Swirling green hellishness.

Hands lifting him. Cold floor.

Then, nothing.

Fuzzy shapes came into view, slowly, hurried whispers, orders in medical jargon barked in efficient tones. Danny gazed upwards, registering nil. Everything was in fog, he could not move. His eyelids closed, opened. It struck him—it hurt to think, oh god—that he'd blinked. He did not know where he was. He did not know why he was there. He was hot. Dry. Fried. He could only focus on how horrible he felt. Everything ached, but there was a stinging in his right arm. A different pain from the rest. Once he found the strength to move his eyeballs the direction he wanted them to, he saw a...thing...a line...sticking into his flesh. He didn't like it. He wanted to get it out. His body refused to obey him.

He must have drifted off, exerted too much effort, because it was hours later, it seemed, that he came to again. Beep, beep. A sound, he hadn't noticed before. Beep, beep, beep. It was so obvious to him now. Was it there the first time he woke? He was no longer burning up. He was ice. By far more aware than he'd been the first time around, it still hurt to even fidget. The room, he observed, was pale, lacking any color. It was crushingly quiet. He was stiff. Swollen. With...numbness. He wished someone would appear and tell him what was going on. He was going to lie there, confused and clueless, for a very long time indeed if no one did.

It was a long time.

In his periphery, a feminine figure walked in the room, which had no door and approached him, in scrubs, he couldn't quite seem to concentrate on her. She seemed to look at him, then disappeared. Moments later another form came to him.

"Hello, Daniel," said the woman, "I'm Jewel Ammons, your doctor. How do you feel?"

He couldn't speak. A hospital. He was in a hospital.

"It's alright if you can't answer, it's perfectly understandable."

He swallowed. Croaked.

"Please nod your head, if you can, if you're in any pain."

A breath. He did as was told. Nodded affirmative. Stared as intently as he could into her face.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Can you try to tell me where it is?"

His mouth was so, so dehydrated, "Everywhere."

"How bad is it?"

"Aches."

Dr. Ammons accepted it without question, "Do you know what year it is?"

"Two thousand...four."

"That's right," she was soothing, "Would you like to know what happened to you, or would you like to wait?"

"What...happened?"

"You were electrocuted in your home," she said, "An ambulance brought you here, you've been unconscious for approximately twenty-six hours."

Twenty-six hours he'd been utterly out of it.

"Hell," he wheezed. She didn't comment. "Where—are...my parents?" Each pause was an inhale.

"In the waiting room, with your sister, they've been here the whole time. I've been speaking with them. If you want, I'll tell them you're awake."

"Please."

She smiled, in such a way that it didn't seem inappropriate, despite everything which had happened, "I'll be back soon with them."

Awash with comfort at the idea of seeing his family, Danny sighed. He was sore beyond belief. His mother would croon and his father would hiss in sympathy, Jasmine forgoing her pompousness for once and sticking by his side, wordlessly consoling. He searched for a chair in the room and found two. Was he in the E.R.? He didn't know how hospitals were regulated.

When three familiar people entered the room in a harried wave they were not at all like what he'd expected. He supposed he hadn't been fair not to consider how they'd been affected. All three of their cheeks were puffy and pinkish, tired and so, so relieved at the sight of him, "Oh, baby," Maddie said, the feeling in her voice wrenched at his heart, his muscles did not wish to do as told but he winced. Her arms seemed to hug herself as if she didn't trust them not to reach out to him.

It was soundless for a moment as they absorbed his condition.

"I'm glad you're okay, Danno," A layer of moisture shone in his father's eyes. His deep rumble wavered emotionally. Danno. The nickname Jack had called his son for as long as Danny could remember. A warmness, entirely other than the burnt sensation, settled in his chest.

Memories of what exactly went down to bring him where he was now gradually flooded him. FentonWorks. He recalled noting his parents' happy demeanor, wanting them to stay that way, being annoyed with Jazz for not supporting them. Sam, and Tucker...Sam and Tucker?! Where were they? Did they get caught in the shocks, were they hurt? Did they get yelled at? Punished? It wasn't their fault—it was—it was his. It had been his stupid, dangerous idea. Jesus, were they even alive? Panic made his line of thought irrational, and it must have shown on his face.

His mother asked, worriedly, "What's wrong?"

"Ssss-am, and Tuck-er!"

Comprehension dawned on them, Jasmine grimacing at the choke in his syllables. Jack was immediate, "Their parents picked them up. They were—upset, I'm sure they want to know how you're doing."

I want to know how they're doing! He begged his body to exclaim, the order sizzled out of existence like an unsuccessfully lit matchstick. With no warning it became hard to breathe. Hacking, he heard his dad call for a nurse.

Holed inside her bedroom, gripping a pillow for dear life, Samantha Elizabeth Manson sobbed.

