Author's note: Thanks for the interest so far! To answer a few questions, this takes place in Danny's sophomore year after the events of the third season but ignoring Phantom Planet. And as for the therapy offices being above a pizza restaurant, I actually just based that on the therapy office I used to go to. It shared a building with a pizza restaurant on the floor below it, and that just stuck with me. I never ate at that restaurant, though.
Ghost on the Couch
March 20 (part two)
Upstairs, Danny looked around the waiting room of the counseling center while Maddie checked in with the receptionist. Cozy, warm lighting, plants in the corners, eclectic statues of animals, magazines on tables next to sofas and chairs. A young woman sat in one of the chairs, a slender hand under her chin, faint tears glittering in her eyes.
"We're just a little early," said Maddie, walking back to him. "Your therapist will come out here when he's ready for us."
She sat down and invited him to sit next to her. He slouched in his chair and looked anywhere but at the downtrodden woman sitting across from them.
A well-built man entered the room and looked around. "Maddie!" He walked up to them with a very friendly, very dazzling smile. "Hello again."
Maddie stood. "It's been a while, hasn't it? A whole few hours," she said with girlish inflection. She returned his smile with slightly lidded eyes.
Danny also stood and raised a brow at his mother's expression before turning to the therapist. He had been expecting some stuffed-shirt tweedy spectacled middle-aged shrink, but this guy… This guy was young and tall and fit and muscled and tanned and blond. So very blond.
Danny looked at his mother again. She was wearing more makeup than usual.
"Danny." The man extended a hand to him, and Danny automatically took it. "I'm Brandan Cross. Great to meet you."
"Good to meet you, too," said Danny with forced enthusiasm to appease his mother's scrutiny.
"I'll wait out here." Maddie reclaimed her seat and clasped her knee as she looked up at the two of them. "See you in an hour, sweetheart."
She smiled at him. Danny wordlessly turned from her and followed the therapist out of the waiting room and down a hall.
"Here." The therapist opened a door into his office. Danny stepped inside and composed himself.
Just an hour. Just one hour. And then he'd only have to do this seven more times.
He took a seat on the couch while the therapist sat across from him in an office chair a polite distance away. Danny leaned back with folded arms and stared out the window next to him at the street full of traffic.
"Is the temperature in here okay for you?" the therapist asked. "Too hot? Too cold? I can change it."
Danny continued to look out the window. "It's fine."
A silence hung between them for a few seconds.
"Well, I'll go ahead and start this off," the therapist said. "First, if you've already forgotten my name, you can call me Brandan."
Danny curiously turned to face him. "You want me to call you Brandan? Not Dr….whatever your last name is?"
"It's Cross. And no, no. Just Brandan, please. For one, I'm not a doctor. I might get my doctorate someday, but for now, I've just got my master's degree."
Brandan gestured to a diploma hanging on the wall behind him. Danny eyed it, unimpressed.
"And for two, I prefer being on a first-name basis with my clients, even my young ones." Brandan raised a playful brow. "You're not used to calling adults by their first names, are you?"
Danny thought of all the adults in his life. The only one he referred to by first name was Vlad, and that was because he had zero regard for that demented Froot Loop. "No. I guess not."
"Your parents taught you well. You've probably been raised to give more respect to those older than you, right?"
"Yes."
Another lull. But Danny would be damned if he was going to initiate any conversation. He'd gladly spend the entire session in silence.
"Well, Danny," said Brandan, "I'm sensing that you're feeling resistant."
Danny leaned back with narrowed eyes.
"And it's perfectly understandable. It wasn't your idea to come here, right?"
Danny bit back a scoff.
"So here's how we'll start," said Brandan. "I'll tell you a little about myself, and then I'll tell you about my approach, and then I'll tell you my one rule. You can ask me questions at any time. Sound good, Danny?"
"Fine," said Danny, though he wasn't sure he liked the way Brandan used his name so familiarly.
Brandan proceeded to describe his educational background, years of experience, and areas of expertise. Danny did his best to appear to be paying attention, keeping his eyes locked with Brandan's the entire time.
Depression. Anxiety. Brandan's emphasis on these words sank into his subconscious. His mother had mentioned meeting with this guy earlier. What did she tell him? Did she think he was depressed or anxious?
Did he somehow think he wasn't?
"The technique I use is called cognitive behavioral therapy. Have you heard of it?"
The sudden prompt startled Danny back into awareness. "Oh, uh...no." He hadn't even properly heard what Brandan was asking him about, but he was sure that would be his answer anyway.
Brandan smiled at him, a smile that almost seemed knowing, a perceptive smirk. Danny gritted his teeth behind pressed lips in response.
"Basically, I want to help you develop coping strategies and change any thinking errors you have," said Brandan. "Truthfully, everyone has their own thinking errors. Even I do. But sometimes we need help to identify them so that we can correct them."
Danny stole a glance at the clock on the wall.
"I work on my own thinking errors all the time," continued Brandan. "I'm not perfect at it, and I probably never will be. It's hard."
