Wowow it's been a minute, huh?
Fic summary: Danny was accidentally revealed by Skulker via a faulty weapon from Vlad, the GiW swoop him up the next day. He stays at their facility for a month until the Fentons win a court case to bring him home. He recovers in the hospital, and then tries to go back to school but is sent to an inpatient mental health facility. He stays there for a few weeks until he's stable, and then goes home. As soon as he leaves the inpatient building, he asks that the chip blocking his powers (no weapons allowed in inpatient) be removed, but his parents told him his core was too damaged and it needed to be in longer. Vlad comes over and threatens Danny, saying that he has records of the specific torture/experimentation details from the GiW and if Danny reveals Vlad, then Vlad will release the files. Last chapter, Danny found out that his parents had been lying about his core still being damaged. They made a deal that if Danny can go back to school successfully, then they will remove the inhibitor chip.
(Two months ago)
He was dead.
That was absolute. There was simply no other explanation for how he ended up in a comfortable bed. The Guys in White certainly would never have allowed this.
But he was comfortable. There was no pain. What did that mean?
Maybe they were testing different drugs on him. Seeing how he'd react. That would explain why his brain was so foggy, why he was so confused. They probably needed him to heal after they tore apart his body on the dissection table.
That, or—the more obvious answer—he was dead.
For a brief moment, he wondered what would even happen if a half-ghost died, but then his brain started hurting and the fog started singing out to him to let its warm embrace comfort him, and Danny would be a fool to resist that.
And then, just as he was about to relinquish the last of his lucidity to this thick haze, he started hearing whispers, murmurs, beeping. That terrible, nauseating beeping sound that knifed through the fog and pulled him into consciousness. Voices followed, saying words around him that Danny couldn't understand, but they were loud and obnoxious and Danny just wanted to go back to the fog—please, go back to safety.
He didn't want to wake up in the compound. He liked it better when he thought he was dead.
One of the voices had gotten closer to him. But it sounded off. It was...soothing.
But that was impossible. None of the operatives would ever talk like that.
It must have been the drugs they were giving him. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe his brain was so starved for comfort that it was spinning it out of thin air. Maybe he was finally coming apart.
He tried to groan, but something was stopping his throat from making sounds.
The tube. Of course, they must have been force-feeding him.
He tried to lift his arm and fight back against the tube, but he felt a hand push his arm back down. Fear that his only working limb would be taken from him gripped his heart, but to his surprise, the hand just gave him a tender squeeze.
But there was no way that was real.
No way.
It had to be a lie.
The darkness called out to him again, and Danny was happy to meet it.
Jazz was talking to him. He could hear her voice and he could hear the individual words, but he couldn't make out any sentences. It was as if his brain could only remember one word at a time. The fog was too thick, too oppressive.
Her tone rose, and some part of Danny registered that she was asking him a question. But he didn't know what the question was, and he was too tired to try to figure it out. It was all he could do to stare at her, trying not to look too blank.
Apparently, his lack of response didn't phase her. She paused, her smile never faltering, before she continued the one-sided conversation.
Danny closed his eyes, relaxing against the mattress. Sometimes in the facility, he used to pretend Jazz was there keeping him company. He would never admit this to her, but he'd missed the sound of her voice.
The fog was getting thicker, and it was getting harder and harder to understand even individual words now.
But he liked it better this way.
Pain.
His world was pain.
He tried to go back to the darkness, but it wouldn't come when beckoned. It stayed just out of reach, taunting him from afar.
But this pain shouldn't have surprised him. He should have been used to it by now. The Guys in White had never been merciful. He'd just been spoiled by this brief stint in the hospital.
Another wave of pain rolled over him, and he must have failed to keep it in because he felt a hand touch his forehead. He braced himself, expecting the worst, but the hand just rubbed his skin with a tenderness that sent panic down his spine.
The electricity would follow, surely.
But it didn't.
Confusion overtook his thoughts, lifting the fog just enough for him to remember that he wasn't with the Guys in White anymore. Somehow he'd been released, and now he was in the hospital.
