He hadn't had that happen since he first discovered his ice powers. He took a deep breath and cautiously removed his hand from the counter. Already, the ice started to melt. He would need to grab some towels from the hall closet.

He opened the door and saw a pure white room. He backed away, hitting the wall behind him and blinked rapidly. No, he thought, his fists clenched at his side. He tried to push those memories swimming just below the surface away. He couldn't deal with it. He sank unto the floor and shook his head, knuckles pressing into his temples.

He couldn't get away from the White Room, though. It pushed, begging for the attention. He squeezed his eyes shut and held back his panicked cries. Michael couldn't go back there. It was too painful.

Danny stood at one end of the room the Fenton adults dragged him to. The collar around his neck chaffed his skin and he fought down the urge to scratch it. Every time he touched it, a small voltage of electricity would be introduced into his system. If he tried to access his other half without their permission, it would shock him enough to have him writhing on the floor in agony. He didn't feel human anymore.

They hadn't told him what they would be doing to him today. Just as they hadn't done yesterday or the day before that. He let his black hair fall over one of his blue eyes. There was a ghost shield around the room, preventing his escape. He still had a gash on his arm they refused to treat from the day before. He didn't care if it got infected anymore. What's the loss of an arm, now?

He couldn't see where Jack and Maddie were watching him. He knew they were. They always watched him from somewhere. A voice, Maddie's, broadcast through the room, "Now Phantom, you'll be allowed access to your powers in three minutes. You will be able to maintain that access for thirty minutes. Do you understand?" Her voice held no love in it anymore. She refused to call him Danny. He was only Phantom. Just Phantom. The thing that took her son away from her.

Danny nodded. He took deep breaths, waiting for whatever it was that would happen. He heard the whirring of the room as panels he hadn't noticed before opened to reveal guns of every variety. Ecto-guns mixed with rifles, machine guns, pistols. All of them pointed at him. Most of the floor fell away, leaving a preplanned path. Danny kept his back to the nearest wall and looked over the edge. Spikes radiating anti-ghost energy. If he fell, he'd be impaled. If he stopped, he'd be assaulted by bullets and ecto-shots. If he destroyed the equipment, he'd have something more painful done to him.

"Begin," Maddie's voice sounded from the speakers. Danny stayed put. He always felt the cold of his ghostly self. He just wasn't sure if it was safe to reach into it. When a bullet grazed his shoulder, the boy ran. He ignored the warm liquid flowing down his arm. He latched onto his core, but didn't change into his other half. He didn't want to. He stayed on the path, willing his upper body intangible.

He howled in pain when an ecto-blast hit his shin. A bullet pierced his foot. Blood welled out of the bullet wound, soaking his sock. He lifted the foot off the ground, unable to suppress the hiss of pain. He needed to get the sock off. More blasts and bullets whizzed by him as he struggled to take off the offending garment. Red spattered the pristine white tiles. Danny threw the sock over the edge. A steady flow of blood pooled around his remaining foot.

Another bullet grazed his hand. More blood. They wanted him to change. He would oblige them or die the rest of the way.

A flash of light and he was Phantom. He flew into the air, his once red injuries now green. His injured foot felt heavy as lead. His ectoplasm soaking into the boot. He could use it to keep the swelling down, though. His other injuries soaked the fabric. He went intangible as the number of attacks increased.

"No flying!" Jack's voice boomed from the speakers. Danny's back arched as his collar gave him thousands of volts of electricity. He fell back to the path, gasping for air. Another ecto-blast met his body. He slid over to the edge, nearly falling off.

Dizzy from pain and loss of blood and ectoplasm, Danny pulled himself back to safety. Blasts and bullets flew around him, mostly as warnings. He couldn't remember what he was doing anymore. A blast landed too close for comfort and his instincts took over. He raised a shield around him. It flickered in and out of existence. He couldn't concentrate. The shield failed and he pulled himself into a fetal position. Anything to make himself smaller. He could feel the burns from the ecto-blasts rubbing against his suit, making them worse.

He just wanted it to stop.

