A dream. That's what it had to be. A bad dream. No, more than that. A horrific nightmare.

There was no way that it was real. Real life didn't have shape-shifting ghosts with no origin or age in control of the time stream and waiting to slice him in two. Real life didn't have horrifying monsters from the future claiming to be the result of cheating on a test. Real life didn't cause his friends, family, and teacher to ultimately end up tied to a boiler about to be killed by - of all things - flammable hot sauce.

But real life did mean that a bad choice had consequences. And because he was, for lack of a better word, special, those consequences were far more elaborate. And far more deadly.

It wasn't fair. A little less energy on that wail, and he could've stayed transformed long enough to save them. A slightly longer gait, and he could've avoided the stone that tripped him up. A little less panic, and he could've gotten up fast enough to do something. Anything.

But no. Real life wasn't fair. And this was all too real.

The blast blew him backwards. He soared under no power of his own in an almost graceful arc before landing painfully on the concrete several yards away, still skidding on his back a few feet more until he finally stopped. He let out a pitiful moan no one could hear, not even Danny himself. The blast temporarily deafened him.

But it didn't blind him, as he opened his eyes to see an orange-red inferno eating what remained of the Nasty Burger. He cried out, whether in despair, surprise, determination, or anger, no one could tell. Danny hefted himself up, leaving any injuries unacknowledged. He ran forward, shielding himself from the heat that adrenaline wouldn't let him feel.

But because he was deaf, he couldn't hear what his normally acute senses would've let him- the sound of air seeping through a tight space. Or rather, gas seeping from the cracked pipes beneath the blazing building.

The smell was the only thing that saved him. He smelled the gas when he was only a few yards from the building. So he slowed his mad dash and eventually stopped. It was when he was taking a few steps back, undecided between the priority of escaping the current danger and the chance of saving someone from the previous one, that the second explosion occurred. While his hesitation saved his life, his proximity only made his injuries worse.

The second blast blew away whatever was left of the burning restaurant. All of the stone, plaster, tile, and glass that hadn't been blown out of its place the first time were quickly spread throughout the lot. He felt heat. He felt pain on his leg and face. He was blown backwards once more.

This arc was not nearly as graceful as he tumbled and rolled, finally coming to rest on the opposite side of the parking lot.

The Nasty Burger was an even bigger blaze than it was the first time, acting as though there was still a structure to burn. The smoke from the latter explosion left everything covered in a thick smog. By the time it finally cleared, Danny Fenton was finally released into blissful unconsciousness.

He felt cold. Very cold. It wasn't like the chill in the middle of the night, the cold of a winter's day, or even the cold of his ghost form. This cold was much different. It came from the depths of his soul, beyond what even a ghost could explain. He didn't like it.

But he couldn't express it. He could feel the cold, yes. Almost too well. But his body refused to shiver or curl up in on itself. He couldn't even mold his features into a look of discomfort. He couldn't move. He could barely even breathe.

Danny was vaguely aware of all of these bits and pieces of his current situation, but he couldn't make anything of it. His emotions were blocked off as well. He couldn't feel confused at why he couldn't move, annoyed at why he was so cold, or curious as to where he was. He wasn't even worried about practically not breathing. He just was.

However, his senses came back to him, ever so slowly. The cold was still there, but he could also feel searing heat above him, getting hotter every second. He could hear the crackling of fire, but it was muffled as though he was underwater. He could taste the blood in his mouth. He could smell the smoke and gore that permeated the air. He still couldn't see, but he also couldn't tell if it was because his eyes were closed or because he was actually blinded by whatever happened.

Wait, no- he could see his eyelids turning red from the light of what he assumed were flames at this point. There was something wrong, though, but he couldn't place it as another sense- one that was too familiar, yet he couldn't place it for the half-life of him- began to take hold.

His back seared- he now knew that it wasn't just the warmth of the flames that made it burn. His leg was burning as well, but not from heat. His muscles tensed in an attempt to move once more, but that just made the burning worse. But the worst wound he could feel was his eye. He finally realized that his limited sight was strange because he was only seeing through one of them- the other was blocked by something.

