Danny glared at the space where his hand should have been, concentrating on the light tingles that ran throughout his fingers like tiny electric beads of energy. He felt the current in his fingers waver, and his hand flickered back into visibility.

That was no good. He pulled his eyebrows tighter together, willing his hand back out of the visible spectrum.

Danny sighed in relief and allowed his arm to fall to his side. He closed his eyes, and his body relaxed into the soft carpet below him. He could feel the stress leaking from his muscles. Even his chest, which seemed constantly at war against his fried nerve endings, felt at ease.

Much better.

Danny couldn't remember ever feeling so fake. He spent the whole day with his core under lock and key—feeling physically more human than ever—yet surrounded by teens who couldn't see him as anything more than Phantom.

The rest of his day at the PHP had been even worse than Danny thought it would be. With each new therapy came a new opportunity for the therapists to try to get Danny to open up. And when that happened, so did the stares and the tense silences which made him very much not want to speak, but then if he didn't speak he would have to return to inpatient, but that resulted in more stress which caused his voice to clam up and then he was stuck right where he started.

His physical therapy session hadn't come soon enough, and when Danny finally got to the clinic, he made sure to push himself as hard as his body would allow and then some. His physical therapist had commended him on the "great day," but Danny couldn't help but feel disappointed.

No matter what, it wasn't enough. He wasn't enough.

Because he was still trapped.

Footsteps sounded from the staircase. He bolted upright and glanced at his wheelchair beside him.

This was bad. This was really bad. The government was back and he had no way of escaping.

Goddamnit, if only his parents had given him access to his core, he could phase out of here and fly away. But he couldn't do that now. He could hardly keep his fingers invisible for over a minute without breaking a sweat.

He made motions towards his chair as a plan formed in his head. A very ill-formulated plan—one that was sure to cause him to lose a few teeth—but a plan nonetheless. But just as he touched the wheels of his chair, his door flung open.

He turned, fully prepared to use what little muscular strength he'd managed to build up in his legs to launch himself over to his captors, but he froze.

The people at the door weren't tall men in white suits and black sunglasses. There were no ecto-guns pointed at his face. There was no glowing green inhibitor ready to be clasped onto his neck.

It was Sam and Tucker, staring shyly at him in a way that reminded him of how they used to act around each other before they truly became friends.

"Hey, Danny." Sam gave him a small wave.

"Oh." Danny dropped his hold on his wheelchair. "Hey. Hi, guys."

For a moment, no one said anything. Sam stared at him with eyes that were progressively getting shinier by the second, and Tucker stood with his mouth hanging open, as if he couldn't believe Danny was there.

Danny fidgeted. There was so much unsaid emotion happening. The atmosphere was suffocating, and suddenly Danny was hyper aware of how uncomfortably he was sitting. He shifted so his legs were crisscrossed under each other and placed his arms in his lap. Maybe that would solve it. Maybe his posture was the source of his discomfort.

"Dude," Tucker said. "Holy shit."

"I—yeah, uh…"

Tucker shook his head. "You look...damn, what the hell did they feed you in there?"

The red package flashed in his mind, and Danny felt the blood drain from his face.

He wanted to snap at Tucker, to shout that he wasn't a dog and turn invisible because he hadn't seen his friends in weeks and the first thing they were going to bring up was his biggest point of shame and destruction in his life? Something so embarrassing that he hadn't told anyone about it?

Oh. Wait.

If he hadn't told anyone about it, then Sam and Tucker wouldn't know about it either. He was safe, then, and Tucker wouldn't have been referencing that thing. So then what was Tucker talking about?

He creased his eyebrows and looked down at his hands. He didn't think he looked any different than usual. Even though the Guys in White had forced him to consume...that, it hadn't drastically altered his appearance in the same way that his eyes would give off a light glow if he accidentally ate one of his mom's ectoplasm-infused dinners in human form.

His arm looked the same. It was a little thin, and his skin was a little pale, but it looked like a normal human arm. There were no globs of ectoplasm dripping from his skin, no inhuman glow encasing his form, nothing. It was just a normal arm.

He must have looked lost, because Sam supplied, "You look really healthy, Danny."

Oh.

Right.

He was reading too far into this. The last time Sam and Tucker had seen Danny, he was so underweight the doctors told him it was a miracle his organs were still functioning. He was on a special high-calorie diet filled with vanilla protein shakes, all with the goal of helping him regain what he lost.

