AU — OOC

TW: Strong Language — Emotional Distress — Self-destructive Tendencies

~ Twisted Mind ~

Past lives couldn't ever hold me down, lost love is sweeter when it's finally found

I've got the strangest feeling, this isn't our first time around

- BØRNS

"Hi." A deep voice suddenly broke the quiet stillness.

Valerie jolted upright, her heart skipping a beat as her eyes landed on Danny standing by her bed. She blinked hard, rubbing her eyes to dispel the lingering haze of sleep. Was she dreaming? No. He was really there, looking far too awake for this hour.

"Danny?" she said, her voice tinged with irritation. "What the hell are you doing here this early?" Her tone carried the sharp edge of frustration.

She wasn't ready for this—whatever this was. Her head still throbbed from last night's ordeal. After a grueling shift at the Nasty Burger, she'd barely had time to exhale before being ambushed by a ghost on her way home. That filthy nuisance had thrown itself in her path as she flew back on her hoverboard, making an already exhausting night even worse. And now this? She was in no mood for surprises.

"I didn't know where else to go," Danny said, his voice low and heavy. His shoulders slumped, and his arms hung limply at his sides. He looked utterly defeated, as if the weight of the world had crushed him into the ground.

What does he mean?

And why come to her of all people? They weren't exactly close—if anything, their relationship was strained at best.

"What do you mean?" Valerie asked, sitting up straighter. She rubbed her eyes again, trying to shake the fog of disbelief clouding her thoughts.

Her chest tightened at the memory of that day—the day her entire world had flipped.

—The news blaring on TV, reporting that Phantom was somehow possessing Danny Fenton. She'd been devastated. At first, she had believed the lies. But then Sam and Tucker had come to her, telling her the real truth. Danny was Phantom. He always had been.—

A deep pang of anger twisted in her gut—anger at herself for not realizing it sooner.

—After all these years of research, after everything she thought she knew about Phantom, she hadn't put the pieces together. She'd always felt there was some kind of connection between them, some invisible thread tying them together. But she'd been blind. The red thread had been there all along, tangled but waiting to show her the truth. And now it was too late to feel anything but betrayed and furious—with him, with herself, with everything.—

"Well, as you know how everything went last year…" Danny muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor. His voice was hesitant, as though the words themselves weighed too much to carry.

Valerie's heart ached despite herself.

— She knew all too well what had happened to him—that he'd been captured because of that damned new law the government implemented at the start of last year. A law designed to "correct mistakes" and "eliminate errors" from the human world. But who decided what counted as an error? That law had ruined lives. It had turned people into weapons of judgment—and Danny had been one of its victims. —

Danny Fenton was Danny Phantom. There was no separating the two.

— She remembered seeing him again for the first time after his sudden release, months after he'd vanished. No one knew where he'd been or why he was set free. When she caught sight of him in the middle of a fight with Skulker—the ghost with the metallic armor who hunted like a predator—it had been surreal. Danny moved differently, fought differently, as if carrying scars she couldn't see. —

— But the whispers and gossip that followed his return had been the worst. No one really knew what had happened to him, not entirely. Speculation filled the gaps where truth should have been. And she—despite all her resources and determination—couldn't figure it out either. That frustration gnawed at her, just as much as the guilt for ever seeing him as an enemy. —

If only she had known. If only someone had told her sooner…

— It didn't matter that the entire world now knew the truth—that Phantom was Danny Fenton. It didn't erase the years of lies, the years she'd spent feeling justified in hating him, in chasing him, only to realize how blind she'd been. But it wasn't just her. Everyone had seen the footage when the Guys in White finally caught him. They had pinned him down like an animal, snapping a heavy metal collar around his neck—with the help of the Fentons, no less—right there in front of his own house. —

She still couldn't shake the image.

The moment when he'd shifted—blue eyes and messy black hair bleeding into glowing white, his form shimmering with halos of ethereal light. For just a moment, he was human. Phantom was human. Phantom was Danny. A ghost that turned into a human being.

How was that even possible?

— Danny Phantom: a liar, a ghost, a hero, perhaps—but that didn't absolve him. Hero or not, it didn't make him innocent. —

"But what are you doing here, Danny? In my room? My apartment?" Valerie asked, her tone sharp with suspicion. She raised an eyebrow, shifting to the side and sitting on the edge of the bed, her arms crossing instinctively as she tried to wake up fully.

Danny's breath hitched.

