Author's note: Am I hurting? Am I sad? Should I stay, or should I go? I've forgotten how to tell; did I ever even know? - Pat McCarthy

I keep finding strength to write this. I am in heaven. I am in hell.

(after being) Disparaged

Still awake. And so painfully aware that he was still awake. After a long day of lie after lie after more lies, he wanted nothing more than to sleep because as long as he was asleep, he couldn't feel. As long as he was asleep, nothing hurt.

Danny changed positions on his bed. On his back, on his side, slightly propped up, no pillow at all, neck in neutral position. But even while lying down, he felt strangely disoriented, almost nauseous.

And so hot. He had kicked his covers off the bed to the floor, but the warmth was still there, churning and gurgling in his knotted insides.

He sat up and rested his forehead on his knee. It felt a little cooler to no longer be pressed against his mattress. He concentrated on drawing in air, consciously filled his lungs to full capacity. Normal breaths didn't feel adequate right now.

Exhausted, so tired. He just wanted to get comfortable and fall asleep so he wouldn't have to feel or think for at least a few hours.

He just needed to cool down. Cool down and breathe.

Breathe—?

Oh, God, no, it was happening again. His breathing was no longer automatic and he had to manually pull in oxygen because his brain and body were malfunctioning—

He couldn't sleep, not now. If he fell asleep, he'd stop breathing entirely—

Damn it, knock it off! He was freaking out yet again over something completely insane.

He just needed to cool down and breathe. And stop shivering.

Why was he shivering when he felt so hot? Or was he actually cold? Now he had no idea as an onslaught of tremors vibrated through him.

Cool down, breathe, stop shivering—

And all this pain, so much pain. His arms and leg ached, his head throbbed. It'd be so easy to numb if he could just take—

And he'd fall asleep so quickly if he could just take—

If Jazz hadn't taken his—

He swung his legs over the side of his bed. Perhaps walking around would calm him, get his mind focused on something else.

He sat up and breathed deeply, stood up—

Shifting, greying, dropping—

He fell back on his bed. He stared up at the ceiling and gasped for air, waited for the vertigo to cease. He held up his shaking hands and stared at them.

He just got up too quickly. That was all. Nothing was wrong. Nothing serious, anyway. He was just a little anxious and nervous and worried but he was going to be okay.

Maybe it really was all in his head this time. He hoped it was. He didn't want this to be real.

Because God, it felt so real. Too real.

And yet surreal. What even was this? Could he even describe it if a doctor asked him to?

Danny put his hands in his hair and drew in long, deliberate breaths. But even like this, he could feel his center of balance was off. He could feel it in his head, a swimmy motion that refused to settle. He wanted to stand, wanted to get off this suffocating bed and walk around, and yet he could not find the strength or steadiness to do so.

All in his head. It just had to be. He was young and healthy; there was no reason he should be feeling this weak. Or maybe it was because he hadn't been eating much lately. Low blood sugar…could that happen from not eating for so long?...or…maybe…damn it, why didn't he pay more attention in health class?

He drew in a couple more shuddery breaths before forcing himself into a sitting position. He hunched over with his elbows propped on his thighs and just breathed again, waited for his balance to center itself as much as possible. He then slowly rose to his feet and stood still, recaptured his breath.

Okay, this was okay so far—

Nope, not okay.

He stumbled over to his window sill and leaned against it. Eyes closed, more shuddering, more deep breaths.

Distraction, something, anything—

He grabbed the hanging cord to his blinds and pulled it, lifting the blinds and letting in light from the streetlamps and moon. He placed his head against the cool glass and took in the scene outside, the streets, the few lit windows, the skyline painted over with light pollution and wispy clouds. But if he raised his gaze high enough, he could see a few stars.

How long had it been since he had flown beneath those stars?

Not long at all, really. Less than a week. And yet it seemed so long ago.

Maybe that was all he needed. Just a relaxing night flight—

No, it wouldn't be relaxing at all. He'd be worried the entire time that his mother would enter his room and notice he was gone and then go out to look for him and then find him in his ghost form and shoot him down and capture him and lock him up lock him down tear him up tear him down rip him open rip him apart ignore his cries ignore his explanations never leave him alone never let him go—

Sharp breath.

But…

What if he flew so faraway that she never found him? What if he just took off and never returned? It'd be so easy. He could create his own lair in the Ghost Zone. Or he could overshadow the right people and create a new identity for himself somewhere across the sea.

But then what would happen to this town? This town that he had become so attached to? This town he had sworn to protect ever since he accidentally cursed it with ceaseless hauntings?

And his family? His friends?

But didn't his own well-being matter, too? Why shouldn't he fly so far from here? Didn't he know what he might become here? A prisoner in his own home, a loner in his own family.

A home and family that he still loved and wanted and needed.

He turned around and leaned back against the window. He scanned his darkened room.