It seemed like so long ago now, but it had only been a month since Danny had seen anyone outside the hospital. And so much had changed in that time.

"Oh...um, thanks?" He said, peeking at his friends from under his bangs. "I—uh...they had these...the protein—protein shakes. Made me drink them."

"Well, you look amazing," Sam said.

Danny felt like his face was on fire. He attempted to settle the topic with an "I'm glad you think that."

If anything, that made their reactions ten times worse.

"Oh, Danny." Sam sniffed, bringing one hand up to cover her mouth. "Wow."

"What?" He blindly reached over to his wheelchair again, hoping that maybe some height would make him seem less pitiful. But before he could pull the chair closer to him, Sam sank to the floor.

"I'm sorry. I told myself I wasn't going to do this. I promised I wasn't gonna cry." She wiped her eyes with the back of her fingers. "Ugh, sorry."

"No—it's. Um. I just...I just—" Danny tried to look at Tucker for help, but Tucker was avoiding eye contact with him now.

"I'm sorry?" Danny tried.

Sam's eyes snapped over to his. "No! God, Danny. Don't apologize. Please."

"I don't...I don't…"

"No, it's me, Danny. I'm sorry, it's me." Sam sniffed again and brushed unshed tears away from her eyes. She took a few deep breaths before glancing back over to Danny with that same damn shy expression as before.

Just what was going on right now?

"I know you don't like being touched anymore—"

Danny grimaced. It wasn't his fault that none of his nerve endings responded the same to physical stimulus anymore.

"—but would you mind if I hugged you? Just for a second?"

"Uh…" Danny trailed off. Since when did his friends ever ask him if it was okay to touch him? Normally they just barreled right into him, intangibility be damned. But, thinking back to his interactions with them a month before, he hadn't really allowed them near him, did he? Of course, they invaded his room anyway, no thanks to Jazz. But even then, they always sat a respectful distance away from him on separate chairs rather than piling on his bed like they would have done before his time with the GiW.

Something churned in Danny's gut. Had he really been that bad before that he made his own friends feel like they couldn't have physical contact with him now?

"Sure?"

She leaned into him slowly, raising her arms up towards him as if he would break as soon as she touched him.

But he didn't flinch, his eyes didn't waver, and when she finally made contact with him, he didn't pull away.

But he wanted to.

Arms wrapped around his waist, resting lightly on his back, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe. He couldn't remember the last time someone had held him with such care, such tenderness. He knew his family was still keeping their distance, still unsure about how much contact he could handle, but he didn't realize it had been this long since anyone had just...given him a hug.

And it bothered him.

The first time he woke up in the hospital, his parents had wrapped their arms around him similarly to this. Then, he felt nothing. He spent weeks after that mulling it over, wondering if maybe deep down inside he had been angry at them for letting the Guys in White force him away. Maybe he was just another Pavlov's dog, and he was only able to associate touch with pain now. Or maybe it wasn't that serious, maybe he had just been too drugged up to be able to process even a simple hug.

But it couldn't be the drugs from the hospital, because it still felt different to him. He still felt nothing.

He tried to melt into her embrace, pulling his own arms to fit around her slim body. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the familiar smell of her coconut shampoo, the one from that vegan company she liked so much.

"Danny," Sam's shaky voice sounded from his shoulder. "I missed you."

He felt something wet touch his neck, and he tightened his hold on her, desperate to ground himself in the moment. But the dampness from her tears reminded him of the way his skin felt for those last few weeks in his cell. Never dry, always trickling with loose ectoplasm.

Get a grip, Fenturd.

"Yeah. I missed you too," he managed to choke out.

Sam shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"For what? You didn't—"

"I—we tried. We tried so hard to get you out sooner. I'm sorry it didn't work."

He paused, then pulled back. What were they talking about? Hadn't they organized that protest for him? What more could he have asked from them? "It wasn't...it wasn't your fault. I know you tried."

Tucker shook his head. "No, dude. Like, we tried tried. We had a whole team of people—Ember, Frostbite. Hell, even Skulker—but nothing."

"Wait, hold up." Danny tilted his head, glancing between the duo with raised eyebrows. "Skulker? How did—how did you get Skulker? And, and Ember?"

"You remember that time last winter that Ember came over to listen to that band's new album? 'Cause she couldn't do that in the Ghost Zone?"