"Val, please," he whispered, his voice trembling, his composure crumbling right in front of her. "I… I don't know where else to go." His glowing eyes glistened, and his shoulders shook slightly, as if he were fighting back tears that threatened to spill at any moment.

She froze.

This wasn't the confident and clumsy, annoying Danny Phantom—Fenton she knew. This was someone broken, someone raw. And despite everything—the anger, the resentment, the betrayal—she couldn't ignore the ache in his voice.

"Y'know, creeping into someone's bedroom isn't exactly normal," Valerie said, standing up from the bed. Her voice was dry, edged with skepticism as she tried to mask her lingering unease.

Danny's expression shifted in an instant. The sadness vanished, replaced by something sharper, more defensive.

"I'm a ghost. I can do whatever I want," he said, his tone laced with an unnatural echo. The irritation in his voice was palpable, his eyes narrowing as if daring her to challenge him.

Valerie's eyebrow arched, her guard immediately back up.

"Sure," she said flatly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "That wasn't creepy at all."

Without giving him another glance, she turned and walked toward her desk, where her clothes hung neatly over the back of the chair.

She grabbed the first thing her hand touched—a dull green sweatshirt—and slipped it off the chair, turning her back to him. Hopefully, he wasn't glancing—lurking. Sure, she still had her underwear on, but his being here at all felt like a violation of her privacy. Not that she cared all that much, but the principle of it still grated on her nerves.

— Some people called him a hero, others labeled him a freak. But she had seen the truth. She could still picture the look on Phantom's face as he unleashed that deafening wail, his scream tearing through the air like a banshee's cry. And the way his human form cracked through the ghostly exterior, flickering like a glitch in reality. Everyone had seen it. The footage had been plastered across every breaking news report, exposing the impossible secret that Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom were one and the same. —

Now, the whole world knew.

— Yet somehow, he still walked the streets of Amity Park as if nothing had changed. Like it wasn't burned into everyone's minds what he was—or what he'd done. —

"I need you," Danny said suddenly, his voice tinged with self-pity, like he was teetering on the edge of breaking.

"What?" Valerie froze mid-motion, disbelief flashing across her face.

Did he really just say that?

She pulled the collar of her sweatshirt over her head, her eyes narrowing as she turned to face him fully.

"Yeah, It's my birthday today," Danny continued, his tone dipping into bitter sarcasm. "Kind of fun, right? Same day I got kicked out of the house to celebrate turning eighteen." He let out a dry, humorless laugh, the sound more like a crack in his facade than an actual joke.

For a moment, Valerie just stared, unsure whether to feel sympathy or irritation. The room felt heavy, his words settling in like a cold draft that refused to leave.

Kicked out of the house?

Valerie's thoughts snagged on his words, disbelief creeping in.

Was he still living under his parents' roof after everything they'd done? After they'd helped the Guys in White capture their own son? The betrayal was incomprehensible.

She didn't know what to say, the weight of his confession silencing her. An unfamiliar, empathetic ache stirred in her chest, catching her off guard. She reached for her sweatpants, sliding one leg in, then the other, tugging them into place with deliberate movements as she tried to focus on anything but him.

Danny's voice broke the quiet again, his eerie green eyes locking onto hers.

"It's kind of ironic when you think about it, isn't it?" he said with a hollow chuckle, running a hand through his messy white hair. The glow of his eyes seemed to dim for a moment as he stepped closer, it felt like a predator testing its approach.

Valerie stiffened but didn't move away. She wasn't sure what unnerved her more—his words, his proximity, or the undeniable fact that she didn't fully understand what had happened to him over the past year.

— He had disappeared for so long, only to reemerge as a shadow of the boy she once thought she knew. Occasionally, she'd see him fighting ghosts—never with the same energy or fire as before. She remembered the last time she'd seen him up close, two months ago at the Nasty Burger. He had shown up out of nowhere, as Phantom, his presence strange and fleeting. After that, nothing. She'd assumed he'd been captured again—or worse. —

But now here he was, in her room, and the sight of him stirred more questions than answers.

Somehow, knowing the truth about him had dulled her anger, but it hadn't erased her indifference. She didn't bother much with Danny anymore. At least, that's what she told herself.

"Val, I need you. You need to help me. Please," Danny said, his voice cracking as he stepped closer, now only a few feet away from her. There was a desperation in his tone that made the air in the room feel heavier, more suffocating.

Valerie exhaled sharply, her frustration bubbling to the surface.

"I don't even know how the hell I'm supposed to help you—or with what, Danny," she shot back, turning her head slightly to glance at him. "You're such a real weirdo sometimes." Her words came out harsher than she intended, but she didn't backtrack.