He no longer felt safe in this house. The hunter most obsessed with him was also the person who had complete legal authority over him, an enemy he could not only never defeat but never get away from.

But this was his home, the only one he had ever known. And she was his mother, the only one he'd ever have.

And could he really do such a thing to her? If he ran off, she'd surely never stop looking for him.

But she'd also never stop looking for Phantom.

He turned once again so he could look out the window, his forehead firmly pressed to the glass in an attempt to cool himself. And it seemed to be working. He definitely was feeling cooler.

Eyes closed, tears building and gathering and spilling over.

Fine. No one was here right now. He could have this moment of weakness with no one around to see it. Silent tears following the same path, collecting under his chin, falling onto the sill and his hands.

And so much cooler.

Too cold—?

No, just his head—

Danny stepped away from the window, but his head still felt so cold, chilled while the rest of his body still felt warm. He put a hand to his forehead. Hand felt hot, head felt cold—

And so light—

Emptying and draining—

Blood leaving his head and pooling lower, heart pounding against his shirt and struggling to pump blood any higher—

What the hell was going on!

He stumbled out into the hall, stopped himself just short of crashing into a wall. He paused, panted, regained as much of his balance as he could, kept a hand against the wall as he staggered over to the bathroom, leaned over the sink. With shaking hands, he flipped on the water, coldest he could make it, ran his hands under it just to be sure that he could in fact feel that it was cold that he could in fact still feel at all that this was real because this just didn't feel real and yet it was, right? He switched it over to warm water, hot water. He could feel that, too. He splashed it on his face. No, no, his face still felt warm. It was just his head that felt cold. A head cold? No, wait, a head cold was something else. This was something else. This was not right. This was not normal. Something was definitely horribly wrong with him.

He stared at himself in the mirror, lit only by a small night light in the corner. He turned off the water and continued to stare at his darkened reflection.

His head was getting colder, colder, emptier, bled out.

His reflection swam and tilted, his arteries throbbed and his veins bristled and prickled with needling bubbles bursting and popping around his splintering bones and between his contracting muscles and under his trembling skin, his knees buckled and his head floated as he fell to the tiled floor. He gasped, lay on his back, kept his eyes closed as he felt his blood pressure even out and make its way to his head now that his heart no longer had to fight to pump it higher. All even, all okay.

He stayed on the floor for some time, his tears coming back and sliding down his face to the tile. Maybe he should just sleep here tonight. He didn't want to get up again. It just all felt too dizzying. It just all hurt too much.

Ridiculous. He couldn't stay here. He had to get up. Somehow. He had to get back to his room, at least.

But this pain. So much. Too much. Could this go away? If he ignored it, would it subside?

No, there was no ignoring this pain. Not this time. In his head, his limbs, all over. He couldn't possibly fall asleep like this.

But he had nothing to take. He had given Jazz the rest of his narcotics. Why had he done such a stupid thing?

Well, she had caught him off-guard, and at the time, he really didn't think he'd need them again so soon. And if he hadn't given them to her, that would've just made him look even more like an addict, and he just wanted to prove to her that he was not an addict. Just because he was in pain and needed something to mask this pain did not mean he had an addiction it just meant that he had pain that was it that was all!

He definitely needed something now. Anything. He couldn't sleep like this, couldn't go on like this. He was shutting down, closing down.

He swallowed, breathed, swiped at his tears with his sleeve, slowly sat up and stood up, leaned against the walls as he tripped his way down the hall and to the stairs, held onto the rail tightly as he practically fell down them. With no walls to support him the rest of the way to the kitchen, he made a dash for it before his balance gave out, slammed into the kitchen table and leaned over it to catch his breath and steady himself. He blearily looked up at the locked medicine cabinet. So far. Could he make it that far? Could he stand long enough to phase through and find what he needed in it?

He righted himself and used the kitchen chairs as support as he walked deliberately, the chairs moving and scraping along the floor as he placed his weight against them. Carefully, purposefully, he walked until he was right in front of the cabinet. He managed to keep his balance squared as he raised a shaking hand and pressed it to the cabinet door. He paused, gathered his breath, then phased through and blindly fumbled through the contents. He knew all of the bottles and containers so well. He didn't need to see them to know what they were.

His hand finally closed around what he was looking for. He pulled it out and stared down at it. Even with his eyes adjusted to the darkness, it was still too dark for him to read the label, but he knew it was acetaminophen. Maximum dose at a time was a thousand milligrams so he could take three now and then if he was still awake in a couple hours he could take—

The kitchen light switched on. Danny squinted in the sudden brightness.

"Danny? What are you doing?"

Danny froze, jaw slacked, eyes widened.

"Danny." More forceful, cross, impatient.

Slowly, the bottle of pills still in his hand, Danny turned around to see his mother dressed in a night shirt and pants and staring at him with confusion and alarm.

