Author's Note: I'm a fan of names with hidden meaning…so if I have an OC, there's a solid chance that the name is at least slightly significant. Oh, and just a blanket reminder: I don't own anything fun.

Chapter Two: Thirst

Danny guessed that he was in the middle of a restless nightmare. A few parts, though, felt weirdly real: more like half-formed memories than scenes from his subconscious. He twitched as a sharp pang of pain overcame him, and suddenly, he was transported.

Danny was surrounded by a never-ending expanse of forest.

He was strangely separated from his family. He was sore, too, having tripped over his limbs in order to escape a poisonous – and probably evil – black widow spider. He brushed himself off, hands blackened from dirt, frustrated that he had taken off his Fenton Fingerless Gloves earlier because he thought they were "annoying."

Then, on one of the hottest recorded days in New Hampshire history, Danny somehow shivered uncontrollably, his breath coming out involuntarily in bursts of frosty mist. He barely had a moment to register panic before he saw him for the first time.

A hazy figure strolled through the green canopy.

"Well…what have we here?" The mysterious voice drawled. The speaker appeared tall, with an air of nobility. Behind the first figure were others, though they clung to the cover of trees. Although the first creature straddled the border of sunlight bravely, the other shadows were more cautious, opting to stick closely to the shade.

Danny inhaled sharply but didn't dare say a word; he could only stare in disbelief. The shadows seemed to bend around the group of beings – almost at their will. He squinted trying to get a better look at them, which must've been incorrectly interpreted as confusion.

"Where to start? Hmm… First of all, well… We are basically starving. Have been for a while." The man (because it had to be a man) knelt down, browning his medieval-inspired pants with the stain of the forest floor. As he glanced up, pushing shoulder-length gray hair out of his face, he met Danny's eyes. Danny's breath – and any potential half-hearted comeback – lodged itself in his throat. The logical part of Danny's brain refused to register the being's glowing red eyes, the same color of still-pulsing blood.

As Danny stared at the thing's pale complexion – God, it's kind of like his skin has a blueish tint, Danny noticed incredulously – he couldn't ever remember feeling so lost. Then again, he had never been in a situation like this. Actually… had anyone? Danny felt like he was dreaming, because people with blood-red eyes only existed in Stephanie Meyer novels and his parents' impossible research.

(Danny may or may not have borrowed Jazz's copy of Twilight once…only out of scientific curiosity, of course. And if anyone ever asked, he'd deny reading it upon pain of death.)

"What am I saying? You have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about..." A bemused expression flickered across the thing's face, followed by a quick glance at Danny's suit.

From behind the clear leader, a male voice murmured, "Sir… Err, Aragon, you do realize that he must be…?"

But the question was left unanswered, as this 'Aragon' stared at Danny before his expression hardened.

"Sleep, young one," the leader of these beings finally murmured, while looking intently into Danny's eyes. The creature's own ruby orbs seemed to swirl hypnotically, and all at once, Danny was overwhelmingly exhausted. He wished he was back in his space-themed blue bedroom, surrounded by NASA posters and his favorite video games. That was the last clear thought he had before his mind overloaded with agony.

-xxx-

Danny recognized that what came next couldn't be real. Though, for some reason – as he noted dully – his eyes were tightly shut. Maybe he was creating his own crappy defense mechanism. At the very least, his body was sparing him from watching the obviously ongoing violence.

Despite only seeing blackness, Danny was still able to perceive something slicing across his face and hands, as if Edward Scissorhands himself was trying to grab at his exposed skin.

I really shouldn't have taken off my gloves, Danny cursed again. He felt like he was trapped in a schoolyard brawl with Wolverine.

One shadow must have lunged at Danny face-first, no longer content with just raking the teen's skin with needle-like claws. The thing attempted to bite the Danny's lower neck at the place where his shoulders sloped upward – a spot that was mercifully covered by Fenton-made fabric. Against all odds, the U.R.A. seemed to work, preventing fangs (…fangs?!) from penetrating his skin and reaching a stream of blood.

Instead, the supernaturally sharp teeth harshly dragged across Danny's suit without causing any damage. It reminded him of when he had tried scraping granite against a stronger rock as part of those mineral hardness tests in Earth Science class last year.

Ha, the Fenton armor is legit, who knew? Danny chuckled, borderline hysterically.