She turned back to her desk, grabbing a small flashlight she'd left there the night before, clicking it on and off absentmindedly as if the motion might clear her thoughts. "If you need my help, you're going to have to be a little less cryptic and a lot more direct," she added, keeping her tone sharp, though she could feel the weight of his presence behind her.

"So, it doesn't matter that I'm turning eighteen today, huh?" Danny said, his tone sharp with bitterness. "Just another day, another low, another high. Right?" His words dripped with sarcasm, but there was something deeply unsettling about the way he spoke—his mood shifting erratically, his emotions like a pendulum swinging wildly out of control.

"Danny…" Valerie said cautiously, turning to face him. "It isn't that big of a deal. You're right. It's just another day." Her voice was steady, but as she turned, her breath hitched.

He was closer than she expected—too close. His face was just inches from hers, his glowing green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel the cold radiating from his ghostly form, a chill that seeped through her skin and settled in her bones.

Startled, Valerie instinctively stepped back, her hands reaching behind her to steady herself against the desk. Her heart raced as she tried to mask her discomfort, but the unease in her chest refused to settle.

Something was wrong with him.

"I guess you're right," Danny said, his voice quiet, almost broken. "It's not that big of a deal. Nobody cares. Nobody cares about me, nobody… loves me." His words faltered, his brows furrowing as his lips curved into a trembling, inverted smile. "It doesn't matter—I don't matter, Val."

Valerie's chest tightened at his words. She opened her mouth to respond, but his expression, so raw and desolate, made her pause.

"That's not true," she said softly, forcing herself to hold his gaze despite the uneasy weight pressing down on her. "That can't be true."

But looking into his glowing green eyes, she felt her resolve waver. The cold, ghostly aura radiating from him seemed to seep into her own confidence, making her stomach drop. Something about him in this moment intimidated her in a way she couldn't explain.

"Do you—care—about me?" Danny asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his words halting and uncertain. "I mean… would you be there for me? When I needed you? Like I need you now?"

The vulnerability in his question struck her harder than she expected. For all the power he carried as Phantom, for all the things she'd seen him do, here he was, standing in front of her, desperate and broken.

"Danny," Valerie began, staring at him for a long moment before letting out a sigh. "I've always cared about you. Even when I and the whole world found out you were Phantom. And I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one."

But even as the words left her lips, a pang of guilt twisted in her chest. Was that entirely true? Deep down, she wasn't sure. She cared about Danny—the human Danny she used to know, the one she'd seen grow up and stumble through life. Maybe she still cared about that Danny. But Phantom? That was different. That was complicated. There was a part of her, buried and bitter, that recoiled at what he represented.

Danny's eyes narrowed slightly, his sadness deepening.

"Why do I feel like you're lying to me?" he murmured, his voice trembling. "You're just saying that to make me feel better, aren't you?"

Valerie straightened, irritation flickering to life at his accusation.

"Give me one good reason why the hell I'd lie to you," she shot back, her voice firm. Her hands clenched at her sides as she tried to push past her own conflicted feelings. "If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't waste my breath."

But as her words hung in the air, she couldn't help wondering if he could see the cracks in her resolve. If he could feel the hesitation she was trying so hard to bury.

"I don't know. To cheer me up, maybe?" Danny said, his tone tinged with bitterness again. His green eyes flickered faintly as he studied her. "Or maybe… because I can feel it. You're scared—of me. Of Phantom. Which, by the way, is still me. Are you afraid I'll hurt you? Why?" His voice softened at the end, laced with sadness and confusion.

Was he right? Did she fear him now?

Valerie tensed, the weight of his words were pressing down on her.

"We're not having this conversation, Danny," she said firmly, though her voice wavered slightly. She could feel her pulse quickening, the space between them suddenly feeling too small. His demeanor, his tone—it all left her uneasy, and she hated that she felt this way.

"But why not?" Danny pressed, stepping closer, his voice raw with emotion. "What did I do? Have I ever hurt you? In any way?" He paused, searching her face for an answer she didn't have. "We had good times, didn't we? Back then, I mean. And, well… I'm not counting Cujo, though."

The mention of Cujo made her flinch involuntarily. Cujo.

— The ghost dog that had turned her life upside down. Back then, she'd believed Phantom and his dog had gone out of their way to make her miserable. She'd thought it was all intentional—every chaotic encounter, every ruined moment. That belief had fueled her hatred, driving her to hunt Phantom with a vengeance. —

And now? Now she knew the truth. But the bitterness lingered, no matter how much she tried to push it away.