His eyes fluttered open. Nurses flitted around him, keeping busy, and above him stood his parents. They were hazy—the fog wasn't letting his eyes focus on them—but he saw their strained eyes and soft smiles. His mother had a hand extended down to him and was rubbing her thumb across his forehead.
She opened her mouth and spoke to him, but her voice was coming in and out like a bad cell reception. But he was able to make out one word: "…surgery…"
The pain was fading now, replaced by a dense fog that lifted his body up and carried him away.
He stepped into the fog, allowing his mind to float elsewhere.
He could come back later.
"...Danny?" Jazz's voice sounded from next to him.
His eyes trailed over to see her looking back at him expectantly. But he couldn't tell what she wanted.
It was too hard. The fog was still too dense.
"Yeah." His tongue felt heavy, making it difficult to get words out. He hoped his response was adequate.
Jazz's eyes lit up, and she beamed down at him. Relief spread through him. His response must have been alright.
"Yeah? That's okay?" she asked.
Danny hummed. Saying that one word had taken too much out of him. There was a gate on his throat locking his voice inside his body.
Jazz tapped something on her phone, and music filled the quiet room, relaxing his muscles and filling his brain with an old comfort.
Yes, that was right. He was here safe in this bed. He didn't need to think about anything or feel any pain. There was no government, no broken bones, no scalpels, no electricity.
He could just be free to let his thoughts melt into the darkness, into the fog. He could just be...free.
Some days he managed to convince himself that his time with the Guys in White had all been a dream. A really bad, terribly detailed dream.
But then something would happen that would send his whole world crashing down.
Currently, it was the pain like white hot needles stabbing in his chest. It was blinding, and if it weren't for the oxygen mask on Danny's face, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to breathe.
The doctor was currently talking to his parents, using words that Danny could understand but he wished he couldn't. Nerve damage, paralysis, therapy.
Danny tried to imagine they were talking about some other patient in a different room. But there was only so much ignorance he could cling to when fire was licking his chest and torso, radiating throughout his body.
But not his legs.
Danny tried to ignore that.
"Chest," Danny mumbled, trying to draw the doctor's attention.
"What's that, dear?" his mother asked.
"Chest hurts."
There was a brief pause as his parents exchanged a glance. "Sorry, one more time, dear?"
He licked his lips and tried again. "Chest…"
"Oh, your chest is bothering you?" the doctor said, coming to his side.
Danny tried to make what he hoped was a sound of approval.
The doctor grabbed a clipboard off the table and flipped through the sheets of paper. "Huh, sheesh, kid. You have one heck of a metabolism."
His mother smoothed out the hair on his head.
He wished she would stop.
"Sorry, sweetie. It may take us a little bit to find the right dosage for you."
Danny didn't care what they did. He just wanted this pain to stop. He wanted to go back to the fog where his brain could float, detached from his body. He wanted to sleep, escape to his dreams where nothing was wrong with him.
Every day he woke up in the hospital, the fog was becoming less and less, and reality was starting to seep into his consciousness.
He didn't know if he could face reality.
The adults started talking again, but the fire on Danny's chest wasn't going away. It was only burning worse with each passing minute.
He closed his eyes, trying to block out everything and go back into the fog, but it wouldn't welcome him. And the fire on his chest was unbearable, like his skin was peeling off.
He couldn't take it anymore. His eyes flung open, and he frantically scanned the room. But it was empty.
He was alone.
They wanted him to start physical therapy as soon as his chest allowed it. Which, due to his accelerated healing, was far too soon.
The therapists and nurses were talking to him constantly. Giving him words of encouragement, helping him balance. Making him sit, stretch, bend over, stand.
They told him that the majority of his recovery would happen within the first six months. They said his muscles were too tight, atrophied, he had too much inflammation in his spine. It was going to hurt at first, but it would get easier with time. He just had to be persistent, let them help him, give his best effort.
And he just couldn't do that.
"Alright, kid. Let's sit up."
He let himself be guided up.
"We're going to learn how to transfer to a wheelchair today, alright?"
He nodded numbly, going through the motions they set for him, just like he always did. Wake up, follow orders, go back to sleep.
And rinse and repeat.
Danny wanted to go home.
"You're having trouble with the wheelchair, Danny?" Jazz had asked him one day.