"Samantha! Please...!"

Her mother's muffled pleading pounded in her ears, but the door was locked, and it would stay that way. The aftershocks of adrenaline had worn off hours ago, leaving her shaken. She wanted to take a photograph in the lab. A young boy was most likely dead because of her. She had no idea what happened to him after the E.M.T.s carried him away, blocked everything out as she lost her wits. The thudding of feet running down the stairs, the disbelief on Mr. and Mrs. Fenton's faces, then the anguish. They'd lost their child.

She was a murderer. The force of the Portal activating killed the lights overhead, plunging she and Tucker into pitch blackness. The noise, like an engine coming alive, deafened. Somehow she could see Danny's crumpled, unmoving shape. She had collapsed to her knees, "Danny!" and tried to grab him. He was unbelievably weightless—and white haired. It didn't occur to her that this was abnormal. His t-shirt was different, blue on black. His pants were brown. None of it made sense.

Static made her flinch back her hands as if they were on fire. Then, a ring of bluish white brightness illuminated him, enveloping him, starting from the waist and spreading across his legs and torso. He no longer glowed, she couldn't find him in the darkness.

She determined she had been hallucinating.

Tuckard D'Shon Foley was very still, lying on his bed. His frowning parents left him alone once it appeared he'd gone to sleep. How could he sleep? He wasn't sure what he'd seen—aside from the death of his best friend—and it didn't matter to him anymore. His flying thoughts slowed, he was in a state of acceptance. He would never forgive himself for this, he vowed. He'd never put anyone in danger again.

The tears threatened to form once more—Danny was gone...

Fatigue, low blood sugar, he was healing slowly.

It had been almost a day since Danny woke up; a few hours after talking with his parents he developed hypoglycaemia. Visiting times ended, they had to go home, but not without tearful goodbyes and promises they'd be back as soon as possible the next day. He was given carbohydrates—food, drinks—he felt markedly better, not as drained as he'd been. His father told him that he'd died twice in the ambulance. He also apologized. Profusely. With wetness streaming down his face. Danny'd gotten hurt because of them.

"No," he'd refused to hear it, "It was my fault. Stop crying."

Jack's jaw had clenched tightly but he didn't continue. He wanted to say something about the dumb decision Danny made, Danny could tell. He didn't, though.

He had an irregular heartbeat, Dr. Ammons informed him that when that and his blood sugar resumed proper levels, no further complications, he could be sent home. He looked forward to it. FentonWorks, where he belonged. It was sterile and foreign in here. He slept.

Sam was furious. The day directly after her friend died her parents were sending her back to school. She screamed and argued, but they would not budge. She wouldn't do a damn thing in class that day, she swore. Her father shook his head as she slammed the front door of their mansion shut and unlocked the car door. No chaperone or limousine, he was taking her there himself. She was reddened with anger. How dare they disrespect Danny like this, how could she be so weak-willed to go along with it...

Blocks away Tucker was similarly distressed, however, his mother notified him she'd phone the Fentons later that day and find out what was going on. That eased him. Maybe...Danny wasn't dead. Maybe he just needed time to recover. Tucker might've overreacted the night before. To school he went, he didn't look for Sam, she probably wasn't there. It was to his surprise he spotted her at lunch, sitting alone at their usual table. He almost sat there with her. He picked an empty beaten up seat instead, where no one ever sat.

He picked at his tray of food; mind unoccupied. That was a lie. It was overwhelmed.

The nurse applied bandages to the areas where the electricity burns were severest, Danny managed not to yelp as a certain region in particular was covered. Scars stretched along the length of his arm, they reminded him of blood vessels in appearance. Lichtenberg scarring, Dr. Ammons explained. They weren't pleasant.

"Sorry," the gray-haired nurse lady said, "Almost done."

It was nearly visiting hours. He knew his family members would be there soon enough. He hoped he'd be released this evening. He was feeling much better. It helped that the meals they had at the hospital didn't suck. He'd tasted airport fast food before, it was terrible, he distinctly remembered his father making a face and claiming it tasted like hospital junk. Well, looked like Jack Fenton was wrong this time. Or perhaps, he was simply hungry. He ate plate after plate, until he was bloated. Huh. Strange. Must have something to do with his blood sugar.

He sat back and relaxed, hyper aware of how sensitive his nervous system was, feeling every crinkle in the cot beneath him.

Sam and Tucker. He would find out how they were doing eventually. He had to reassure them he was fine. Although for now, he was okay with the notion of dozing until his family arrived. He knew the doctor was concerned about PTSD, and he didn't know what to think about that. He might have it, at least a little. He could still imagine the sensation of being blasted from all sides. He screwed his eyes shut. No. Shut up. Don't think about it.