Danny wasn't sure what this guy was trying to get at by admitting to having psychological issues of his own. Trying to come across as any normal flawed human being? But weren't therapists supposed to be perfectly emotionally stable so they could properly treat the instabilities of their clients?
"But listen, Danny." Brandan leaned forward. "Thinking errors really are normal. Annoying, yes, but they really just show how intelligent and complex we as humans are."
Danny raised a brow.
"Here." Brandan grabbed a calculator from the desk behind him. "This calculator. Would you call this a simple or complex machine?"
"Uh… I guess simple?"
"Right. How often do calculators break? How often do they malfunction?"
"Not very often, I guess. I mean, unless you drop them or spill water on them."
"But they don't typically break or malfunction on their own, right?"
"I guess."
Brandan placed the calculator back on his desk and gestured to his desktop computer. "How about computers? How often do they malfunction? How often do they break or slow down or crash or overheat?"
Danny shot him an irritably confused look.
"More often than a calculator, right?" prodded Brandan.
"Yeah. I guess." Could this guy get any more boring?
Brandan laughed. "Way more often. Sometimes for seemingly no reason. It'll work fine one day and then the next won't start up at all. Or you'll restart it and the operating system is wiped out. Or your browser will just crash. Or you'll get a Blue Screen of Death."
Danny pondered this, all of the technological mishaps in his ghost fighting alone. The more advanced technology certainly could be fickle at times. Even Technus and Skulker were two of his easier enemies to beat for this reason.
"The more complex something is, the easier it is for something to go wrong. When something is that complex, even the most minuscule error can cause a complete meltdown." Brandan pointed to his head. "The human brain is the most complex machine there is, so complex that we still don't even fully understand it. It breaks down more easily and more frequently than any computer. The smallest error can drive us insane, the tiniest crack can shut us down. Depression and anxiety and a plethora of other mental issues are rampant in this world because our complexity makes us so susceptible to such problems. We try to look through our coding, try to fix our bugs with medication or logic, but so often we just end up creating more lines of errors."
Danny lowered his gaze as he considered this analogy.
"Even the smallest change in our physiology or psychology can have huge effects on our perceptions and well-being. The smallest error can completely overtake us. And the big changes? Those can prevent us from ever going back to how we used to be or from ever being what might be classified as 'normal.'"
A mutation in his DNA, a jolting shock from his parents' ghost portal that rewrote his molecules. Just how much had that changed him apart from the obvious physiological alterations? New confidence and pride and strength but also new stress and worry and fear. This one modification, this one error in his chemical makeup had indeed overtaken him. He couldn't look at people the same way anymore, not even his parents. Especially his parents. He was not the same trusting person he was before. He was constantly suspicious that everyone just wanted to use him. He was frequently consumed by thoughts of ulterior motives of those he encountered.
Even this guy. Just what did Brandan really want from him? Just what did Brandan really want to do with him? To him? Because there was no way this guy actually wanted to help him. No one ever really did. They all just wanted to hurt him. They were all out to get him. Even his friends kept urging and goading him to keep fighting ghosts and berated him whenever he used his powers for himself or chided him when he admitted he sometimes wished he didn't have these powers.
"Does that make sense, Danny?" asked Brandan.
Danny slowly nodded, his gaze still down. "I think so, yeah."
Brandan reached for a pen and notepad from his desk. "I'd like to give you an opportunity to speak now. Do you have any questions? Is there something you'd like to say?"
Danny shrugged. "Not really."
"That's fine. I don't mind steering our conversation—" He paused, smiled. "—or lack of it. But I just have one rule."
Danny waited.
"It's a rule I adhere to myself. Whatever you do say, I need you to be one hundred percent honest. You are more than welcome to decline to answer a question or to stay quiet. You don't have to confide something in me if you don't want to. I will never force you to speak. But if you do choose to speak or answer a question, whatever you say must be the truth." Brandan looked at him seriously. "Okay?"
Danny frowned. "How will you know if I'm telling the truth?" And more importantly, how could he know if Brandan was telling the truth, too?
"I'm going to trust you," said Brandan. "And like I said, if you don't want to tell me something, that is absolutely fine. Just tell me you'd rather not answer. I won't pressure you, and I won't judge you. But I'd rather you not answer than lie."
Danny held back a smirk. An excuse to stay quiet? Done.
"I don't expect you to be an open book," Brandan continued. "It's not my goal to make you tell me everything that is troubling you. My goal is to help you recognize your own personal thinking errors that are hurting you and help you find ways to overcome them so that they no longer prevent you from being productive and happy."
He could be productive. He could be happy. He didn't need therapy for that. What a waste of his time.
Just eight times eight times eight times eight eight eight eight—
"And I want to assure you that anything you say here will be kept confidential. Whatever you tell me is not going to get to your parents or anyone else."
Danny eyed him skeptically.