He concentrated on remaining conscious, although part of him felt as though things would be a lot easier if he stopped fighting. He briefly registered that the being (beings?) attacking him had suddenly dropped him, leaving his body on the ground, as if there was something more important – or threatening – for them to now face.

Danny heard screams that were almost animalistic, and part of him picked up on more noises in the clearing than he'd heard originally.

Next, Danny noted grunts, the sounds of a struggle. The pain from the long gashes on his hands and face had dulled somewhat, but he still thought it would make more sense to give up, to give into the pain. After all, he hardly felt as though had a steady grip on reality at this point… not even a little bit. A battle seemed to be raging, and Danny knew that he was incredibly useless – maybe even forgotten – amidst the brawl.

Briefly, he risked opening his eyes, and was even more perplexed. All he could see were blurs and shadows flitting amongst the thick trees, supporting his theory that was this was all a dream. He closed his eyes again.

Abruptly - before he could protest – Danny was being lifted and taken away from the conflict… by whom or what, he didn't know. He felt as though he should resist, but he couldn't make his body move the way he wanted it to.

At a very basic level, he wanted to escape, but he didn't have any idea how to go about doing that. He was vaguely aware that he was being taken to a place hidden far beneath the New Hampshire White Mountains.

-xxx-

Danny felt a stinging ache across his forehead, cheeks, and hands – he guessed that he'd lost a lot of blood. The throbbing pain had begun to fade, though, which Danny categorized as odd. When he'd been hurt in the past, the agony usually seemed to intensify following the incident. It certainly didn't lessen so soon after the fact.

In the distance, too far for him to hear anything in normal circumstances (though Danny didn't know that), words floated in and out of his consciousness.

"It's got to be him," a male voice insisted. Danny couldn't focus, but he scoffed regardless.

He didn't know who the voice was talking about, but he hated that whole 'Chosen One' trope regardless. Jeez, if I ever hear another dumb character say, 'He's the one,' I'm gonna lose it, Danny snickered, not even recognizing that he was, in a way, criticizing himself.

"Do you see the patches of his suit turning black?" Another voice – clearly female, with a musical undertone – mused, seemingly entranced. "We've seen those hunters use the very same suit," the woman finished decidedly, in awe.

"That's why Natasia decided…" The first voice admitted before trailing off. Danny frowned.

Who the heck is 'Natasia'? Danny wondered. And wait, what kind of name is 'Natasia' anyway? An image of a woman with braided russet hair and maroon eyes flashed in his mind. Danny tried to shake his head, as if the action would erase the mental picture.

Nope, he thought forcibly, that was a dream. Just like that whole fighting thing. Really weird dream, though. And I think that lady kept wanting me to drink something…?

Danny was then distracted by a strange feeling in his chest. There was a burst of heat, localized around his heart – a surge of some kind of energy. After that, the internal heat was abruptly snuffed out and replaced by a creeping chill: like he was shivering without even the flimsy protection of a windbreaker. Danny's fingers, arms, toes, and legs all prickled with goosebumps, even underneath the U.R.A., as if everything was hyper-sensitive to the air, the subtle wind, the fabric of his suit.

At first, Danny's skin felt like it was badly sunburnt, but then the sensation intensified, until it was more like he was being "burned" by frost – like the feeling of holding onto ice cubes for far too long.

There was a voice in the back of his head, screaming and sputtering, Something's wrong! Although the pain of his gashes was gone, Danny was instead stunned by this foreign, freezing numbness.

Danny's mind warred with the reality of what he was experiencing, reminding himself that it was supposed to be one of the warmest days on record. He should be sweating right now. Danny admitted that something must be off in whatever place he was in currently – it must be some sort of weird, hidden ice cave. Nevertheless, his skin continued to shriek with the sense of frostbite, and he was desperate for some kind of relief from a heater, a blanket, anything.

He couldn't ever remember being so unbearably cold in his entire fourteen years of living.

But if Stage One of this bizarre, impossible dream was cold, then Stage Two was thirst. All at once, Danny's mouth was dry. He needed to drink water, a soda, something, anything. His tongue felt way too thick, and he understood the meaning of the word "parched" for the first time.

Ha-ha, Jazz would be proud that I even looked at her 'Pre-High School Vocab' list she made me, he noted deliriously, aware that his thoughts were all over the place, trying to divert attention from what was happening. Man, I actually miss Jazz, Danny realized, before that fleeting insight was driven out by discomfort.