"Yeah...she...oh, she almost got...right? The Guys in White almost got her then?"

"Right, and you remember who came to save the day?"

"Um...it was...it was…" Danny ran his fingers through his hair. That day was fuzzy. He remembered that Ember came over, and they were listening to the album up on the roof of the Nasty Burger while eating some fries some drunk teenager handed him in the parking lot. But then, a net came out of nowhere and grabbed Ember.

And after that, everything was blank, as if someone had burned a hole in the middle of his memory.

"Skulker, I guess?"

Tucker nodded, his face contorting into an expression that Danny couldn't read. "Skulker came. He'd been watching Ember the whole time. Didn't want her crossing over by herself, I guess." He grinned. "Though, if you ask me, I'd say he has a crush on—"

"Ugh, Tucker! Gross! Don't even joke about that!" Sam scowled.

"Right, you keep thinking that!"

"No, we're not having this conversation again!"

"Sure, Sam…"

Danny blinked, head turning between them. For the first time ever, he was on the outside of their bantering.

It felt...odd.

"Point is," Sam continued. "Ember almost got kidnapped, and neither of us were there to help you guys. And they had the whole building surrounded in no time, mind you. But Skulker of all ghosts actually showed up, blew up the Guys in White's van engines, freed Ember, and got you both away from there."

"Oh. Whoa."

"Yeah, whoa. So when he heard you were taken, he actually came to us wanting to help."

Danny's fingers twitched. He started to raise his arm, but then, thinking better of it, lowered his fingers down to run along the carpet. His movements were rigid, and when he spoke, his voice was tight. "And what did...him and Frostbite...what did they think they could do? Find me? Break me—break me out? And then what?"

Their silence, as well as the blanket of unease that had settled over the group, was all Danny needed as a response.

His shoulders sagged. "You couldn't...there was no way. I tried, and that didn't...it doesn't matter."

Danny felt a hand drape his shoulder, and he looked up to see Sam's eyes fixated on him.

"It does matter, Danny. You matter to us. And we would have never forgiven ourselves if we didn't try to get you out, even if it was impossible. You're our friend, and we care about you."

"Yeah." He broke eye contact. "I'm sorry. I put you through so much and I—I didn't think. You guys didn't know. I mean...what—what do you guys know now? Has—has Jazz told you anything? About what happened in...in there?"

"Uh…" Tucker started. His gaze flickered over to Sam. "I mean...Jazz told us some stuff. Other stuff I think we were able to infer. Like uh...your...you know…"

Danny could feel the looming presence of his wheelchair and walker next to his bed. And apparently, so could Sam and Tucker, because suddenly their eyes were flickering between Danny and his wheelchair, and he could see the inevitable question on their lips.

Maybe they wouldn't ask. But then again, if they did, would it really matter if they knew? They were his best friends, and friends were supposed to tell each other these things.

Hell, they'd been there for the portal, they were there during all the time's he'd been bitten or stabbed by all sorts of unsavory characters.

Maybe it would be okay.

He took a deep breath. "That's what happened when I tried to escape."

Tucker froze, and Sam ripped her arm off his shoulder and brought it to her mouth, her eyes growing in size by the second.

"Holy shit, dude," Tucker breathed.

Danny lowered his head. This was a mistake. He shouldn't have told them. They were only going to pity him more than they already did.

"It's fine, I'm pretty over it at this point. It's...wanna play Doomed instead?"

"Oh...Danny..."

"How did—I mean, what did they—"

"I—I can't remember when it happened," Danny said.

This was a disaster. He was going to have to tell them now, which is something his therapist would be proud of because that would mean he was being open and honest with his loved ones. So he should be fine telling them, right? This shouldn't be a big deal.

He just had to power through this. "Everything kind of...blurred together at some point. But a guard—the guy who gave me dinner—he opened the door and I had this...this protocol…" He was fine. He could do this.

"What was the protocol?" Sam asked.

"Um it was...it's not important." He remembered it too well. Stand in the back of the cell, against the wall, facing the agent. Refuse and be punished. "But there was a...he—the guard would shut the window and unlock the door. And in that—that moment, when he opened the...the door and I push—pushed him. I pushed him down. He fell, and I ran."

"Oh no…"

"It was stupid."

"Danny, no it wasn't."