"No."
"Then what's going on?"
Danny refused to look into her eyes. "Fly."
"Your ghost half can fly, but your human half needs its independence too," Jazz had countered.
"You need to get up and moving, Danno," Jack's voice—one that seemed far too soft, too concerned—said from his other side. "You'll feel better once you do."
"It's hard now, but it'll get easier in time. I promise."
But that was a lie because it wasn't getting easier, it was getting harder. And with each passing day the fog was leaving him bit by bit, forcing him into the present day even more.
Danny didn't like that. He didn't like being aware.
But the hospital wouldn't let him give up, it seemed. Because one day a therapist strolled into the room with a dark-skinned man in a wheelchair behind her. She beamed at him, her blonde ponytail bobbing behind her. "We have someone here to help today!"
According to the therapist, the man was a Paralympic athlete. Danny didn't know what his name was—for some reason, he couldn't remember—but the man had said that he was in a car accident while training for the Olympics, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down.
"It's difficult," the athlete had said, pushing his own chair down the hall, kindly not mentioning Danny's obvious struggle to keep up. "The first few months are the hardest. There's a lot of things you need to adjust for now, things you wouldn't have known about. But it gets easier. I promise."
Danny panted behind him, stopping to rest. His arms were sore, and his chest was yelling in protest.
The athlete swiveled around, his brows lifting in concern. "You alright?"
The words stumbled out of Danny's mouth before he could stop them. "How? How do—how do you…" He screwed up his face, forcing the words to form on his lips. "I'm supposed to—to be—to be a hero and...I can't...I just…"
The athlete slowly moved until he was right in front of Danny. "No one said this was going to be easy. And I won't lie, it sucks sometimes. Really hard. But Danny…" He leaned forward, forcing their eyes to meet. "You don't have to be a hero all the time. When you're ready, the world outside will be there waiting for you. But for now it's okay to just take it one day at a time, focus on yourself."
One day at a time. That's what he did. He focused on sitting, transferring, eventually standing, taking his first steps, failing over and over. Just one day at a time.
There was plenty of encouragement, so many voices cheering him on when he met yet another milestone. This was progress. It was bitter work, but it was progress all the same.
But progress was so damn hard. And he was too tired to keep up.
The wall passed him by, doctors and nurses fluttering around, only stopping to give him a cursory glance. A few eyes lingered, but most had other things to do, more important tasks than to look at Danny Phantom.
"Are you excited, Danno?" Jack's strained voice asked from above. "You're going home for good."
"Finally our family will be whole again," Maddie said.
Danny opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat.
What was he going to say? Did he have an answer?
He tilted his head to the side. The tiles were white and blue. A bright blue, soft. And the white was speckled with grey. It looked nothing like the stark halls in the GiW.
There was life, cacophony, people in scrubs holding clipboards and talking to other people of all different heights, sizes, hair colors, and styles.
It was nothing like being with the government. Nothing like it.
They turned into a hallway, where there were fewer people in scrubs and more people wearing different clothing, people of different heights and ages all suddenly turned towards him.
No, it was fine. The fog was there to guide him.
"Jazz pulled the van up front so we won't have to go very far once we're outside," Maddie said.
Danny was too busy watching the world happen around him with all its swirling colors and emotions to care about the van.
That was one of the negatives since he'd arrived here. Emotions were so much more intense at a hospital. So much stress and worry. And his ghost side was…
Well, it wasn't like he could ignore it. The deep ache in his chest, the hunger that didn't really feel like hunger at all. But instead was something much deeper, much more primal.
Something flashed in his mind, and his throat closed. The Guys in White had been starving him—that he knew—but for some reason...there was something else? Some faint wisps of green and choking and something that he couldn't...quite...remember…
Click!
Danny blinked the spots out of his vision just in time for another bright flash in his face.
"Get away from our son!" Maddie yelled. "Get him out!"
Jack stepped in front of Danny, blocking him from view just as another click went off.
There was a commotion—one that Danny couldn't see—a scuffle. Some shouting, another series of camera clicks, shoes squeaking on the tile as feet were being shoved away, a deep voice yelling over the clamor.
