A/N:

NOTE THE RATING CHANGE.

Holy shit I did not intend for this story to go this way, wow. This is rated "M" for sexual reference and drug abuse.

I want to make something clear: In no way what so ever do I endorse drug abuse, alcohol abuse, or any form of abuse of anything.

Also I'm really really sorry for those of you who love Twelve for his innocence and Danny-ness, because I really butchered him here.

I guess I'm incapable of making things easy for the characters of my stories….haha.

Tell me if you think that rating this "M" is too high. I can't go higher so …uh if it's too high I'll rewrite it? I guess haha

Please note that Twelve is now eighteen approaching nineteen in this chapter.


In a desolate area just south of the American-Canadian border was a small rundown town. It had once been a bustling metropolis, an area of growth and hope, sporting the latest trends, some larger malls, some schools. But time and neglect had turned it into a rundown, drug infested town where people convulsed and died in the streets, begged for money at every corner and sold their bodies to support their habit. There was of course the "good side" of the tracks and the "bad" though the good side wasn't as good as it could be. It had honest people who went to work and did their jobs, and honest businesses that kept their eyes averted when it came to the bad side.

Inside this dusty wasteland was a rundown hotel, its beds infested with mouse and rat feces and dust, its walls stained with water and its ceiling bowed to the point of collapse. But this didn't bother the crack whores and the junkies who inhabit the rundown building. There wasn't anything wrong with a soft bed and sheets to pull over your body at night, even if the atmosphere and the constant sounds of moaning and bedsprings drifting through the walls was less than pleasant.

When he had first arrived, the regulars had eyed him suspiciously, not trusting him due to his fit, clean appearance. They always scurried away when he came within twenty feet, their darting, doped up eyes never meeting his and their conversations always cut abruptly off when he came within hearing distance.

Not that he minded, he liked his space and he silently followed the same route every day. His first stop was the small, but honorable fresh vegetable stall run by the plump and amazing Mrs. Goom. She always spoke to him as a mother would, and would give him a small wink when she slipped extra veggies into his bag before he headed back. She never pressed him for details, never tried to get him to go home, and was always concerned about his safety.

After he was done with Goom's Veggies, he wanders over to the local pharmacy. Since he really had no money, he'd taken to using his powers to fuel other's addictions. He didn't like it, but he did what he did to survive, since he really was on his own now. He would phase into the back, making sure to stay invisible as he grabs everything he can.

From there, he knew all the best spots to hit for his clients—yes, he'd started to refer to them as clients, and he'd admitted to himself he was now officially a dealer—and he collected their money with gratitude. That gave him enough to pay off Mrs. Goom for his weekly debt, and if he were lucky, he'd have enough left to buy some meat to fry up to compliment his dinner.

And so went the longest two years of his life.

Twelve groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. His head was throbbing like someone took a sledgehammer and bashed his brains in. He reached over the ratty bed and grabbed the pills on that were on the table beside him, popping the lid open and downing at least three—or more, really he didn't care. His metabolism burned them off faster than a human's, and honestly he wasn't even sure if overdosing wouldn't just be easier than living how he currently did.

He knew he had to get up now, and he knew that the pills would knock out the pain, if not him within the next hour, but he just couldn't bring himself to care. Swinging his legs over the bed, he grunted with displeasure at the small drops of ectoplasm that came from his feet and concentrated his energy into keeping himself solid. He'd gotten good at it, he only had to do it once or twice a day and he'd be okay. Still, he knew it was a battle was slowly losing.

Looking back at the bed he peeled a lip back in disgust at the dirty used up whore laying on the other side. Charging up a small amount of energy, he burnt her just a tiny bit to wake her up. He couldn't remember having sex with her, but he must have if she slept here. He was probably too high to remember. "Get up." He growled, still marvelling at how much of a baritone his voice had become now that he was eighteen. He supposed it was no surprise however; the father he was modelled after was a bigger man, with a deeper voice when he was serious.

The whore twitched and moaned, eventually sitting up and hunting around for her clothes. Twelve kept his eyes away from her as he stood up and got dressed. "I'm going out for my rounds. You'd better not be here when I get back." He'd found when he first got here that nothing would get done or happen if he were nice to people. So he learned to be mean, because he was respected when he was mean.