Sam went to wrap her arm around him again, but he shrugged her off, turning his head away from her.

"I wasn't thinking. He still had his...communi...communication device in his ear. So when I turned down the—the hallway, he told...told...uh...it was over. I was—was ambushed before I knew it. Electrocuted. Dragged to a room with Operative...the head operative, and he had a metal...a metal bat I think, and it was over."

"And they left you like that? Just beat you to the point of paralysis and then left you to rot?"

"Sam," Tucker hissed.

"No, that's—that can't be legal! That's torture! They can't do that, even if you are half-ghost. They can't do that!"

He frowned. "I mean, was it really a secret? What did you—did you think? When you saw me in the hospital?"

"I don't know." Tucker said. "Obviously we knew something happened. It felt like every time we talked to Jazz, you were in the operating room undergoing another surgery, or you were recovering from a surgery. So we knew something happened."

"And my speech. It's not...not the same."

There was another awkward silence, before Sam said, "We didn't wanna ask. But it seems better. Than the last time we saw you, I mean."

"It's fine." Danny shrugged. This was exhausting. "They think I...I, uh fell asleep on a concussion...at some point. It wouldn't...surprise me."

"It was that bad," Tucker said.

"It…" Danny's voice trailed off. He had been ready to deny it, but the proof was right in front of them.

They were his best friends. He needed to trust them.

Sam and Tucker were silent, probably processing everything that was happening. How all their worst fears about life inside a secret government anti-ghost compound were likely coming true. Danny could see the last of their denial leaving their face. They'd tried their best to find him, even going to Danny's enemies like Skulker for help, with nothing but speculation to go off of, and for what?

He'd already talked about the paralysis incident with his parents in therapy extensively. Not willingly, of course, but it was something he had to do before they would release him, and he'd really wanted to be released so he could get access to his core back.

Lot of good that did him now. He was home and still sans powers.

He thought back to that day. The therapist had already told his parents what happened—to prepare them, she'd told Danny—but that didn't matter. They both started crying the minute Danny started the story.

It was funny how time worked. That therapy session seemed like it happened months ago.

But even then, there were things he didn't talk about, like how for the next few days he lay in his cell, surrounded by a pool of his ectoplasm, passing out and waking up so often that he didn't know how much time had passed. He remembered the chilling feeling as he realized that no one was coming to help him, that he really might die there. And then he remembered when the click of the door finally sounded, revealing two operatives who stood there, ordering him to "get up, ghost." But he couldn't stand up, they knew he couldn't do it.

They had taken their time with him that day, mocking him. He was weak, pathetic, disgusting.

"You really thought your little Houdini act would work, ghost? I know you lot are stupid, but that's just sad."

"Hah, are you gonna cry, ghost? Are you crying for Mommy and Daddy right now?"

He remembered that morning, and he so desperately wished he didn't, because when the operatives were finished having their fun with him, they punished him for not following orders.

For not standing up.

Danny frowned. He still hadn't told anyone about that. He couldn't…

Oh, right. Sam and Tucker were still here, still living with microscopic breadcrumbs of knowledge of Danny's reality.

What was the question again?

Danny glanced up at Tucker. "Don't you have homework?"

"Nah," Tucker said, waving him off. "Lancer was nice to us today."

Danny stared at Tucker, his lips twitching upward in some poor attempt to grin, just like the old times. "You're such a—a shit liar. You know?"

"Must be a new ghost power. Nobody can see through my charming gaze."

Danny snorted, his mind wandering to last night. He thought this would be so easy last night, but he hadn't exactly been in his right mind then. He was happy and full of bliss, but it was all a lie.

Last night, he thought that telling them wouldn't be so hard. Hell, they had seen him bloody and beaten more times than he could count. Just because this time it was done by the government, and not one of his ghostly foes...

But now the drugs had worn off, and reality was hitting him like a ton of bricks.

He knew he could tell them about some things. He could tell them about how the Guys in White would strap him down in a tube chamber, testing different chemicals on him to see how his body would react. He could tell them about how one day they surrounded him with blood blossoms to try to harness the electricity from the flowers and use it for energy.

Danny was almost thankful that one was a dead end. It turned out his ectoplasm was more powerful than the blood blossom electricity.

