Paradoxical (by timydamonkey)
Author's Note: Hey, guys! Sorry for the wait - it can be attributed to college work, NaNoWriMo and the rekindling of this urge to write Hitsugaya fic. Oh, and the chapter being a pain. And my two hour battle with FFN to upload this chapter - note to self: uploading a near empty notepad document and pasting the chapter in then reformatting really works! And me. :)
Anyway, this chapter once again contains shady graphic images. Just skip the bit in italics if you're concerned. I enjoyed writing it, though I'm unsure of how good it is as I edited it a LOT. And yes, it does have some deeper significance... though I don't know if it'll ever make sense to anyone but me. :P
Also, I apologize that the final scene is written so badly. I've never really attemped to write a fight scene before and it's... not the best thing ever. Still, I can only improve, right? Besides, the plot's moving, and as you can see from this chapter, so are the ghosts.
This chapter is obviously a bit of a parody of My Brother's Keeper. There are two more episode parodies alluded to in this episode - I don't think they're too hard to find. Can you spot them:)
Chapter Ten: Self Vs. Self
It was strange how things changed. Before he went to sleep, he'd been more at peace than he'd been for a long time – and when he'd woke up, he'd simply been craving that phone call from Vlad.
It was annoying him. He'd progress and then he'd step backwards. In fact, he almost wanted to be drugged at night – sleeping pills, anything that might make him unable to dream. He knew that he was improving by day and regressing by night. And his dreams… his dreams… they were making him sick again. He'd already emptied his stomach in the early hours of the morning, and now he was just waiting for his parents to shout at him to get ready.
They didn't know he'd been sick. If he told them, he'd end up being kept off school and coddled, and he didn't need that right now. He needed to get out of his house. More and more, he was beginning to feel like an oddball in his family, like they'd decompose him given the chance.
He was worried that out of a son and a test subject, they'd choose the test subject.
He'd dreamed…
Everywhere seemed to stink of rotting flesh. For a moment, he wondered why, peering at the walls enclosed around him, and then he saw they made up a cage of flesh. The dripping sound he'd thought must be putrid water he could now recognize as blood, however much it didn't seem to look like it. It didn't make sense, but little did anymore.
Phantom figures slipped from flesh walls to peer at him; he could see it from the corner of his eye, but when he turned they'd be gone. With every phantom was himself, and he was the figure who remained where they'd stood, looking lost, alone. More often than not, his phantom was stained silver.
He saw them all - his parents, his teachers, Paulina, other classmates. And himself, countless times over, causing the phantoms to flee.
He wondered if he was going crazy.
He crept forward. He didn't really know what he was doing, just that he needed to make some effort towards getting out of there. He didn't want to see anything anymore, so he kept looking at the ground. He wasn't too surprised when it didn't make any difference.
For a moment, his sister appeared in front of him, smiling in her usual cheerful manner, no doubt lecturing somebody about their psychological health for her to be this happy. From the floor, his own phantom emerged. Jazz didn't disappear, though – she just stared as if in shock, and her body just fell backwards. He half-expected a resounding thud as it hit the floor, but there was none, for she just carried on falling through it. He felt like he'd just watched her float to her deathbed.
His phantom watched it expressionlessly, and for a horrible moment he realized it was probably a perfect mirror image of himself.
Looking back, maybe that was the point where he named his ghost half – appropriately enough, 'Phantom'. He wasn't entirely sure that the phantom he saw was his ghost half, but they both seemed alike enough and as bad as each other, so he referred to them collectively – not that he had any plans for referring to either out loud.
He hoped they were one and the same – the phantom and the Phantom. He didn't want to juggle the idea that there was apparently more than two entities of himself in his mind – two was bad enough as it was.
He didn't think that there was anybody left to see. It felt like the floor was erupting beneath his feet and he fell, grabbing onto the rotten flesh of the floor to prevent himself from falling. His hand squeezing it, he could feel blood trickling down his arm, and the sight and the smell made him heave.
He pulled the thought through his mind again in a sort of dim hope; he didn't think there was anything left to see, and so he toyed with the idea that maybe, maybe he was going to fall free of this place.
It was then that he realized he hadn't seen Sam.
From somewhere above him, the girl fell like a rag doll, dangling upside down from something he couldn't see. He nearly lost his grip because he was so startled. More blood. He retched again, but he couldn't take his eyes away from the girl. She was swinging wildly, and as she fell as limp as a puppet, she whispered to him through a mouth forced open, "You did this to me! And I'll always be here to let you know about it!"