Click!
"Are you finished?" the deep baritone of an operative sounded from the doorway.
"Not quite," a reedy voice responded. "I'm double checking my measurements, and then I still need to go over the psychological assessment before I can pass him off to you."
A man stepped into Danny's view wearing a white lab coat. His eyes were pinched, surveying the ghost up and down as if he were a rare artifact. He raised a camera to his eyes, obscuring his face from view.
Click!
Danny blinked lazily. His head was too stuffy to think straight, but whatever drugs the government had injected him with before seemed to be wearing off. The man in the lab coat hadn't mentioned re-drugging him yet.
Good. If he could just think properly then maybe he could find a way out...
"Hurry," the operative said. "You know how Operative O doesn't like to be kept waiting."
The man pulled the camera away from his face. His nose, like his eyes, were sharp. Precise. "Tell Operative O he'll have his turn once I'm done here. But for now, the specimen is mine."
Click!
"Sorry about that, honey," Maddie said.
Danny looked around, but he was back in the hospital. Jack was in front of him, but through the gaps of his figure, Danny could see the faces around him. And they were all looking at him.
Did they want something?
"They're all outside," Jack whispered to Maddie, but Danny heard anyway. "Jazz said the crowd's worse by the van."
"We have security. It'll…" Maddie glanced down at Danny, her face unreadable. "It'll be okay."
Jack stepped back around Danny, giving him a full view of the dozens of whispering faces, pointing, so many people.
The fog started creeping back in, and Danny nearly sighed in relief.
"It's okay. Let's go, son. It's time to bring you home."
Danny bobbed his head in agreement because he wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, there were too many people around him, too many phones out and lights beaming outside and the lights grew larger because now he was being pushed towards the exit.
The murmuring grew louder until it was a dull roar. Fresh air hit his face, and tall men in dark clothes surrounded him. But even then, the camera lights flashed too bright.
"Phantom! Over here!"
"Look this way!"
"Phantom, a word for the paper?"
"Can you give a statement about your time with the—"
"—explain why you're in a—"
"—discuss your injuries and—"
"—look over—"
"—government—"
"—Phantom—"
"—Danny."
Danny noticed a firm grip on his shoulder. It was his dad, who was now looking down at him, his body once again shifting to block the yelling and lights and cameras to his side. "We're going to put you in the van now, okay?"
Danny didn't know if he nodded or not. Regardless, his dad seemed to understand, pushing his wheelchair onto the ramp, one that was originally added to the car for large ectoplasmic machinery.
But now it had a different use.
"I got you, son."
Hands spread around him, strapping him into the vehicle. Danny paid no mind, the fog was growing too thick. Too comforting. He closed his eyes, basking in the warmth and silence.
Silence. The door was shut.
And then the engine started, and the car moved, and Danny kept his eyes closed because if he opened them, then he would look outside and see the cameras and the people.
Silence.
The voices woke him up.
He used to be a much heavier sleeper. The accident had changed that, though the government had reinforced it further. Gone were the nights where he could sleep uninterrupted for hours on end. Now, his body was constantly ready for the next danger.
Jack let out a boisterous laugh through the walls, and for a moment Danny could almost pretend that it was any other Saturday afternoon in the Fenton household.
But then he saw his wheelchair and remembered that he still couldn't feel the tickle of his pajama pants on his skin, and reality hit him like a ton of bricks.
The muffled voices got closer to the stairwell, and then one let out a small chuckle.
Danny's heart stopped.
He'd recognize that laugh anywhere. It was higher in pitch than Sam's laugh but not as smooth. Feminine, bright, fun, yet tough. Someone who'd seen more than she should have for a high schooler. Someone who, like Danny, had to learn on the job how to fight, protect those they loved, how to live.
The footsteps travelled to the stairs, and then Jack's voice exclaimed, "He's the first door on the right! We'll be in the lab if you need anything. Thanks for dropping by, he could use an old friend!"
The air was sucked out of his lungs, and dread pooled in his stomach. He gasped, forcing air into his body, but it was as if his throat were replaced by a coffee straw.
No...no...stop it...stop…
He couldn't do this. Not right now.