Michael tried to breathe as the memory began to fade. His chest felt tight. He felt a soft hand on his shoulder and he whipped his body away from it, crying out in his panic. His eyes danced around the hall, looking at guns that would hurt him. He could still hear the gunshots and blasts. His eyes finally found blue ones of a startled girl. He couldn't breathe. He needed air. He grabbed his throat, trying to make it work. To pull in the air. If he could breathe, things would be better. Safe.

He backed himself down the hall until he found a corner. There, he curled himself into a ball.

"Mike?" asked a worried voice. He knew that voice. It sounded safe. He latched onto that voice. "Mike, it's me Ashley." She was hesitant, as if afraid he would lash out at her again. "Lilly said she heard a crash."

The names he recognized. They didn't have the hurt associated with it. He struggled to assign the proper faces to those names. Ones that weren't staring at him in pity or hatred. He forced himself to relax his chest. The air freely flowing down his windpipe and into his lungs. Breathing would help him calm down. Or so said a little voice he thought he didn't need anymore. He now felt how tense his body was and he slowly unwrapped himself, still focusing more on his breathing than anything else. He could still hear the blasting of the ecto-guns. He didn't object when Ashley helped his shaking body sit up, though his body tensed when she touched him. "Mike," said the girl, "look at me." He wanted to look everywhere but at her. "Look. At. Me."

His glazed eyes looked at her, but he didn't yet see her. She was a blur coming into focus as the White Room faded. He opened his mouth to say something to her, but closed it immediately. Silence was golden. An old rule from school. He slowly blinked the memory away, but it was far from gone. Ashley came into view. Her hair falling over her shoulders as she leaned over to cup his hands into his face, forcing him to look at her despite his objections. He wanted to pull away. "Mike. What happened?"

"I…" he tried to think of something. He was getting drunk on air. After a long moment, he settled on: "Bad dream."

She eyed him skeptically and then shrugged. "Liar." Ashley sat beside him, her knees raised enough for her to stretch her arms over them. He lowered his head, still reburying that memory. He didn't want her to see his lingering fear. He couldn't tell her the truth. That would be letting those painful memories back in. "Looked like a panic attack, to me…Didn't know you got those."

Michael didn't say anything. The girl beside him squirmed a little from his silent treatment. "This is the first time I've actually been up here," she told him and looked around her. "Kinda small." A small string of curses drifted from the kitchen. "Lilly's in the kitchen, mopping up some water."

He knew she was trying to distract him from whatever had triggered the panic attack. His eyes swept around the small hallway. He saw the source of the noise that brought them up the stairs: his small end table that had been the place for his keys and wallet after coming in for the night had been thrown into the living/dining room. His small television had one of its legs embedded in the screen. He wondered when that had happened.

Michael groaned. "This wasn't supposed to happen." He wasn't sure what he meant by that.

"Hey, my mom gets those things sometimes," the girl explained. "Shit happens."

The hybrid closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. He felt exhausted. "Thanks," he said, "for being here."

The girl snorted and shrugged her shoulders. "I bet you would've done the same for me."

Michael felt a small smile tug on his lips, though he knew it wouldn't reach his eyes. He didn't know if he would have helped anymore. He just shrugged. "Anyone with a heart, would."

Lilly entered the hallway, looking at the two teenagers. Her eyes first found Ashley, then Michael. "Thank God, you're okay," she sighed, walking over to him. Stepping over the teens' legs, she came to Michael's other side. She crouched down to his level and touched his face with the tips of her fingers. He flinched away from her touch. "You were doing so well."

"I know," he muttered. "I'm sorry."

The woman clucked her tongue, giving him a soft smile. "It's not your fault," she told him. Her eyes flicked over to Ashley and added, "You've just been through a lot."

Michael wanted to agree with her. He just let his head fall again, chin resting on his chest. It was his fault. He was a freak. He waited too long. He let his naivety blind him. But he couldn't tell Lilly or Ashley that. They wouldn't understand.

"Ashley, will you be a dear and check on how Rob's doing downstairs?" asked Lilly.

The girl, unsure of whether it would be safe for her to move away from Michael. A stern look from Lilly caused her to flinch and she slowly stood up. Ashley sent Michael a few more wary looks, as if he was something fragile. To be handled with care. He didn't return her glances, focusing on the woman before him. The two heard the apartment door open and close. Both of them believed they were alone.

"Whatever triggered this, it wasn't your fault," Lilly told him. "Do you understand Michael?"