He could have sworn he saw a triumphant grin as she stopped moving, her body swinging like a pendulum, looking for the entire world like a corpse, face frozen in a bid for revenge.
It was no wonder that he woke up screaming.
Technus had been watching the ghost child. The boy was most amusing, certainly powerful and held a lot of potential – yet he barely acknowledged he had it. Technus was scandalized; he knew ghosts who'd slaughter cities to have that sort of power.
He had all that power, but no control.
It was highly frustrating, Technus decided. The boy would be most useful to him and of course, likely more compatible with technology than he was, and with the way he was at the moment, he could almost be called a waste of space. And somebody rotting away and being a waste of space, somebody who had enough skill for him to consider allying himself with – yes, he, Technus! – was simply unacceptable.
And if nobody else was going to do anything about it, then he would.
He knew the boy hated ghosts – despised them. It was blatantly obvious that he could not go up to the boy as he was now – but the boy trusted his friends beyond anything, which was how he found himself floating invisibly in the house of the boy's male friend. He'd chosen this house as it was practically alive with technology, and he respected that, and grudgingly respected the boy by extension.
Unfortunately, the boy was an obstacle in his upcoming task. For that, he could have killed the boy, but he wasn't going to. If the ghost child trusted his friend, then Technus could easily use that. He could coach the boy with him barely realising it, and it felt great. He knew how it would work. It required a little more research, however, but that hardly mattered. What was a little bit of time compared to the estimated result? It applied in Science and it applied now.
"Ah, ghost child," he muttered to the air, "how fun it will be for I, Technus, to make you realize your potential! And steal it, and you, away!" He cackled, and then glanced around the ominously silent room in sudden realisation. "Nobody heard that, right?"
Not waiting for any reply, he phased into the computer. As soon as he stepped through, he decided it might have been more beneficial to wait until it was actually switched on…
Even he wasn't sure how he'd ended up in Spectra's office again. He supposed he could blame it on the nightmares. He hadn't wanted his family to find out anyway, but he did think that Jazz had made a big deal over it. He'd been treated to a lecture that seemed to last for an eternity about how nightmares were often deep manifestations of subconscious worries or something of the like, and if that hadn't been enough, he'd been dragged off here.
He had no idea what to say, for how could explain off what was happening without saying, "By the way, I'm some kind of mutant – I'm both human and ghost." As if he would ever tell anybody that, given the choice.
Spectra was practically crooning.
He hadn't really been listening. Why should he? They just told him the same things over and over again. He just tended to zone in at various intervals, and this time, he really didn't like what he was hearing.
"Ah, Danny," she told him, while looking as if she was basking in sunlight. She almost seemed to be physically glowing, but that was a preposterous thought. "Nightmares aren't something you should be worried about. Sure, others may laugh, and you may lose a lot of self-respect and that sparkling self-confidence, but isn't that what it's always like in life? Constant condemnation by nightmares isn't pretty, but it's easy to tell that it's all that you're destined for in life."
How she managed to stay sounding so cheery through that whole speech, he didn't know.
"No," he disagreed, secretly quite impressed by how calm he was sounding. "This is not going to go on forever. It can't." He wanted to say more, so much more, but he thought he'd cry if he did. He'd said too much already.
"There's nothing you can do, Danny. Time has no friends, only enemies." She sounded so bitter, and for a moment he almost wondered if she herself could do with talking to somebody about her own problems. She obviously had issues and they seemed as ridiculous as his.
"I thought you were supposed to be helping me!"
"I can't help those who can't be helped." Her sympathy was really starting to get on his nerves. And why was he here if she couldn't help him? He stood up. "Although your self esteem I could help you with. After all, just because your sister thinks you're a loser, it doesn't mean you are, right?"
Danny froze. Maybe it was the fact that he'd almost been relying on Jazz recently. He trusted his sister, and however overbearing she'd been, he'd thought it had been more that she'd cared rather than thinking he was a loser. It was uncharacteristic of her. She wouldn't say it.
So why did he believe it? "That's not true," he said, more to convince himself than anything. "Jazz wouldn't say that."
Spectra raised an eyebrow, and said as if she were agreeing with his sister, "You may think so, but it's what she said."
Anger was starting to creep up his chest, along with the transformation sensation that was starting to become far too familiar. He didn't need to see himself to know what had happened.
Spectra smiled. "I have been waiting for this. I wondered if you were being particularly difficult, not being provoked very easily…" She sounded delighted, and at that, she suddenly melted into shadow… a creature of shadow, but a shadow that had form. He recognized it immediately.
"You…!" He didn't need to say the rest for her to catch on.