"I've already talked about terms of disclosure with your parents, and they've agreed to only get general reports about your progress and well-being. Any personal or specific things we talk about here will be strictly kept between you and me." Brandan raised a solemn right hand. "You have my word."
"Okay," said Danny. But did he really believe it? This guy was an unnerving enigma to him, nothing like what Danny thought a therapist would be like. Intelligent and composed, stylish and modern, attractive and youthful, down-to-earth and pleasant.
Or at least that was the façade he wanted Danny to accept.
He could not discern what was really going on in Brandan's head. After about a year and a half of ghost fighting, he had become pretty good at determining motives and trustworthiness and agendas of ghosts and humans alike, but he could not figure out what Brandan's game was here.
And there had to be some sort of game going on. There just had to be. And Danny wasn't about to let himself get played.
"My role here is that of a facilitator," said Brandan. "Your success is mostly dependent on you, Danny. If you want to improve, if you want to find healthy coping strategies, if you want to regulate your emotions, then you'll be able to. But you are the one who will have to put in the most effort here." Brandan raised his hands. "I'll help you. I'll be right here for you when you need me. Your family and friends will be there for you, too. But you are in charge of any progress you make." He smiled. "For many, that can be discouraging because they just want their therapist to give them an easy cure. But really, it's empowering. You may not have control over the obstacles in your life, but you do have control over how you approach and respond to them. No one and no thing can bring you down unless you decide to let it bring you down. I'm just here to help you find the best ways to deal with your obstacles."
Oh, jeez. This guy. This guy.
Danny had to turn away. What even was this guy? Looking like some bronzed Greek god from a George Michael music video and trying to sell him on this pseudo-intellectual nonsense? Acting as if he had any idea what Danny was dealing with? Exactly what kind of "obstacles" was this guy even referring to? Surely not the hordes of ghosts and even humans (his own parents) that wanted to kill him or lock him away.
Because yeah right, like he could just choose to not let any of that "bring him down."
"Danny?"
"Hmm?
"What's on your mind?"
Danny turned back to face Brandan. "Nothing," he mumbled.
"Danny, you need to be honest with me," Brandan reminded him somewhat sharply.
Danny flinched at the disapproving tone. "Fine. I'd rather not say."
Brandan wrote something down. Danny narrowed his eyes, wondering what assumption this guy was making about his declining to answer.
"All right." Brandan looked up at him again. "Is there anything you would like to talk about, or would you prefer I choose what we talk about?"
"You can choose," said Danny flatly.
"Okay. How about we start with your family?"
"My family?"
"Yes. I've already met your parents. You have a sister too, right?"
"Yeah. She also likes this therapy crap." Danny groaned at his blatant disrespect. His mom would kill him if she knew. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
"It's all right," said Brandan. "Do you have a good relationship with your sister?"
"Yeah. We're fine."
Brandan wrote a note. "And what about your parents?"
"What about them?"
"Do you feel you have a good relationship with them?"
"I think it's...a normal relationship." Danny considered saying more but stopped himself. If Brandan wanted something more specific from him, he'd have to do the work himself and ask more specific questions. He wasn't about to make anything easy for this guy.
"It's very interesting what your parents do, very unusual," said Brandan. "They're quite famous for it, too. Ghost research. Ghost hunting."
Brandan paused long enough that Danny was forced to meet his gaze to get him to continue.
"What do you think about that?" asked Brandan.
"What do I think about what, exactly?"
"Well, are you interested in ghosts at all?"
Danny stopped himself from crowing, restrained a scoff. "No more than anyone else in this town."
"So you don't share your parents' enthusiasm for ghosts?"
"Does that surprise you?"
Brandan shrugged amicably. "What do you think about your parents' interest in ghosts, then?"
"I think...it's fine. I don't know."
"Is it fine?"
Danny opened his mouth, but no reply came out.
"Is that really the truth?"
Danny hardened his gaze. "You said you would just trust me to tell the truth."
Brandan looked down at his lap briefly. "You're right. I did say that. Forgive me, but your tone just seemed to suggest the opposite of your answer."
Danny threw up his hands with a glance at the ceiling. "I am fine with their interest in ghosts. I just don't know why you're asking about it. What does this have to do with anything?"
Brandan tented his fingers. "Well, if you really want to know, I was hoping to just start out easy, a topic that wasn't too focused on you, something I thought you'd be comfortable with. But this is the most I've been able to get you to talk so far, the most animated you've been, the strongest response you've given. So clearly, there's something about this topic that incites something in you. Am I correct there?"
Danny seethed and literally bit down on his tongue to prevent his stupid self from saying anything else. He had to breathe, had to calm, had to control himself.
He had to get Brandan off the topic of ghosts somehow because indeed, nothing incited him more than ghosts. They were the bane of his existence, the only thing he ever seemed to think about anymore, the one thing that was causing him the most pain and preventing him from living a normal life.
He had to play this game right.
"All right, yes," he said evenly, thickly. "Ghosts are a bit of a touchy subject for me." No use denying it now. He couldn't revoke his overreaction. "Before anyone even believed in ghosts, I was teased and bullied for having parents who believed in them, and so… I guess even today when everyone now believes in them, I still don't really like talking about them."