He had no time to ponder on this or the fact that the new sensation was pain - searing, burning pain - before his muffled hearing caught something in the distance. What was that? Sirens?

Oh... the police... an ambulance... help... These were among Danny's scattered thoughts as he vaguely identified the two types of sirens from each other. How, he had no clue. His thoughts occupied the rest of his limited attention, with even his injuries taking a backseat, before he heard voices as well...

"Oh, my God... what happened..."

"Hey... survivor... here...!"

"Jesus... get... stretcher... quickly...!"

The last thing he knew was his injuries getting jarred as he was placed on the stretcher, a voice attempting to calm him as he once again slipped into oblivion.

"It'll be alright, kid... You'll be okay..."

No... was his last thought, no... it won't... it will never be okay again...

The doctor shook her head sadly, looking over the boy's chart. Danny Fenton... three broken ribs, two broken fingers, a concussion... these were only the most mild... the doctor put down the chart and took in the boy's condition.

Danny was covered in bandages. Only his arms and left leg were spared, save for the splint on his right hand and several burns here and there. His right leg was worse than broken; a strip of metal was wedged through the middle of his shin, splitting the bone completely. His back was skinned and burned. And his eye... shard of glass had been fired straight into his left eye.

It had taken hours of delicate surgery to remove the metal from his leg and manage to splint it up properly without causing more damage. With luck, he may just be able to walk again. It had taken a much longer procedure for his eye, to take out the glass without ripping the organ in two. It turned out that it had pierced the skull above and below the eye, barely coming short of his brain, which made it that much harder.

Eventually, the glass and all its fragments were safely removed with no further damage. But that didn't mean there wasn't any damage at all. The brain was left untouched and the bone would heal with time... but the eye was beyond repair. Danny would be permanently blind in that eye.

Personally, the doctor herself was amazed the kid was still alive. The burns were bad enough to place him in a chemically induced coma when he was first found, but after a few hours they had slowly healed and attained in a few hours what would normally take weeks. The only exceptions were the leg and eye. Even his back was marginally better than before.

Turning her mind from the injuries, the doctor felt grief for the boy. After hours of tenuous labor, the police and fellow doctors had uncovered the remains of six different bodies from the wreckage: Edward Lancer, Tucker Foley, Samantha Manson, Jasmine Fenton, Jack Fenton, and Madeline Fenton. His family and friends. His only family and friends. With their deaths, the boy was completely alone.

The doctor looked up from the chart when she heard something. After a few tense seconds, she shook her head, thinking it was her imagining things. This boy couldn't possibly be awake yet...

Her thoughts were broken once more when she definitely did hear something - a moan. She watched, amazed, as the comatose boy began to stir.

I have no clue what this will become. Really I don't. It was planned as a crossover, got left alone for a few... years... became a standalone, was left alone more, and when I finally decided to continue it, I had no clue what to do with it and figured This is as good an ending as any! and posted it as you see here. Anyone wants to adopt it, be my guest, and that goes for all of my one-shots except for Hysteria. I have plans for that one.

And speaking of Hysteria, I am writing the story to it as of now. Disregard what I wrote at the end of it; it's no longer a crossover, but a standalone. And since no one guessed at the crossover, it was with House. But since I couldn't get House's character down right (really, who can? If it's possible, then the author get a dozen virtual snickerdoodles!) and I stopped keeping track of the episodes, the inspiration for that line of plot died without me even knowing it. Shame. Feel free to thank CatalystoftheSoul for the new muse; her review for that one brought life to the security guard. This'll be fun.

On a not-so-unrelated note, I'm gonna be planning my yearly DP Halloween fic soon, and I need a sufficiently scary and/or creepy poem. You get to lead the way this time, folks! Nevermore and Kingdom by the Sea were semi-successes, and I'm hoping to make this year's just a little better! *pulls out back-scratcher* I'll scratch your back if you do...!

And if wasn't obvious yet, I don't own DP. We good? 'Kay, we're good.