"Is everything okay? Are you okay? What are you doing down here?" Maddie looked him up and down. "What are those?" Her tone became accusatory as her line of sight fell on the bottle in his hand. "How did you get those?" Her voice dropped to a bewildered hiss. "Did you break into the medicine cabinet?"

Danny shook his head, never took his eyes off of her. He wanted to watch her every move, wanted to be aware the moment she decided to attack him or pull a gun on him. "No," he said with a strained voice. "No, these—they're mine. I bought them."

Maddie stared at him with a cocked brow, glanced down at the pill bottle, then back up at his face.

"I'm sorry," said Danny pleadingly.

"If they're yours, then why are you down here at all? Right in front of the medicine cabinet?"

Danny leaned against a counter but could not answer.

"Let me see that." She held out a hand. "Give it to me."

She walked toward him. Danny flinched and held up his own hand to stop her.

"No. Don't. Please, I'll just—"

Danny shakily set the pill bottle on the kitchen table and slid it over to her. Maddie curiously picked it up and frowned at him.

"What's going on?" she asked pointedly. "Why are you acting like this?"

Danny shook his head, shrugged, concentrated on staying upright, struggled to keep his sinking airway open.

Maddie stared at him a little longer before inspecting the pill bottle. "This is definitely ours." She turned it over. "I made a note on the label about how much is in here. See?"

Danny didn't look at where she was pointing. He kept his focus on her face.

"Sweetheart, I'm not mad at you, okay? But we really need to talk."

She held up his cell phone. Danny stared at it. Had she been holding it this whole time? And what about it?

"But first, let's put these pills back. How did you get in anyway? Did you pick the lock? Maybe I need to buy a sturdier one."

She again moved toward him. Danny quickly stepped aside and away. Maddie took notice of his obvious evasion.

"Danny? What's going on?"

"Nothing. Just…I'm sorry, okay? Can this wait until morning? Can I go? Please?"

Maddie studied him. "No," she said calmly. "I was going to wait, but now, I can see that this can't wait."

She turned and inspected the medicine cabinet. Danny held his breath as she looked it over, pulled at it, fingered the intact lock. She finally looked back at him.

"It's still locked."

Danny's gaze dropped just slightly.

"And no signs of breakage or anything." Maddie inspected the cabinet again before turning fiercely confused eyes back on Danny. "How did you get in here? How did you get these?" She held up the bottle, shook it at him.

Danny couldn't even swallow. His mouth had gone completely dry.

"Let's sit down." Maddie gestured toward the kitchen table. "Let's talk."

Danny made no movement.

"Danny, this is enough." Maddie stared him down. "You have to talk to me. You have to tell me what's really going on." She held up his cell phone. "I found your secret texting app on your phone. I want you to tell me about it, tell me why you have it, tell me what you've been using it for. And I want you to unlock it and show me what messages you've been sending."

Danny gritted his teeth, clenched his fists.

Maddie looked at the medicine cabinet in frustration. "And I want you to tell me how you got these pills because I know I definitely locked them in there, and I'm the only one who has a key."

No reply. Only increasing aggravation. Danny glared at her.

"Danny?" Maddie met his glare. "Danny, you need to talk. Right now."

She approached him. Danny backed away.

"And you need to unlock this app for me."

Maddie showed the disguised communication app to him. He knew it all too well. But she couldn't make him unlock it.

"Don't think I can't find a way to unlock this myself," said Maddie. "Because I absolutely can. And I will. But I would really rather you just make this easy for me. So we can talk about it together."

"Talk about what?" Danny snapped. "It's none of your business."

"It is my business," Maddie retorted. "I have to know everything that is going on with you. And you have to start being honest with me because I can't help you if you keep lying to me. I can't figure out the best way to help you if I don't even know what I need to be helping you with."

"God damn it!" shouted Danny. "I am not one of your research experiments! I am not something for you to study and hypothesize and test! Can't you just leave me alone? Can't you just let me have my secrets?"

Heated silence. Maddie's eyes hardened and shone with tears.

"Not when you're my teenage son," she said in a low, shaky voice. Her volume then rose. "Not when you're my teenage son still in high school, still living under my roof. You are my responsibility, and if your secrets are hurting you, then no." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I can't let you have them."

Throat closing up, pressure mounting.

"And what makes you think my secrets are hurting me?" Danny forced down a strangled sob. "What if you're the one hurting me?"

Maddie blinked in bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"

He couldn't speak anymore. No air left.

He couldn't look at her anymore.

She was moving toward him. He couldn't let her catch him.

He tore away, ran away, ignored her cries and demands.

Out of the kitchen, out of the living room, out the front door, down the street, into the sky.

(Point of no return passed. Initiate climax and finale. YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY *arm flail*)

(Which will be stronger? Maddie's love for her son? Or her lust for Phantom?)