Brandan's brows lowered. "And are you feeling like you just can't get away from the subject? Because after talking to your parents, it's pretty obvious they are completely taken with ghosts. Probably a day doesn't go by that they don't mention ghosts, right?"
Danny only nodded. Why couldn't this guy just drop it already?
"They seem particularly set on one specific ghost." Brandan smiled. "I got the feeling they could talk on and on about him if I let them."
Danny shrank down. Don't say it, don't say the name—
"Phantom? Danny Phantom? Same first name as you, coincidentally."
Danny shuddered but tried to hide it by straightening up.
"But I can't say I blame them for being so interested in him," said Brandan. "He really is unlike other ghosts, isn't he? Other ghosts want to do us harm, but Phantom doesn't seem to have that inclination. Rather, it seems he wants to—"
"What does Phantom have to do with me?" interjected Danny, holding back his irritation as best he could. "Why are you talking about him?"
Brandan blinked with mild surprise.
"I told you I don't want to talk about ghosts," said Danny more quietly.
"Is there something you do want to talk about?"
"Just anything else. Seriously."
Brandan pressed his lips and began writing something on his notepad.
Danny leaned forward. "What are you writing?"
Brandan stopped and looked up. "Just notes to myself."
"About me?"
"Does it make you uncomfortable? Would you rather I not take notes?"
Danny shut his mouth.
"It just helps me remember things so I can review or think things over later. But if you'd rather I didn't, I won't."
Great. Just great. This guy was way too nice and gave Danny no justification to hate him.
He breathed and composed himself, actually thought before answering for once. "It's fine. I'm sorry."
Brandan set his notepad back on the desk behind him. "Are you sure there's nothing you want to talk about right now?"
Danny closed his eyes and nodded.
"Not even just a word or two about how you're feeling at the moment?"
He shook his head.
"Okay. Well, would you be at all willing to talk about why you're here?"
Danny opened his eyes and waited for Brandan to elaborate.
"I know you're not here because you want to be here," said Brandan gently. "You're only here because your parents are making you come here, correct?"
Danny said nothing, didn't even move.
"Danny, do you know why your parents want you to talk to me?"
Danny remained silent. But so did Brandan. And he seemed content to stay quiet until Danny made some sort of reply.
Well, that was just fine, then. He didn't want to talk anyway, didn't want to divulge or confide or—
His mom would be so disappointed in him. So upset. She had made a deal with him. He had agreed to it. Grudgingly, yes, but nevertheless, he accepted her terms. She wouldn't hold up her end of the deal if he didn't hold up his.
Yes, he knew why his parents wanted him to talk to this guy. They thought he was struggling with something. And it wasn't like they were wrong.
He nodded.
"Do you think you need to be talking to me?" asked Brandan.
"Are you asking me if I think I need your help?" asked Danny.
"My help." Brandan shifted his weight. "Or help in general. I know what your parents think, but I want to know what you think."
Danny's breath hitched with a sudden thought far too vivid: his parents in this room talking to this guy about him.
"What my parents think?" he echoed in a tentative whisper.
Brandan paused. "We can talk about that if you want. Would you like me to tell you what they said to me about you earlier?"
What his parents said about him earlier?
His grades are terrible, not that he could ever be the student our perfect genius daughter is, but lately he's been doing even worse in school and he's often late or he skips class and all he can ever say is that he didn't mean to or he forgot or he didn't hear the bell and he's so worn out all the time even though he does NOTHING, like seriously he doesn't even have a job or extracurricular activities and he's obviously not doing homework and he just plays with his friends all day and sometimes all night, maybe it's drugs, could drugs make him this way? He's just such a disappointment and he needs to be fixed and we're tired of trying to fix him ourselves, so can you fix him?
"No," rasped Danny. "Don't tell me what they said."
He lowered his head and held his arms close to him.
"Danny?" Brandan sounded concerned. "Would you mind telling me what you think your parents might have said?"
Danny shook his head.
"All right, well, going back to my original question… Do you think you need any help?"
Danny relaxed his grip on his arms and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. "Doesn't everyone?"
"Is that a yes?"
"I don't know."
Brandan said nothing. Danny said nothing for a while as well, but this silence only left him alone with his thoughts, thoughts that didn't want to stay only in his head, thoughts that wanted to be voiced to justify his sullenness with this whole situation in case this guy decided to tell his mother how surly he had been.
"Look, I'm not about to tell you I'm doing fine or that my life is great," said Danny in quiet surrender. "I'm not going to say I'm handling all of my problems okay. But…"
He looked out the window. He wondered if there were any ghosts out there already causing trouble, any ghosts waiting to strike just to cause him grief.
"I don't know if I need help. I think...I can deal with it on my own. I want to do it on my own, honestly."
"Why do you feel that way? Why do you want to do it on your own?"
"Because...I brought these problems on myself."