He nodded. He felt too tired to feel guilty for the past. Too tired to feel anything. She wrapped her arms around him, ignoring his attempts to get away from her. She shushed him and pet his head, smoothing down his hair. "You'll be fine, Michael. You'll be fine." She held him for five minutes after he stopped fighting her embrace. They didn't say a word to each other during that time. Lilly broke the silence. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "Nothing to talk about, Lil'." He shivered, though he knew it wasn't from the memory or the room temperature. He exhaled a breath and saw a puff of mist leave his mouth. He noticed Lilly had seen it, too. She frowned as she compared their body temperatures. Her eyes widened when she touched his skin.

"You're freezing," she gasped. "Let's get you in bed. Warm you up." She helped him stand. Michael swayed on his feet, dreading what could happen in the next few minutes. He hoped the ghost would just be passing through and leave him alone. Lilly walked behind him as they took the few steps to the bedroom. He tried to refrain from rubbing his freezing arms. It had been a while since any ghost had come near enough to set off his sense.

He pushed open the door and walked over to his bed. Lilly sighed in distaste for the disarray of the room, but held her tongue. She watched him get under the covers and turn his back to her. Then she left the room, telling him she was going back downstairs to grab some hot tea for him. He nodded and waited for her to close the door.

Crawling back out of the bed, Michael reached into his core, pulling out his other half. He didn't want a fight, but he definitely wasn't about to be caught off guard if the ghost did indeed attack him. He stayed on the bed, waiting.

Thirty seconds. Michael pulled his legs to his chest.

One minute. His muscles tensed.

Two minutes. He looked out the window, seeing a missile flying towards the window. Reacting instantly, Michael shot his hand to the window, causing it to turn intangible. He couldn't risk the damage. He fired a small ecto-ray through the window, causing the weapon to explode prematurely. Michael knew one ghost that used weapons like that. And he was currently flying to the apartment, an insane smile on his mechanical suit.

He let go of the window, returning it to real world physics. Normal physics. He phased through the wall and sped off to the left, hoping to draw the hunter away from his building. He looked behind him, seeing that it worked. Michael had given Skulker enough time to turn his bulky metal body around to follow him. Michael wanted to just disappear, though the ghost had probably upgraded his suit more times than the hybrid could count. He didn't want to know every new feature Skulker had.

Michael angled his body, gaining altitude as he increased his speed. He could handle a ghost. This was familiar. Almost safe. Once he thought he had enough height, he eased himself into a stop. A few seconds later, and the hunter hovered a few feet from him. The sunlight reflected off the armor, causing Michael to squint in attempt to dispel the glare. "I knew I'd find you eventually, whelp."

The boy closed his eyes, pushing out the imagined voices of Jack and Maddie. "We don't have to do this," he said. "You can just go back to your lair. Chase after something else."

"You are the ultimate prey, ghost child," Skulker raised an arm, a small gun emerging from a panel. "If I stop hunting you, then I will be no better than the Box Ghost."

Michael almost smiled at the mention of the Box Ghost. "Please, Skulker," he said, "can't I just have a few years in peace?" His eyes were fixed on the exposed weapon.

Skulker frowned at his words. The hybrid figured the ghost would not have expected that. An ecto-ray, sure. Not a plea. Not from him. The hunter hesitated for only a second before releasing three missiles at his prey. Michael raised a shield at the last moment, focused on the missiles and fighting back his panic. He would need to drive the hunter away. And soon.

The force of the explosion could be seen by the speed of the smoke and debris flying around his shield. They were too high up for the sound to attract too much attention from street level, but Michael thought those who lived higher would have no problem noticing a fight between ghosts. Michael kept his distance from the hunter, going through his mental catalog of powers. He couldn't use the Wail without attracting unwanted attention. He could always use his ecto-rays, maybe his ice powers. Telekinesis might work, but that was still fairly weak compared to the others.

The hunter ghost released a glowing green blade. Michael's eyes widened and sent an ecto-ray out of reflex. The hunter's arm snapped back, the metal cracking from the force of the blast. The knife was broken off, falling into the city below. Michael figured it would land on a rooftop. Or hurt an innocent person. A shiver passed through his body at the thought. He couldn't worry about the knife and the people below. He couldn't risk being seen.