There were things he needed to say, questions he needed to answer, but not now...not today...he just woke up…
The footsteps hopped up the stairwell and shuffled up the hall. They stopped outside, pausing for far too long, before a light knock rapped at his door.
Danny's tongue dried instantly. What should he do? Respond?
How?
"Danny?" A voice wavered on the other side of the wood. "Can I come in?"
I don't know, he wanted to say.
He wanted her to come through the door so badly, but...he also didn't. He was weak, thin, frail, fragile, there was a wheelchair next to his bed, scars across his body, his hair was messy, he was in his bed. He couldn't see her. Not like this.
There was a pregnant pause, one where Danny could only helplessly stare at the door as panic overtook his every breath. The fog seemed to recognize this and drifted over, providing him a blanket of safety.
Good. Let it stay. Please, stay.
Stay.
The doorknob slowly twisted, and the door creaked open, revealing a girl in a yellow sweater and orange skirt, her hair pulled back in a matching orange headband.
Valerie Gray stepped over the threshold. She stared at him, her eyes surveying every inch of his body, her lips parted slightly as if whatever speech she had planned had evaporated into thin air at the sight of him.
She made no further movement towards him. Because of him.
Because of the government.
The fog pulled him away, and Danny didn't struggle against it. Focusing was too hard, thinking was too painful. It just reminded him of what he was.
He leaned back against his pillows and let his eyes roll over to the wall. The tiny flecks, chips in the paint. He could touch them if he raised his hand, but he didn't want to do that.
"Danny, I—" Valerie said.
She said something else, but Danny forgot what it was as soon as it left her mouth. It was fine...it was fine…
She hated ghosts, she hated him. But she liked Fenton. But she hated Phantom. What was she going to say now? It didn't matter, he couldn't hear her.
The door burst open at the other end of the hall, and Danny vaguely heard Jazz's panicked exclamation of "Valerie?" But he didn't understand why his sister would be so afraid. After all, Phantom was the only one who had unresolved issues with Valerie, not Jazz. What was she so afraid of?
"You need to leave."
Danny hummed. If everyone could leave, that would be even better. Leave him alone in his bed. He could fall asleep comfortably. The government never let him sleep in a bed. They never gave him a blanket. He was just a ghost, why would a ghost need a blanket?
Ghosts didn't need to be warm.
"Danny," Valerie whispered.
"This isn't a good idea. Please understand," Jazz said.
What wasn't a good idea? Sleeping in a bed?
No, that didn't seem like Jazz. She was always encouraging him to rest, even before he was revealed. She never thought he slept enough.
Danny wanted to ask what she meant, but talking was such an impossible task, and he figured that if it was truly important, Jazz would explain herself anyway. She always talked more than Danny. It wouldn't be too unusual.
Valerie said something, and Jazz responded, but the words were too muddled. Danny looked over, hoping for at least some clarification, and then he finally made eye contact with her.
Valerie.
His ex-girlfriend. His rival.
The Red Huntress.
And he saw it. The shock, distress, pain on her face. At him? For him? He didn't know, and it didn't matter. Because seconds later, she turned heel and stormed away.
The front door slammed shut, and then the house was silent again.
"I don't expect you to adjust back to school right away," Mr. Lancer said, his hands steepled on his desk.
Danny didn't remember entering the office. Maybe it was too early.
Come to think about it, Jazz hadn't come to school with him that morning. Was he at school before her? No, that couldn't be right…
"While we don't have any official IEP documentation set up for you yet, given the circumstances, your teachers and I are willing to make extra accommodations for you as we work with your parents in putting a plan in place. And I assure you that I will be working closely with your teachers to ensure that your transition back to school goes as smoothly as possible."
Where was Jazz? She'd been awake that morning, Danny remembered her pouring him a bowl of cereal. But she hadn't been in the car when his mom drove him to school.
"Remember that you can come to me for anything you may need, Mr. Fenton."
It didn't make sense.
"On a personal note, I wanted to say that words cannot express how terribly sorry I am that you had to go through something like that. Know that you did not deserve it, and my door is always open if there's anything you need, or if you just need to escape for a little while."