He had gone into that portal of his own volition even though he knew he wasn't supposed to. He had cursed himself and the town due to his own ignorance, and it wasn't fair to place that burden on anyone else. He already felt guilty enough dragging Sam and Tucker through the stress and headache and prison of his ghost-fighting responsibilities.
"So, to clarify, you don't want help because you believe you created these problems for yourself," said Brandan.
Danny nodded.
"Do you think you don't deserve help? Because you feel that your problems are your fault?"
Danny shrugged.
Brandan said nothing for a long moment, pressed fingertips under his chin as he thought. Danny looked down at his lap, his shaking knees, his wringing hands.
"So you're punishing yourself for the problems you have in your life because you think they're your fault," said Brandan. "Danny, I guarantee that this is a thinking error."
Danny raised his eyes.
"It's a natural inclination people have. We all want to explain the pain and trouble in our lives somehow. Makes it easier to bear if we can blame it on something. It appears you have decided to blame yourself."
"I didn't decide—"
Danny stopped himself from revealing too much. Brandan waited expectantly, but Danny only shook his head.
"This blame you've put on yourself allows you to justify it," said Brandan carefully. "You've justified the pain in your life by convincing yourself you deserve it. You want to deserve it because this justification helps you cope with it, accept it. You want to believe that you're not just suffering for no reason. But it seems the only reason you've been able to come up with is your own shortcomings. And that is definitely a cognitive distortion you are struggling with."
What could this guy possibly know about him? About what was going on in his head? Danny glared at him with fuming agitation. This guy had no idea what his problems were. This guy had no idea what had happened to bring on his problems. He didn't just decide to blame himself. That was in no way a distortion of how it all began.
"You don't know anything about me or my problems," said Danny.
Brandan nodded. "You're right, I don't. And I'm not going to ask you for specifics right now." He swiveled in his chair and pulled a book off of his desk. "But let's go over some thinking errors together, okay?"
He turned back to Danny and scooted in a little closer than before. Danny instinctively tried to move back but could only press himself into the couch.
Brandan cracked open the book and flipped through the pages. "I'm going to name them and explain them to you. You can ask questions or comment about anything. You can share whatever experiences you want related to these thinking errors." Brandan smiled at him. "Or you don't have to say anything. All I ask is that you consider them and be honest with yourself about them even if you don't want to share anything with me. There's no point lying to yourself."
Danny made no reply and simply waited.
"So, just to define what it is, a cognitive distortion, also called a thinking error, is a misperception about ourselves or the world around us," said Brandan. "Our minds all have their own individual ways of making us believe something is true when it really isn't, and these inaccurate perceptions seem powerfully rational and logical and just so real. So real that it is difficult for most of us to identify them on our own. But once we know what they are, they become easy to spot. I'm going to go over the ten that are considered the most common."
Ten. Wow, that sounded like it could take forever.
Danny glanced at the clock and sighed to himself. Not like he had anything else to do for the next half hour.
"The first cognitive distortion is polarized thinking," said Brandan, looking down at his book. "Also called all-or-nothing or black-or-white thinking. Essentially, this is characterized by thinking anything short of perfection is failure. If you don't do something completely right or completely to your satisfaction or the satisfaction of others, you think you've simply failed altogether." He raised his eyes. "So for instance, getting anything less than an A on a test might be seen as a failing grade, even if it's a B plus. Or getting second place in a contest out of many participants is regarded only as a loss."
Danny looked off to the left as his mind almost involuntarily pored over these words and feelings from his past and present.
He wasn't as smart as his sister. Therefore, he was an idiot.
Paulina and Valerie both rejected him. Therefore, he wasn't good enough for any girl.
He didn't always win his battles. Therefore, he wasn't a real hero.
That aptitude test, the CAT. Anything less than the results his sister got would've made him a complete and utter disgrace, nothing more than a failure. He almost destroyed the whole world over it.
"Anything you want to say, Danny?" asked Brandan.
He shook his head.
"All right. The second thinking error is overgeneralization. This means making a definitive and broad conclusion about the future or the patterns in your life based on a single negative incident. You expect some sort of bad thing to happen again and again simply because it happened once already. For example, if you find someone who doesn't like you, you believe that others will also dislike you and that there is no point in hanging out with anyone. Or you get a low score on a test that you studied hard for and assume it is useless to study for any other tests because you will always get low scores no matter how hard you try."
There was no way he could get a good grade on the CAT by just studying on his own because studying never helped him before. He had to cheat if he wanted a good grade.
Paulina hurt him and Valerie hurt him and now surely all girls would hurt him. He hadn't even tried asking a girl on a date since freshman year. Not like they'd say yes anyway. And also not like he had time. He had countless dates with ghosts to get through first.
"Third is filtering. This is when you focus entirely on the negative aspects of a situation, even if it's just one negative aspect, even if there are many positive aspects as well. You don't see the positive at all, only the negative. You might give a performance, sing a solo in a competition. The judges give great remarks and just one bit of criticism, but that small bit of criticism is all you focus on, all you can think about. You dwell on it so much that you can't even recall that there were any positive comments made at all."