Skulker sent a net towards him as his next move. Michael watched it come, panic flooding through his system. He forced himself back, though the net still found him. The net closed around him, forcing the hybrid into a ball. He struggled against the trap, his fear driving him into survival mode. He bit the bindings, kicked at the netting and, by sheer luck of being in his ghost form, fired ecto-rays by pure instinct. Nothing worked as he was dragged toward the metallic specter.

The ghost faded into a large man in orange spandex, a hard glare frozen on his face. "You're not escaping," the voice echoed in the back his mind. Michael dug his gloved fingertips into his white hair. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on breathing. He realized a moment later that breathing wouldn't help. He was technically dead at the moment. He curled in on himself tighter. "You filthy piece of ectoplasmic trash."

Michael begged. The words asking for mercy spilling out of his mouth as he had so many times before. He wanted it to stop. The voices never left him alone. His ramblings mixed with sobs that racked his body. He pulled at his hair, the roots straining to remain in his scalp while he wanted to tear them out in his desperation. "Make it stop," he chanted, starting with a frantic whisper and building up to a yell.

He hadn't realized he started building power behind his words before it was too late. On his final repetition of his mantra, he let out a Ghostly Wail at his trapper. The raw power disintegrated the mesh surrounding him and forced the ghost away, peeling the armor back in sections until all that remained was the small green blob. The ghost howled in it's high voice as it was thrown away from the still Wailing boy.

When it finally died down, Michael remained in the sky, staring at the rooftops below him. He would have been breathing hard had he been human. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, realizing what just happened. He'd used a flashy power. The damage was done and his hiding place would be found out. The hybrid stayed where he was for a moment longer, training his ears down towards the city. His Wail had done exactly the right amount of damage to be noticed. Car alarms blared, people were yelling, sirens screamed through the streets. A few buildings around him had lost their windows. So many people would be hurt or killed. His Wail must have gotten some people killed. Great.

Michael turned himself invisible and sped back towards his apartment. Damn Vlad. Damn Skulker. Damn memories. Damn ghost powers.

He looked around his bedroom, making sure Lilly wasn't waiting for him, before changing back into his human half. He sat against the wall, his eyes catching sight of a cup of tea, still steaming. There was a note beneath the cup. His hands shook as he picked up the cup and read the note.

Michael,

You weren't in the apartment. I figure you must have gone out the back way for some air.

I left the tea for whenever you come back. If it's cold, you can always heat it up.

I'm also giving you the next two days off work to recover.

Lilly

P.S. Ashley said she's going to stop by to make you dinner around six. Rest well.

He set the note aside and sipped at his drink. It actually did calm him down a little bit. Though he wondered why Ashley wanted to make him dinner. She'd been the closest thing to a friend he made in the past year. She did seem worried about him, too. He stared into the half-empty cup. How much longer could he continue being Michael?

It wasn't like his stay in Seattle would last much longer, he thought. Not if they came after hearing the news of the strange attack. He shuddered from the thought of going back and rubbed his throat. He almost expected to feel the collar again.

"Fuck this," he whispered and downed the rest of the drink. If they came, he'd run. Until then, he'd stay put and live his life.

Michael got off the bed and entered the kitchen. All the water from his slip in control had been cleaned up. He'd have to thank Lilly for that later. He placed the cup in the sink, filling it with some water before going over to the fridge. He pulled out leftovers from dinner the night before and popped it in the microwave. His eyes slid over to the mess in his living room. The glass from the screen still littered the floor. The end table had been removed from the television, though. He'd have to thank Lilly for that one, too.

With a sigh, Michael closed his eyes. He hoped his encounter with Skulker wouldn't make the news. He hoped the city would just move on with their lives and make up some bullshit story. Anything would be easier to swallow than ghosts fighting in their airspace. The hybrid scowled and ran a hand over his face. Things had only gotten worse since Vlad "stumbled" on him. His instincts told him there were worse days ahead.

"Fuck."

A/N: ...I've never had a panic attack so I really don't know what it feels like. If I portrayed it incorrectly, would you be kind enough to tell me? I'd also appreciate any feedback, to be honest. Thank you very much for reading this chapter. And don't worry, we haven't gotten to the worst of his memories yet.