But there were some things he still couldn't say. Like the time he was strapped to a table, conscious—though barely—and taunted with metal knives and other sharp objects. He couldn't tell them about how just minutes later, the knives were brought to his skin and he had to lie there helpless and watch the ectoplasm trickle down his chest and pool around his sides, dripping off the table and splashing against the tiled floor. How the room started blurring and then, before he knew it, he was forced into consciousness by the feeling of fire and the sight of green-stained gloves inside his body, groping around for his core.

And just how violated he felt. Like the last of his innocence had been stolen from him right along with the chunk of his core they extracted. And that was the real reason why he wasn't allowed access to his ghost core, because it was scarred and damaged now just like the rest of his body.

Ugh, he was stupid for inviting them here. He couldn't tell them what they wanted to know.

This wasn't a typical ghost fight. This wasn't a time where he needed a few stitches in his arm, some Advil, water, and a good night's sleep to heal.

This was permanent.

And then there was another matter entirely, the one with the red bag. And the sight of it, the smell, and the taste and—

"Earth to Commander Fenton! Do you copy?"

Danny's head jerked up, and he realized where he was again: in his room, tense, with two concerned faces hovering over him.

He forced his shoulders to relax. "Yeah—yeah, sorry. Just, the timeline...weird."

Sam gave him an encouraging smile. "I know it's a lot, but we're here for you. We'll stay as long as you need, homework be damned."

"Fuck homework," Tucker agreed.

"Yeah." Danny sighed.

Reality sucked.

"Um..."

"Danny, how did they get you?" Sam asked.

"What do you mean?"

"When they kidnapped you. I mean, what even happened?"

"They ambushed my house. You know—I heard it made the news—and...they dragged me away. Into the van."

"We, uh…saw some footage of that. Videos people took. You know," Tucker said.

Danny pretended not to hear that. "My parents tried to fight them, but they pinned them down. Shot a bullet in the floor next to...to my dad. I couldn't...fight back. Couldn't fight back. So they put the inhibitors on me and that was it, I was done."

"Damn."

"Yeah, I mean, it wasn't all bad…"

Sam wiped her eyes. "That's bullshit and you know it."

That almost sounded like their confrontation before Danny was admitted to inpatient, before Dash caught him in the middle of a breakdown and got Lancer involved.

"I was in my cell most of the time."

In the darkness, with the smell of ectoplasm and the red bag permeating the air, cold and shaking, constantly fighting against his body's pain receptors or the clawing hunger in his stomach.

"And the rest of the time?"

Danny shrugged. "It depended. Most of it wasn't...wasn't horrible. They didn't do much."

Tucker raised his eyebrows.

"I mean…" Danny shifted. He needed to give them something, or else they were just going to accuse him of lying again. "I...uh, how do I say this...at first, they mainly just wanted to understand ghost—ghost biology. You know? Typical stuff. And they had other—uh, lower level...ghosts to compare me with. Tested my ectoplasm against theirs. They realized my ectoplasm was more...potent. Because my body is more dense than an—an average ghost. I don't know. But they would have me flat on a table...and there would be a—uh...they would take some. I would just lie there and they'd have a tube in my arm. It was...boring."

"And then?"

"I tried to escape...and things changed. They got worse. I don't remember most of it, but they made me...I wasn't—I couldn't eat anymore. I could barely move, and one of my arms was busted. I couldn't eat, so they would...granola bars, and...it—it was red, like one for, you know—and it...they...and…"

"There's a good dog," Operative O's voice hissed in his ear. "See, was that so hard?"

Danny's throat burned. He felt something trickle down his cheeks. Was it ectoplasm? Tears? Bile? He didn't know. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.

It was too hot in here. But he was so cold.

"I'm only doing my job. If you were a better trained dog, we wouldn't have to do this, now would we? It's not my fault we're in this position. Don't you get it?"

"—what was red?"

Danny flinched, startled. "Huh?"

"The red thing?" Tucker asked. "With the granola bars?"

"Granola bars?" Danny breathed. "I don't...I don't remember. I'm sorry. I don't know why I brought that up. It's not...I don't remember why they brought the bag in. It was probably just to collect samples. For storage. I don't know, I'm sorry."

Sam and Tucker exchanged a look with each other. Another silent conversation.

"Everything is jumbled. I don't remember most of it."

"It's okay." Sam plastered an obviously fake smile on her face. "We can do something else if you want?"

Danny looked down at his hand. It was shaking.