At the end of the night, he'd return home after yet another bout of ghost-fighting. And he'd usually win, yes, but the mistakes he made and any defeats he might've had were the only thoughts in his head as he tried to drown himself in sleep that sometimes refused to rescue him.
And his parents always seemed disappointed in him. Never proud of him.
Or...had he just forgotten that sometimes his parents were proud of him? Why was it only disappointment that he could recall?
"Fourth is disqualifying the positive. A good thing might happen to you, one good test grade, one goal met, but you perceive it as a fluke or that it doesn't really mean anything or that you don't deserve it. Or someone might compliment you but you dismiss it immediately and assume the person who gave you the compliment either has an ulterior motive or that they simply don't know you that well."
Danny stifled a derisive chuckle.
Brandan looked up from his book. "What?"
Danny kept his gaze to the side, sardonic smile tugging at his lips. "Nothing. Just… No one ever compliments me. Even my parents think I can't do anything on my own. Obviously. Since I'm here."
"Well, that sounds like filtering right there. You're so focused on the criticisms you get that you don't even recognize or remember compliments."
Danny's smile faded. Damn it. He played himself right into that.
"Fifth thinking error is jumping to conclusions. You assume something negative even with no sufficient evidence to support it. For example, you believe that someone is upset with you only because they are not talking much to you. You are sure your teacher will dislike your essay before you even submit it." Brandan paused. "Or you are sure your parents think you can't do anything on your own simply because they decided to have you speak to a therapist."
Danny opened his mouth to make a retort but quickly closed it, exhaling sharply through his nose.
"Have your parents ever expressly told you they think you can't do anything on your own?" asked Brandan.
"No. They wouldn't."
"Then how do you know they think that?"
"I can just tell. They don't have to say it."
"Because you can read their minds?"
Danny pressed his lips tight. God DAMN this guy.
"Where were we?" Brandan scanned his book again. "Sixth is catastrophizing. You exaggerate the significance of negative events or aspects, perhaps a small mistake you've made or a flaw in your personality. You give great weight to your failures and weaknesses and little to your successes and strengths. You focus more on the worst possible outcomes than you do on the most probable outcomes. For example, you might refuse to ride in a plane because you are worried the plane will crash even though plane crashes are rare and unlikely."
Danny tensed, seized up.
The worst possible outcome—
His greatest enemy—
That future could still happen, couldn't it? He was still there. He still existed. So didn't that mean he could still turn into—?
Was that darkness and weakness still inside him, waiting for him to surrender the control of his body?
"Hey."
Danny raised vacant eyes to Brandan.
"How are you feeling right now?"
Danny clutched his upper arms. "I'm fine."
"Please don't lie to me."
"I'm not—aren't you supposed to just trust me?"
"I'll trust you as long as your body language matches what you say."
"Well, if you're so sure you know what I'm feeling, why even ask? Are you now reading my mind? Jumping to conclusions of your own?" Danny glared fiercely at Brandan.
Brandan blinked and was silent for a moment. He then chuckled amicably. "Touché."
Danny's scowl deepened, latched on tight to his grating teeth.
"All right, then. You're fine. I'll accept that." Brandan looked down at his book.
Danny watched him scan the words on the page. "But you don't believe me."
"Don't be reading my mind, Danny."
Danny held in a growl. The nerve of this guy. That edge of amusement in his tone.
"Let's continue, then. Seventh is personalization. This is when you perceive everything happening around you, particularly what others around you do or say, as either your fault or an attack against you as a person. If a teacher gives you criticism on an assignment, you might interpret it to mean that they think you are unintelligent. If a classmate mentions you're looking tired, you might think they are reprimanding your sleep habits or physical upkeep. If a friend of yours is struggling, you might think you are a bad friend for allowing it to happen or for not being able to help. You might also blame yourself for things that are not actually your fault or that you have no control over at all."
Lancer criticized his schoolwork all the time. And he definitely thought Danny was an idiot.
And so did his sister. All her little hints, her use of big words around him, her unsolicited advice.
Not that either of them were wrong.
And the ghosts in the town. That was definitely all his fault, completely. He had no idea it would happen when he switched on the portal and he wasn't even the one who built the portal but it was his fault and now his penance was to fight the ghosts until they finally backed off but of course they would never back off.
Just as well. He deserved it.
"Can we talk about this one, Danny?"
Danny looked at Brandan attentively but made no reply.
"You mentioned earlier that you believe all of your problems are your own fault, that you alone are to blame. Can you think on those problems for a moment?"
He already had been and he didn't want to anymore.
"Do you really think all of them are under your control? That you really did cause all of them one hundred percent?"
Yes.
But he said nothing.
Brandan waited for a considerable length of time. Danny did not relent his silence.
"Danny, I really want you to think about this one some more," said Brandan gently. "Some things might be your fault, yes. But not everything going wrong in your life can be your fault. It's just not possible."