"No, I'm not like you." She was laughing at him now. "I am a ghost who can take on the form of a human. But you… what are you?"
And maybe it was that he wasn't sure either, but the question brought forth an explosion of anger.
Maddie was worried. Things just seemed to be working against her family recently – mostly her son, Danny. She supposed it had all started with that incident in the lab. None of them really knew what happened; they could only speculate and Danny didn't seem to remember. He did, however, seem traumatised, as Jazz constantly pointed out.
They'd tried giving him space. They'd tried scrutinising him. All it seemed to be doing to their son was putting him on edge, so now they were trying to let things run by themselves and see how it went. It was difficult to stay in such vein when you awoke to your fourteen-year-old child screaming as if he'd been stabbed.
They didn't really know what to do.
The letter couldn't have come at a worse time. Danny Fenton, it said, had won a week's holiday in Wisconsin, all expenses paid. It even offered return value. It could be arranged at the boy's convenience within a limited time. It was almost too good of a deal to be true.
Her instinct wanted her to immediately burn the letter. For starters, the sender – the DALV Corp – was not a place she had heard of, and she hadn't heard of the initial competition either. It sounded dodgy, and her son was so off at the moment, she was worried of letting him out of her sight… school was bad enough.
She was going to decline the invitation. She'd tell Danny – he'd understand; she was sure. There was no way he should be going to Wisconsin, especially with his current state of health.
Besides, she thought, whatever it was he'd won wasn't more important than his health, and right now, her son's health was of far greater importance than his happiness if it came down to it. Of course she wanted her son to be happy – what kind of a mother would she be if she didn't? – but she had to prioritise, and she had done.
She was going to keep a close watch on Danny… for how long, she didn't know, but at least until he managed to sleep a night through, which was looking like an impossible task. It saddened her to think that such a thing was, but it would be all right in the end. Danny was a Fenton; he'd live through it. And his family would be with him all the way.
He was angry – so angry that he couldn't think straight. It was as if all reservations had been pushed away in his mind, ready to be dealt with later. Now, there was just anger and a need to get rid of this ghost.
He didn't really know what he was doing. It was just instinct. One moment he was staring at her, floating several feet off the ground, and the next he had ectoplasm coated in his hand and was aiming ectoblasts at her.
They missed. She laughed, as if delighted. "Your aim leaves much to be desired," she informed him cheerily. "Poor Danny, no good at that either!"
She lunged at him, and he leaped backwards and somehow found himself higher up in the air – flying. He would deal with that later. Right now, he had no time for such trivial matters. Bursting forwards in the air – and having no way to explain it if he'd tried – he punched for her face. Just before it connected, it started to glow green, powered by the ectoplasm.
Spectra was thrown against the wall, and she was no longer smiling. "Bertrand!" she called genially.
He told himself that he'd expected it, really. This ghost had always seemed to be with that puddle of goo. It didn't make the odds any better, though. The green goo – Bertrand apparently – smirked and reformed as a panther. Staggering, it pounced, and thought he dodged on instinct, it wasn't good enough. He was thrown into the wall – pain – and the claws just missed slashing his back. Instead, his bag was ruined, and the contents scattered on the floor, most probably ruined.
There went the essays he'd tried so hard on. There went several of his possessions. There went that stupid thermos, however it had got in there…
And then he remembered what his dad had said, and he kicked Bertrand back and snatched it up off the floor. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to use it. It felt completely useless.
The panther-shaped Bertrand was snarling now, and jumped at him again. He floated upwards and through the ceiling – anything to buy time. He wasn't thinking. There was no time to think, just do. He opened the thermos, keeping it held away from him just in case, and nothing happened. He swore, then was thrown back again by a blast of some kind. An ectoblast? He wasn't sure.
He hit the wall. His head was throbbing. He felt that his throat was going to be torn out.
His hand tightened on that stupid thermos, and he hit a button. Pulled it open. The ghost was sucked inside.
There was nothing but anger, and fear, and contempt.
For that moment, the pain was buzzing away.
This time, Spectra was the one hissing and spitting like an enraged cat. He flew up and punched her, too – charged punches. He imagined he could hear the satisfying crunch of carnage, and as she went to attack him again, he managed to get in a good kick. The thermos was in his hand, and he knew how to use it now, and he pressed the button and pointed it at her. She was sucked up immediately, incoherent shrieks of rage reaching his ears.
He was panting, and as the ghost form dropped, he fell to the ground and barely felt the pain. Maybe it's that his head was still spinning… whether from the height or earlier impact, he didn't know. He'd always figured ghosts were more resilient, but this hurt so much-
He closed his eyes.