"You up for some Doomed? Or think you're too rusty to take us dweebs on?"

"Yeah," Danny forced out. "Doomed sounds great. Let's...let's do that."

He was fine, after all. Reality sucked but he was here and alive and with his friends who cared about him very much. He could play Doomed with them. It was his favorite game, right?

So why did he feel like there was a wall in between them?

They could hear the yelling as soon as they stepped out of the elevator.

"Oh dear," Maddie said, hesitating beside Danny. "I hope everything's alright."

Danny hummed in response and focused on the voices. Stretching his sensitive hearing, past the muffled babble, he was able to pick out one distinct word.

"...Ghost…"

"I think we should wait out here," Maddie said. "At least until it's calmed down in there."

Danny pushed himself forward. Had he heard wrong?

No, that was impossible. He knew what he heard.

"I'm sure it's fine," he said, trying to ignore the way his stomach squirmed.

Ghost.

"Danny, I'm not sure…"

"All I have to do is sign in, anyways." Danny pushed himself closer to the door. The voices were getting louder on the other side. He could pick out more words now from the muffled yelling.

"...unsafe...vicious..."

"It's not like we have to—to hang around the lobby."

"Wait, I don't think—"

But Danny had stopped listening. His hand was already on the door handle, his heart was already thumping in his chest, and his head was already swimming with pain from his chest and back and everything else going on.

"I thought you were running a professional clinic here!" the woman's voice on the other side cried out.

There, that was all he needed to rip open the door to the lobby, where he immediately locked eyes with the owner of the raised voice.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him. "My daughter came here to heal. I can't sit quietly while I know she's here with that—that thing putting her safety at risk!"

Whatever Danny was about to say, whatever half-baked plan he had constructed in the corners of his curiosity vanished in an instant. He looked up at the woman twice his height, her finger extended out to him, scorn etched on her features, and Danny shut down.

That thing, his brain echoed. He was just a thing. Just some piece of trash kicked off the sidewalk into the street where cars could run over him.

He used to be something back before he stupidly outed himself on national television. Someone admired by most in the town. A ghost, sure, but a ghost with a purpose.

But not anymore.

The therapist swiftly moved between them. "Danny," she said gently. "Please wait out—"

That thing.

He wasn't human. Hell, he wasn't even a ghost. What was he? What right did he have to be here?

"How dare you," came his mother's voice from behind him. "That is my son you're talking about. How dare you imply—"

"And you, what the hell were you thinking? Enrolling your science experiment in—"

"He is a child!"

No. No he wasn't.

Danny felt someone push him away from the raised voices, but he couldn't see where they were going. All he could see was the expression the woman had on her face.

Disgust.

Repulsion.

Fear.

That was it. She was afraid of him, wasn't she?

Maybe...maybe Operative O was right. Maybe all those days being tested and tortured were for something. Maybe they were all right back in the compound.

Maybe he was just a rabid dog.

A door closed behind him, and one part of his brain played the sound of his cell doors shutting in the Guys in White facility—that soft click bouncing off the walls of his mind—while the other part of his brain reminded him that he wasn't there he was outside the compound where the government couldn't get him, but then that was a lie too because he would never escape them, not really.

There was a therapist in front of him now. She was talking to him, Danny was sure of it. He could see her lips moving and he could hear a voice in the room but he couldn't understand what she was saying. The words didn't make sense together. It was just noise, just like everything else. It didn't matter. It was noise.

His core thrummed in his chest, and he could feel the prickles of intangibility dance along his fingertips. More than anything, his core wanted to escape. To get away. Fly out the window and soar through the sky. Who cares if anyone saw him? It wasn't like his leaving the hospital was a secret any longer. By tonight, the woman from the lobby would be all over the news, telling the story of how she only narrowly escaped the sharp claws of that rabid animal known as Danny Phantom. The disgusting, vile ghost masquerading as a human teen. How horrid that he'd managed to infiltrate a PHP program to prey on the defenseless, traumatized teens.

Everyone was going to know about him now.

Nothing mattered.

The therapist moved in closer to him, her lips still moving. He made eye contact with her, and she nodded encouragingly. But it didn't matter.

There was no more hiding. No more running away.

Danny Phantom was back.

He was a monster.

"There's a good dog."

Thanks for reading! And, as always, thanks to imekitty for betaing!

Follow me on tumblr lexosaurus