Alternate Universe: No one, not even Danny, knew what happened when he got the Fenton Portal working. Ignorance has consequences.
At first, he thinks he's imagining it.
When he combs his hair in the morning, he has the distinct impression that there is more there than should be. Just a bit, on the edges, trying to pull away from the rest. It's warm, too, and while some part of his mind tells him that his hands should feel burnt and the plastic of the comb melted, it's warm and comforting. Until he realizes that wait this is all wrong, runs into the bathroom, and is reassured by the black hair and blue eyes staring back at him. Just like normal.
Throughout the day, though, the fear tangles in his stomach. He pats his head mechanically, as if counting each strand and checking that none have succumb to flames. When he catches his friends' worried glances, he grins and shrugs them off. Eventually, they turn their attention to other things.
He is fine.
He knows that- except, there are those times now when he bolts upright, woken from a nightmare that falls in shards around him as his eyes adjust to the darkness of his room. He wants to say he doesn't remember it, that it's the same as any other and vanishes into the morning life, but no matter the time during the night it occurs it drives sleep away until morning. Every image is painfully vivid and slices into the tender flesh above his cheekbones.
Days pass, and some start to come where he can't check his reflection anymore. The promise of reassurance, the promise that nothing is wrong, isn't stronger than the fear that something is. For the rest of the day he cloaks himself in delusion; without proof, there is nothing to say that anything is amiss.
"Rough night?" Sam would ask, her worried gaze cutting through him while the third member of their trio would lean towards them. Feeling the tension that curled around them, he would shrug as if to say what can you do and turn back to the notes he'd be half-heartedly scribbling. The other two would watch him for a while before copying his lead.
It hasn't been this bad since the first time.
It was almost a year ago, now. It was easiest to say that's when it started, though god knows if that's really the case. But a year ago was when he first mentioned it. Incoherent, the words had tumbled from his lips:
"You need to do something. I don't think I can live with this- knowing... knowing what I'm going to become."
"Become?" Sam had asked, peering through him.
"Become! I- it's- it's terrible. I never..."
"Slow down. Use full sentences. Pretty sure we learned that in kindergarten, Dan."
"Don't call me that!" His cry had pierced the tenuous veil of confusion between them. Sam had stumbled backwards. "Don't call me that." His shoulders had slumped, trembling hands pressed to his knees. "That's what he called himself. I- that's what I called myself."
Coaxing and gentle words had drawn out whatever he thought had been the truth: that he had encountered some sort of evil version of himself. From the future- a future where everything had been burnt to the ground, where everything he had loved was dead, a future where nothing remained but all-consuming, purposeless evil. And all he could see were his own eyes- blood red and remorseless. Promising a lifetime of exquisite agony.
Assurances were given- it's just a dream, Danny. It's okay, nightmares can feel real and I get those too. There's no way that can happen. It's not real. You're just fine. And then the far less reassuring whispers of pills and treatments were passed around, so he parroted the words back.
"You're right. It's not real. I'm just fine."
So a year later, he finally believes that he's imagining it. Alternate futures, evil timelines- it's all the stuff of science fiction. When he drops the comb, sure that it's an unrecognizable shape and covered in scorch marks, it was just static electricity sparking against his fingers. When he can't look into the mirror, he tells himself he is busy.
If he wasn't, he'd take the time and surely see those same, soft, tired blue eyes staring back at him. Not a monster.
Monsters weren't real.
Except that's not really true.
The fear begins to fade. The other two were right- he is fine. There is nothing to be worried about because everything is exactly how it's supposed to be. He accepts the terror and learns to live with it, lets it become part of him until it vanishes in a wisp of nothingness. His reflection holds no dark secret- just an image of who he is. Whole and alive and real. And fine.
He slips into his seat, posture tired but stronger than it has been in a long time. His friends reach out, ask how he is. At hearing their voices he turns and shoots them a grin that's triumphant and comfortable, brows narrowed into something a little more disconcerting than just teasing.
He doesn't know that the blue of his irises bleeds red when he looks back at the board, away from them. Without a backwards glance, he drops off the casual answer-
"I'm just fine."
A/N: I was working on a little original something and realized that it was something I really wanted to bring to life DP style. Just a snippet, I hope it's understandable without too much background information.