Shrugging on his coat, he started the three mile walk to Goom's Veggies. The sky was dark gray with thunder heads, the rumbling a promise of what's to come. He didn't mind so much, except it meant that he'd be unable to sell much tonight with everyone hiding from the coming rain, but he'd also rake in a fortune when the rain broke. The fierce October air bit through his jacket and made him shiver, but he just ducked his head and continued on. He hated where he'd ended up, what he'd become, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to go back to—that existence. It just wasn't possible anymore.

Vlad had turned his back on him, and every attempt that stupid billionaire had made to find him, Twelve had successfully turned away. There wasn't any way he was going to let Vlad find him, not now, not ever.

Twelve had changed everything about him but his name. His head was shaved on either side, only the middle having hair which he generally styled into a Mohawk every morning, and he'd been working out and building muscles. He was confident he could take Danny or Vlad if it ever came to that, and he had a feeling it would. He had a piercing in his lower lip now, which he bit as a nervous habit, his untrusting eyes darting this way and that.

Eventually Mrs. Goom's stand came into view and Twelve slowed his pace to a casual walk as the first vegetable tables came into range. Grabbing a clear bag, he started popping some of the easy-to-eat ones in, slowly making his way up to the center stand where he could sometimes find fruit if it was a good day.

Today wasn't a good day and Mrs. Goom's stand was low on stock. Twelve flashed her a rare smile and she returned it, her plump cheeks crinkling her eyes. "Mornin' Twelve." She said, her thick country accent rolling the words. He loved her accent and everything she did. She was an angel in his bleak world. "I do hope you're doing okay today, hon?"

"I am. Thank you Mrs. Goom." Twelve fished into his pockets, pulling out the money he owed her from yesterday. "Here you go."

"Ah, you're a sweetheart thank you Twelve." Mrs. Goom smiled gratefully as she took the money. "Been a hard time lately," she said quietly, almost musing to herself. "It's a bad wind, this poor town doesn't need more misfortune."

"It gets by though," Twelve offered with a shrug, handing her the vegetables he wanted that day and let her log them in her little book. "It might be a disgusting excuse for a town with disgusting excuses for people, but it keeps roofs over our heads."

"I suppose you're right, son." Mrs. Goom frowned as she thought things through, shrugging slightly. "Well you'd best get on your way, storm's going to break soon." Mrs. Goom smiled brightly at Twelve.

Twelve returned it as best he could. "I guess you're right, I'll see you tomorrow." He gave her a little wave as he turned around, shoving his hands in his pockets allowing his bag of goodies to hand off of his wrists as he heads for the pharmacy.

The wind was picking up now and Twelve could see his breath as he walked, something not unusual for this time of year, being closer to the northern country of Canada, so he took no note of it.

"Whelp!"

Twelve turned, eyes narrowing as Skulker made an appearance for the first time in two years. "What do you want, Skulker?" He did not need this. What he needed was more pills. Yes, more pills to pull him into the dark dreamless sleep state he'd become so comfortable in.

Skulker looked him over, his robotic eyes narrowed. "Your father won't be happy with you, whelp. You look horrible."

"He's not my father, Skulker." Twelve retorted, crossing his arms in defiance. "He's nothing to me."

Skulker scoffed, crossing his own arms as he looked Twelve over. "Your father is paying a lot of people a lot of money to find you, whelp, the least you could do is return to him." The metal hunter lowered himself slightly, his feet landing on the broken pavement with a small clink, and Twelve felt the first spots of rain on his nose. "So come along so I may go home and tend to my girlfriend."

"Yeah, Skulker, protip: I won't just go where you want me to, just because you demand it, or that stupid billionaire is paying you money for it. You've got to try more than that." Skulker apparently wasn't in the mood for exchanging banter because he held out an arm, a rather large and intimidating cannon appearing from his suit of armor.

"If I can't have you come back peacefully, I'll bring you back in pieces." The whine of the cannon brought artificial—or real, he honestly wasn't sure—memories to the surface and the scars on his chest began to throb. He ducked out of the way of Skulker's first blast, shrapnel and chunks of concrete flying up and pelting him. He had enough sense to put up a shield, deflecting the worst of it.

"I don't want to fight, Skulker!" Twelve changed to his ghost form, eyes narrowed with hate. "Just go away!"