All Danny wanted was some sort of liquid to satiate the dustiness in his mouth, and he felt so frustrated, because he couldn't focus on anything else! He needed to stop this feeling, or he was going to just explode. (Dramatic, part of him knew, but he'd never been so uncomfortable before.)

He started hyperventilating, panicking that he'd never, ever, satisfy this thirst. Ever.

When he'd look back at this moment later on – as he would often do, unfortunately – he supposed that his body couldn't take being awake anymore at that point. So, for the third time in a single day (three times too many, surely), he suddenly wasn't.

-xxx-

One of the voices from before – from his delusion, he supposed – spoke again, "Did he change? But… how? I thought he had avoided being bitten by Aragon or any of them."

"Nat thought it could work like this," another voice from his hallucination – deep and male – stated.

"Not that legend again? About the hunters' son? You're hardly serious. Surely Nat doesn't believe that," the woman from earlier scoffed at her companion.

"Well… she actually does, Dora," the baritone said quietly. Danny could hear the sigh leave the man from across the room. Danny's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, but he could still sense the man's exhale as though it was mere inches in front of him.

For Danny, that was Concern #1 ("everything is loud"), followed closely by Concern #2: he was no longer cold. In fact, if anything, the air around him was the ideal temperature. And then he realized big ole Concern #3: he was still thirsty. Actually, Danny was beyond thirsty.

Danny recognized that all of this was abnormal. Hence his list of concerns, of course.

Someone knelt down in front of him. The fact that Danny knew this – even though his eyes were still closed – was unnerving to say the least. Danny heard a hum that sounded suspiciously like that familiar baritone.

"Young one," the deep male voice started. Danny frowned, upset for some reason at that wording, remembering that someone (or something) had called him that recently – and condescendingly. Yeah, he might be only fourteen, but he wasn't four.

But Danny was still in denial about what was going on, firmly believing that this was just another scene from a super-long, extra vivid dream. That's it, he decided, blaming this bizarre nightmare on his mom's cooking, no more Fenton Weenies.

"There's no easy way to say this," the baritone. "But you were dying..." Alarm bells went off in Danny's head. What are you talking about? Danny wanted to ask. But his throat was way too dry to risk asking the person anything just yet.

Danny felt a bit different, sure, but denial was undoubtedly his favorite thing right now… and this bad dream seriously needed to end.

"Natasia – she's an esteemed member of our council – well, she made the final decision." Silence, embarrassment: it radiated off of the man. "How do you… feel?" His hesitation at that particular question was apparent.

How do I feel? How do I feel?! Danny shook his head at the ridiculous question. Um, how about like my insides were flame-broiled before being forced inside of a particularly painful freezer?

Instead of saying that, though, Danny risked opening a single eye.

Holy shit! Danny couldn't hold back an internal curse as his head swam with how clear and detailed everything was. Danny was reminded of the time that he "borrowed" Tucker's glasses, curious about what seeing through them would look like. Spoiler: everything was way too tiny, yet also sharply defined. Danny had eventually given himself a major headache doing that. And so, Danny quickly shut his one eye now to try to combat his rising nausea. And that's Concern #4, Danny thought.

"Can you open your eyes?" The lighter, more melodic voice (Dora?) spoke again. Danny was still confused and frustrated, but he was also curious. Fine, maybe if I open both at once, I'll be less… dizzy, Danny supposed.

He mentally prepared himself, but then, somehow, his eyes adjusted a bit – and were assaulted by unfamiliar sights.

It… it wasn't what he was expecting.

Danny had imagined that he was in a dank, primitive cave somewhere deep in the mountains. Instead, his surroundings resembled a sweeping underground city, carved from stone. Gothic spires shimmered slightly in the distance, illuminated by faintly glowing gas lampposts.

Danny was evidently on a raised slab of rock, almost like a hard bed, out in the open. He sensed that he was far away from the center of the "city" and that this particular area might be some sort of gathering place. Two close faces swam in front of him: one was a man with dark skin despite its sallow undertone, and the other was a regal woman with cascading blond hair held back by a medieval-looking headpiece. Danny couldn't hold back his feelings – this strange mixture of confusion, wonder, and annoyance – any longer.

"Where the hell am I?!"