Lancer was never this nice to him before. Never so empathetic. Was this because of Phantom? Was it because he'd been revealed? Or was it just because he looked too much like a pity case...
His chest tingled. This...this wasn't right. He didn't want to hear this. He didn't want it to be real.
He was fine.
His arm shot up to grasp his hair, bumping into the side of his wheelchair on the way. Pins and needles pricked at his funny bone, whispering to him his failures, how he'd lost and how he had no purpose now and he never would again.
But no, he had to turn his brain off. Go back into the fog.
Stop thinking.
"I know it may not seem that way right now, but everything is going to be okay, Danny."
His gaze was unfocused. Was he looking at his teacher? The floor? The wall?
Go back into the fog. Right now.
It wrapped along the edges of his brain, just thick enough to blind him from his surroundings, but not quite dense enough to shield him from reality.
He wondered if he should be responding to Mr. Lancer at all, but the man seemed perfectly fine with having a one-way conversation, and if Danny were honest, he wouldn't know how to respond anyway. An unsettling feeling was sinking into his gut. Danger whispered around him. Yes, he was definitely in danger. The Guys in White would almost certainly be back any second to finish him off.
Why hadn't they come back for him?
No, it was just like Mr. Lancer said. Everything was okay.
"Where's Jazz?" he whispered, the words slipping out of his lips.
There was a slight hesitation. "Well, I assume Miss Fenton is home with your parents."
But she had school today, didn't she? Jazz was never one to skip school.
Unless…
"Would you like me to call her?"
Unless she had already graduated high school, and Danny had just forgotten. She'd been accepted to Harvard last spring, but...hadn't gone. For some reason.
Was he the reason?
No. No, that couldn't be right. He wouldn't have stopped her from living her life. This was Jazz he was talking about. She loved books more than she loved people.
So why was she home? Why hadn't she gone to school?
"Daniel? Is everything alright?"
Danny's gaze zeroed in on Mr. Lancer. The man looked weary, as if the beginning of the school year had already deprived him of a decade of sleep. An untouched coffee sat on the desk in front of him, and Danny absentmindedly wished he could swipe the drink.
Caffeine sounded heavenly right now.
He put on what he hoped was his most assured expression. "I'm fine, thanks."
"Would you like me to phone your parents?"
"No."
"Alright." Mr. Lancer gazed curiously into the teen. "Well, here, I have your school schedule. As you know, school has been underway for most other students, so you may feel a bit behind at first. That's quite alright, your teachers have put together small packets to catch you up to speed with the rest of your peers. If anything is too difficult for you to do, then you're always welcome to ask your teachers for help, or you can come to my office, if that's more comfortable for you."
Danny accepted the paper held out to him, but the words blurred together and he couldn't even begin to make sense of what it all meant.
"Thanks."
The room was dim. Light poured from the back of the room, casting a shadow over the rows of metal lockers that warped the floor with different shapes. Danny pushed himself into the shadows, allowing the hallway door to close behind him, separating the silence of the room from the ambient drone of the hallway.
His world was finally quiet.
His phone had buzzed, signaling it was time to use the restroom. This had been a growing area of embarrassment for Danny, the fact that his body had decided that it needed to be trained like a toddler, but it was fine. He was a halfa, surely this was only temporary.
Soon he'd be soaring through the air, his body back to normal. Soon he wouldn't have to deal with this anymore.
He made his way farther into the room, noting the smell of sweaty gym clothes and used football gear.
It was funny. When he first got his powers, the boys' locker room was the worst attack on his enhanced sense of smell he could think of. Now, it didn't seem that bad.
Rotting ectoplasm and vomit smelled worse.
And processed meat. Liver. Bones.
He froze. Where the hell had that come from?
He looked up, but instead of a row of lockers, all he could see was white tile. But that didn't...that didn't...
Wasn't he just in front of lockers?
The room warped around him, white blending with white. He tried to remember why he'd come here. Wasn't he just in class? He was supposed to be doing something...something...but he'd left. Why?
Fog clouded his brain, his vision. It swirled, mixing his memories and senses. He couldn't tell what was up or down, if the white tile was real, if the smell of meat that had slowly been filling his nose was real.