Skulker shot another blast at him, his other arm coming around and shooting out a net, which Twelve was only able to dodge because his leg turned to ectoplasmic mush. "Ugh, not now, please!" His head was throbbing again, and the world was tilted at a strange angle, making his stomach churn. Skulker began to retract the net as Twelve concentrated on pulling his legs together. He needed more pills.

Blasting the spot Skulker was standing on, he leaped into the air, desperately trying to keep his form while he sped off to the pharmacy. If he could just get his pills, he'd be able to defeat Skulker, he knew it. A blast whistling past his shoulder alerted him to his pursuer, and he kicked up his speed, seeing the pharmacy coming up quickly.

He never got there.

Skulker sent out another net, sending him somersaulting into the pharmacy wall and electrocuting him so his powers were shorted. "AH! God damn it Skulker!" Twelve's world lurched and his stomach gave an ominous gurgle. He was positioned so his body was in a pretzel, unable to see Skulker, he traced the ghost's steps via the robotic noises his suit makes. He squeezed his eyes closed, imagining the cold lifeless hand reaching for him, grabbing him and throwing him back into Vlad's insane hands.

His lower lip trembled as he thought about going back there, and he cursed his childish reaction. He would not cry over something like this. He braced himself as he heard Skulker's steps stop, but his grip never came. In its place was the sizzle of heated metal as a hot beam hits it, and the screech of metal on concrete.

"Danny!" The voice was painfully familiar, female and full of independent pride. The pure lit of it filled his head with visions of violet and freedom. "He's over here, Skulker's trapped him!"

He had enough time to smile with the familiarity of it before his stomach jumped into his mouth and he was sick on himself, his migraine knocking him out moments after.


Sam frowned, sitting on the side of the ratty bed and pushing back Twelve's sweaty hair, patting his forehead with a damp, cool cloth. "Danny, I really don't like this. He's been out for hours." Danny was standing by the window, looking out at whatever view the window offered. He hadn't changed much in the last two years, his ghostly green eyes turned to Sam now, coming over.

"He's lost a lot of ectoplasm." Danny muttered, looking down at his clone. Two years of searching and they'd finally found him, but the anger Danny had felt at seeing him had settled into a sense of pity. It wasn't the clone's fault Vlad was twisted enough to create him. "I don't know if I'll be able to save him."

Tucker came out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a towel and frowning, "We're lucky we were even able to find him. He's done a pretty good job of hiding himself away."

Danny nodded to the thermos on the bedside table. "And as long as Skulker stays in there until Twelve can relocate, Vlad won't find him." Danny put his hands on his hips as he frowned down at Twelve, blowing some stray hair out of his face. "I can't inject him with the stabilizer until he's sober though."

They'd found Twelves pills and supply of other various prescription drugs and flushed them. They weren't sure if the stabilizer would work on someone on whatever he was on, and Danny wasn't all that sure if Twelve's body would handle the transfer of energy he needed afterward.

Sam pulled the wet cloth away, dunking it in a small bowl of water and wringing it out before continuing to cool Twelves face as the man writhed in his sleep. "I just want him to be safe." She murmured quietly, "He looks—well, he looked so much like you, Danny, it was hard not sympathise."

Danny couldn't deny that Twelve had indeed been a carbon copy, aside from the deterioration. But now…the clone had gone and shaved most of his head and that lip piercing was something odd. Sam seemed to like it though. "He's so muscular now, he almost looks like he's on track to becoming you know who." Danny and Sam glared at Tucker who put on a sheepish smile and ducked his head. "Ah, sorry."

Danny shook his head and leaned against the windowsill, watching Twelve squirm. "I guess we just have to wait for him to wake up now…"


A/N:

Haha I'm sorry if that was a horrible horrible place to cut it off but it was kind of getting away from me and it's already almost double what I normally put up so uhhh yeah okay.

I'm really sorry for how this chapter turned out it kinda just wrote itself and I had no control. Ffft, so um, I hope you enjoyed anyway and if I lost readers over this I'm really really sorry. :: flails::

Also, because someone keeps asking where Sam and Tucker are, I finally added them though I really wasn't going to originally, happy now?

Hahaha okay I'm gonna go hide under a rock till the rage for this chapter's subsided.

:: pulls a protective shield over her rock::

p.s. please please please don't expect such speedy updates all the time. There are some chapters that write themselves and some that take forever to squeeze out- it changes all the time!