Somber, Danny looked at Brandan. "If you knew what my problems are, you would understand."
Brandan did not respond but held eye contact.
"My problems… You couldn't even… I promise you've never talked to anyone who's had my problems," said Danny in a low voice. "My problems are...unique. To me. To only me. And I know you're not going to believe that, but it's the truth."
Even to him, his ghostly identity was entirely fantastic and hard to believe. So what made him think anyone else would believe it? Certainly not this guy. This guy probably thought he was just another typical moody teen who was convinced he was special and that no one could ever understand him.
"I do believe you," said Brandan very quietly.
Danny blinked.
"And I hope you'll tell me more specifics about these problems someday. But although your problems very well might be unlike anything I've ever heard of or anything anyone else has ever encountered, I promise that combating your distortions can help you face your problems." Brandan smiled at him. "And if you'll let me, I'd really like to try to help."
Danny ducked his head, raised his shoulders. He wasn't even sure what he was feeling, what this guy was making him feel. But he didn't like it.
Brandan lowered his eyes to his book again. "Eighth is emotional reasoning. This is when you believe that your feelings, especially the negative ones, are an accurate representation of how things really are. If you feel stupid or that you're incapable of doing something, then you assume that means you really are stupid or incapable. If you feel great fear when riding a roller coaster, then you assume that means roller coasters really are dangerous and should be avoided. If you feel you aren't retaining anything when studying for a test, you assume that means studying is hopeless and won't help you."
Danny scrunched his mouth in thought.
"What's on your mind?" asked Brandan.
"It's just… I mean, sometimes our feelings are right, aren't they? Are you saying we should never trust our feelings?"
"I'm saying we need to try to view things more objectively and not be so blinded by what we are feeling." Brandan shrugged. "But you are correct. Sometimes our feelings are right. But certainly not always."
Danny thought some more. How would he describe his feelings lately?
Jumpy, anxious, unsure, suspicious.
And what did feeling this way mean?
Well… It meant that his life was currently dangerous, full of enemies who could ambush him at any moment. Even here in this office.
And...that wasn't inaccurate, was it?
Sure, his enemies didn't always attack. There were the days when they would leave him and the town alone.
But always feeling on edge… It had to mean something. He definitely didn't use to feel this way, so it just had to mean that his life was dangerous now. And that was certainly true. Even this guy wouldn't disagree if he just knew.
And how did he feel now here in this office?
Irritated and somewhat attacked.
This whole therapy thing was just a waste of time. This wasn't going to help him. If anything, it would just make things worse. He wouldn't be feeling this way if it was providing any sort of benefit.
"Can I go on, Danny?"
Danny looked at him.
"Or do you want to think about this one more?"
Danny shrugged. "Go on."
Brandan nodded. "Ninth is labeling. This is when you judge a person's entire character based on just one action or characteristic. Could be yourself or someone else. For example, if someone cuts in front of you in a line, you call that person a jerk without knowing anything else about them. If you make a mistake or misunderstand something, you are quick to call yourself an idiot. If you fail at one task, you judge yourself a loser."
If he didn't do well on that aptitude test, he'd be a failure. He just had to cheat, he had to. There was no other choice.
Anytime he hurt Sam or Tucker, ignoring them or blowing them off. Dragging them into his ghost-fighting, constantly putting them in danger. Why did they still like him? He was such a bad friend.
And his ghost powers. So strange. So creepy. He was a freak.
He didn't like this. He didn't like what this "therapy" was making him think.
He clutched his arms to himself and stared down at them. "There's just one more, right?"
Brandan looked at him with a frown. "Yes. Just one. Are you okay with me going over it?"
Danny nodded.
"Any chance I can get you to tell me how this is making you feel?"
He shook his head.
"All right. I'll go over this last one, then."
He braced himself.
"Tenth is should statements. You might use should statements to reprimand yourself for your shortcomings or for something you feel you failed at. As you can guess, such statements involve the word 'should.' If you do poorly on a test, you might think to yourself, 'I should study harder.' If someone corrects you on something, you might think, 'I should have known that.' When you're sitting around doing nothing, you might think, 'I should do something. I shouldn't be so lazy.' Such statements directed toward yourself result in guilt or shame. And if you are making these statements to yourself frequently, that guilt and shame become constant feelings."
Danny turned his attention to the window again. The sky was darker now.
I'm a Fenton. My parents are smart. Jazz is smart. I should be smart, too. I should be doing as well in school as Jazz does.
I'm clueless. Sam and Tucker keep telling me I am. Why am I so clueless? I shouldn't be so clueless.
And Sam and Tucker do so much for me. I should do more for them. I should stop letting them down.
And I should stop letting my parents down.
I want to study astronomy in college. But I'm bad at math. Why is that? I study and I try. I should be better at math.
I'm tired. It's late. But I should go out and take care of any ghosts.
But I should also get more sleep so I can stay awake during class tomorrow.
I shouldn't have made so many mistakes during that ghost fight. That should've been an easy win for me.