He needed to stop this.
Stop.
He reached out and touched the wall.
It was cold. Just like it was at the facility.
He was there. It was a trap.
There was no court case, there was no freedom, there was no protection, there was no classroom. He was at the facility. He'd never left, he was back there. They'd caught him again and were messing with his memories to try to tame him.
"We'll train you, dog." Operative O sneered. "You're just a feral beast, but that's okay. We have our ways of teaching obedience."
No, no, no. It wasn't this, he wasn't there.
Danny clutched his hair, tugging the strands until his eyes watered. "Stop, stop," he gasped.
"What's that, you want me to stop?" Operative O asked mockingly, his grip firm on the tube.
Danny squeezed his eyes shut. His lungs burned, his throat burned. He gagged, sending another spike of pain down his throat.
"Not until you learn to behave."
Danny coughed, nausea hitting him like a truck. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a sink, and he barely rushed over to it in time for the contents of the red bag to come back up.
He was back there. He'd never left.
It was the Guys in White.
The sink was cold like the tiles. Cold and white, just like the floors and ceilings. Everything in the facility was white. White, until he turned it green.
And then it would turn white again the next day.
Except his cell.
He tried to blink away his tears, but it was a futile effort. Security would see the footage, and Operative O would see the footage, and then they'd gloat.
"Play human all you want, ghost. You can't fool me." Operative O leaned down. "I will break you. And then one day you'll realize that this is exactly what you deserve."
He didn't deserve this.
They were wrong.
"A humanoid ghost. Halfa, correct?" The operative with the pinched face scribbled something down on his clipboard. "A remarkable creature. Tell me, ghost, why have you imprinted onto Amity Park?"
"I'm not talking," Danny growled.
"And you pretended to be human and continued to attend classes as normal. But according to your transcripts and detention reports, that didn't work so well. Yet you persisted...very curious, is it not?"
"Fuck off. I'm not telling you shit."
"Hmm…" The man paused to chew on the end of his pencil, his eyes scanning his notes. "No, that won't do. That won't do at all."
The operative reached down and pressed a button, and then Danny's world was encased in fire.
He screamed, the electricity coursing through his body, his veins ripping through his muscles which contorted and contracted, ectoplasmic sparks building and waiting to be released but were stuck, his mind flooding with images of the portal and dying and being reborn.
Then it stopped, leaving Danny panting on the metal table.
"What…?" Danny coughed, his eyes stinging.
"Shh...there, there."
All Danny could feel were the operative's latex gloves lightly stroking his forehead.
"There, all better, no?" the man asked. "Now we're calm."
"I—I…" Danny choked, his instincts yelling at him to tell this man to stop touching him, to fuck off, to threaten that he'd break out, he'd fly away, stop touching him.
But for the first time since he'd woken up in the facility, fear had paralyzed him.
"I understand that you're a young ghost. Untrained, allowed to roam and do as you see fit, claiming any territory you want as your own. You've been cursed with so much power and at such a young age. It's only natural that you're aggressive around authority."
Danny finally cracked his eyes open and was met with wide, curious eyes staring down into his own.
"But you don't have to worry anymore. We'll fix that."
He couldn't do it. Not again.
He wasn't strong enough.
Not again. Please, no.
He met his reflection and saw a sallow face dimmed by glowing eyes.
NO!
There was a bang, and his face disappeared, replaced by a rainfall of crystals decorating the white with flakes of iridescent sparkles as they collided to the floor.
Danny collapsed on the floor and grabbed a large chunk of the jagged mirror. He gripped it in his palm, feeling as the sharp edges pierced through his skin.
Perfect.
He wasn't going back.
"Danny?"
His head snapped over, and the faces of his old bullies swam into his field of view.
But that didn't make sense. What were Dash and Kwan doing in the Guys in White facility?
"What are you doing?" Dash asked.
Danny looked down at his hands, but where he thought there would be green, it was only red pooling in his palms. A drop of red trickled down his skin, splashing onto the white tile.
That wasn't...that wasn't right…
"What are you doing with that mirror?" Dash pressed.