I've had my ghost powers for a year and a half now and I still suck. I should be better at this. I should at least be able to duplicate myself by now.
The town still doesn't completely trust Phantom. My parents still don't trust Phantom at all. I should do more to prove I'm not an enemy.
I should…
I shouldn't need therapy. I shouldn't need any of this. I should be stronger.
"Danny? Danny."
Danny turned from the window to face Brandan again.
"Is there anything you want to say about any of this?" asked Brandan. "Questions? Comments?"
Danny shook his head and glanced at the clock.
"We are indeed just about out of time," said Brandan. "So if there's nothing you want to say, I'd like to give you an assignment."
Danny narrowed his eyes. "Assignment? Like homework?"
"Yeah, basically. I don't want you to just do nothing this week with this new information. I want you to be thinking about it and how much it might be cropping up in your daily life."
"What exactly is this assignment? I have real homework, you know."
Brandan gave him a smile so infuriatingly pleasant. "Nothing difficult. I wouldn't ask you to do something that I think might overwhelm you."
Danny suppressed a curt response and waited for Brandan to continue.
"I want you to be aware of your cognitive distortions this week and try to recognize them when they occur." Brandan stood with his book and walked over to a printer in the corner. "I'm going to make a copy of these pages for you so you can remember them."
Danny watched Brandan place the book on the scanner bed but said nothing.
"I want you to keep a tally of every time you experience one of these distortions. So either on your phone or in a notebook. However you want to do it. Although a notebook might be better so that you can record them in school as well. I'm sure your teachers don't want you using your phone during class." Brandan handed Danny a couple of warm printed pages. "You don't need to date them or anything. All I want you to do is make a list of the errors and put a mark next to each one when you experience it. Just from now until next Monday."
Danny took the pages and eyed them warily. He imagined tearing them up, tossing them out the window of his mom's car or destroying them with an ectoplasmic blast.
"Okay?" said Brandan. "Does that make sense?"
Danny looked up at Brandan. "Is this something you're going to want to see?"
"I would like to see it, yes."
Danny skimmed over the descriptions of all the thinking errors. "So you want me to keep a tally of each time I experience one of these things."
"Yes."
"These distortions."
"That's right."
"But what if it's not a distortion? How can I know for sure? Like this last one, the should statements. What if I think that I should do my homework? I mean, what if that's just true and it's not a distortion? Or this personalization one. What if someone does say something to me and it is meant to insult me as a person?"
Dash. Dash always had some snide remark, and it was never just a mild slight. He'd surely have something crude to say to Danny tomorrow.
"What if it's not a thinking error?" demanded Danny. "What if it's just real?"
Brandan's expression softened. "I want you to count every instance that makes you think anything similar to the distortions there. Even if you're not sure. Even if you truly believe it's not a distortion. Mark it anyway."
Danny scowled at the printed pages.
"Our time is up. But will you do this, Danny?"
Danny folded the pages and gave a mute nod. Yes, he would do it. He promised his mother he would give this stupid therapy thing a fair try. He had made that deal with her. And if he wanted her to hold up her end, he had to hold up his.
He stood and placed the folded pages in his back pocket, then followed Brandan out the door to the waiting area.
"Well?" Maddie eagerly glanced from Danny to Brandan. "How'd it go?"
Brandan smiled at Danny. "It went very well. I'll see you next week, Danny."
Danny wanted to walk off without a word. But his mother was right there and would surely reprimand him for being so rude, especially to an adult—
—jumping to conclusions—?
And, well, he really shouldn't be so rude, the guy was just doing his job—
—should statement—?
"Ah, yes," he finally stammered. "See you next week."
Brandan gave him a small wave before heading back down the hall.
Outside, Danny numbly followed his mother down the stairs toward the parking lot.
"So tell me about it!" Maddie sounded cheerful. "What did you think of him? What did you talk about?"
Danny walked in step with her but kept his eyes down. "Can I have my phone back?"
"Oh, yes." Maddie rummaged through her purse. "But I want to know, sweetie! Tell me your thoughts! Do you think this might be helpful?"
"Mom."
Danny stopped walking. Maddie also stopped and frowned.
"If you're going to make me do this, then please don't make me talk about it."
Calm and even, he tried to sound polite. He looked slightly at the ground and not directly at her, but he could see her studying him on his periphery.
Maddie was quiet for a long moment before handing him his phone. "Okay," she said in almost a whisper.
He flinched at the small twinge of hurt in her tone. But what could he tell her anyway? She wanted good news, and he had none to give her. He hated the entire therapy session, hated everything that had happened. He definitely didn't think it had any value at all. Nothing useful or worth his time had happened that entire hour.
—filtering—?
In the passenger seat of his mother's car, he checked his phone calendar.
Seven more times.
From this point on, I don't know how frequently I'll be updating. I'm about halfway through writing it, but many of the chapters are quite long, so they take me a while to write and edit. But I'll do my best to not go too long between each chapter!