"I'm...I'm not…" Danny whispered, staring at the red in confusion. "I can't—can't go back. Can't go back."
"Go back where?"
He raised the mirror to his face, and saw his green eye reflected in the smudged surface. "Can't go back."
"Give me the mirror, Danny."
Danny shook his head. "Can't…"
He had to do this. Didn't they understand? He couldn't go through that torture again. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't go back there.
"Kwan, get Lancer."
Escape. This mirror would let him escape to somewhere else, somewhere where he'd never have to smell the red bag again, or have the tube shoved down his throat, or feel the scalpel on his skin, the electricity, the bat, the metal table, the cold straps or his back or his ribs or the nerves that could never seem to work properly anymore.
"Can't go back."
"Please, give me the mirror, Danny. You're safe here. It's just us."
Dash didn't understand. And if he didn't leave soon, the Guys in White were going to kidnap him too.
No one was safe now.
"Escape. Go home."
Dash shook his head. "Not until you give me the glass."
"Can't."
"Why?"
Danny took his eyes off the mirror just long enough to give Dash the most vulnerable expression he could muster. "Please."
Dash's strong exterior broke. He ran a hand through his blond hair, messing up its perfected style. "Please give me the glass, Danny. You don't need it. Just give it to me, I'll hang onto it for you. I'll keep it safe."
This was all a ruse from the Guys in White, wasn't it? They just wanted to trick him again so he'd give up the only form of protection he had against them.
How dare they. After everything they'd put him through. How dare they try to use his classmates like this. Manipulate him, shove it in his face that Phantom wasn't there to protect them, that Phantom couldn't do his job anymore, that Phantom was a failure of a half ghost.
"You can't—can't trick...me." Danny let out a strangled laugh. "O, I know...I know…it's you…"
Dash stepped forward, his arms raised above his head. "I'm not tricking you, Danny. You gotta believe me. I'm...I know you don't have any reason to trust me, not after...but please, just this once."
"Liar. Dash would—would never call me...my first name. Miss—missed that detail...right, O?"
"I'm not lying. Snap out of it, please."
No. He couldn't.
He couldn't go back.
"Kill me."
Dash's figure was starting to get foggy now. But that was fine because Danny could still feel the mirror, which meant that he was still safe.
Dash said something, but Danny didn't hear. His world was spinning, red blending with white blending with the glistening light from the shards across the floor until Danny didn't know which way was up or down.
Hands invaded his space, grabbing his arm and ripping the shard from his fingers. Danny cried out in protest, and he grasped at the air for his only safety net, but his efforts were futile. A strong grip landed on his shoulders and Danny's eyes darted over to see the face of Mr. Lancer in front of him. Behind him stood Dash and Kwan, fear etched in their features. Around them the shards of the broken mirror glittered on the tiled floor of the bathroom, his wheelchair discarded somewhere to the side.
Bathroom. At the back of the gym locker room. Where he'd gone to use the restroom. Because he was at school.
Mr. Lancer was saying something to him, but the only thing Danny heard was the static in his ears as it hit him all at once what just happened.
And exactly what he'd been prepared to do.
A sob worked its way into his throat too quickly for Danny to push away, and then another. And another. Before he knew it, his head was resting on Mr. Lancer's shoulder. Tears rushed past his eyes, streaming down his cheeks and piling on the older man's shirt.
A soothing hand rubbed his back, and whispers of "It's okay, it's going to be okay" filled his ear.
But Danny knew that it was all an illusion.
Whatever the Guys in White had done to him was so much worse than some petty ghost fight with Skulker. It was permanent.
Operative O and his team had broken him. And he'd never be whole again.
So this chapter was a little bit different, but I really wanted a chance to go back in time a bit and maybe answer some questions and visit some moments from before the fic started.
Next chapter will be back to the present day!
Huge thank you to wastefulreverie on tumblr for helping me create the Valerie sequence, and as always a massive thanks to imekitty for going through the large process of beta-ing this chapter.
Also, just wanted to say, that due to ffn's crashing and burning, I have largely stopped uploading my smaller oneshots onto this site. You can find me on ao3 under the same name (lexosaurus) if you'd like to follow all of my works!
Thanks for reading!