"Would you please take a step back? You're intruding on my personal space," Valerie said firmly, placing her hands on Danny's cold shoulders and pushing him back gently but decisively. The chill from his ghostly form lingered on her palms, sending an uncomfortable shiver through her.

Danny stumbled back slightly, his expression crumpling further.

"See?" he muttered, his voice breaking as he looked down at the floor. "No one cares about me. Not even you, Val. Of all people… not even you."

For a moment, she faltered, guilt flickering in the back of her mind. But she kept her stance, her lips pressing into a tight line as she tried to sort through the whirlwind of emotions his presence always seemed to stir in her.

"What happened to you?" Valerie asked, her voice softer now, almost pitying. "This… this isn't you. Not the way I know you—how I knew you." She glanced him over, taking in the full picture as if trying to piece together the boy she used to know from the figure standing in front of her.

Danny stood there, his shoulders hunched forward, as if he carried the weight of something far too heavy for any one person to bear. His arms hung limply at his sides, his fingers twitching faintly, as though even standing still was too much effort. His glowing green eyes, once sharp and full of fire, were now dim and clouded with a sadness that made Valerie's chest tighten. The faint, jagged scar cutting through his left eye seemed to whisper a story of pain she couldn't begin to imagine. His white hair was wild and unkempt, sticking out in every direction, as though it hadn't been touched in days.

His posture was unnerving, caught somewhere between defeat and restlessness. His feet shifted slightly, his weight rocking as if he couldn't decide whether to stay or flee. A faint tremor in his hands betrayed him further, his gaze flickering down to the floor, unable to meet hers for more than a fleeting moment. He looked fragile, like a shadow of himself—hollow and haunted in a way that sent a pang of unease through her chest. He seemed on the verge of crumbling completely, and while it was unbearable to look at him—somehow, she couldn't look away either.

— Whatever had happened to him over the past year, it had changed him in ways she couldn't yet understand. But one thing was clear. The boy she thought she knew was gone—replaced by someone, something utterly broken. —

But before she could react, Danny was suddenly inches from her face again, moving so fast it made her flinch. He floated just above the ground now, his glowing form flickering faintly in the dim light as he grabbed her shoulders with both of his cold, ghostly hands.

"I'm dead," he hissed, his voice low and trembling, but filled with a sharp edge. "I died years ago. That's what happened." His grip tightened slightly onto her shoulders, as though anchoring himself to her was the only way to keep from spiraling further.

Valerie's breath hitched, her mind racing.

"That's not true!" she snapped, her voice trembling with defiance. "You're lying. You're lying to yourself!" Her hands frantically searched her desk, fingers brushing against scattered objects until they found the cold, reassuring metal of a weapon, a taser—one that gave electrical shocks, she always kept nearby.

Danny didn't let go.

His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing, the glow intensifying as anger flickered across his face like an incoming storm.

"I'm a monster, Val," he said, his voice dropping to a guttural growl. "I've always been one. Evil. Bad. Living with myself and the ghostly devil inside me. I'm a fucking danger."

His words sent a chill down her spine, but she refused to look away. She could feel the heat of his anger mixing with the cold of his ghostly form, an overwhelming contrast that only made the fear clawing at her chest more intense. As his grip remained firm, her thumb flicked the safety switch on the weapon, her instincts screaming that she needed to be ready.

Valerie shoved him back again, this time pressing her left hand firmly against the middle of his chest. The cold was even more piercing, like touching ice, and it sent another shiver up her spine. Danny stumbled back a step, his glowing eyes flickering slightly as he looked at her in surprise.

Without hesitation, Valerie straightened her arm and raised the taser, pointing it directly at him. Her grip tightened around the handle, the familiar hum of the electric charge ready to fire filling the air.

"You're not Danny," she said, her voice sharp with anger. The bubbling frustration and fear she'd kept buried boiled to the surface, and her glare cut through him like a blade.

"Whoa!" Danny said quickly, his hands shooting up in defense, his feet touching the ground again. "Calm down there, Val. I am Danny, okay? Just… lower that weapon. Please?" His tone softened, but there was an edge of nervousness in it as he held his hands up, palms out, as if surrendering.

Valerie didn't move, her grip unwavering as she kept the taser trained on him. Her stare was searching his glowing eyes for some flicker of truth. But all she could see was uncertainty and something darker she couldn't quite name. Her jaw tightened, but she didn't lower the taser.

"Or you know what?" Danny said, his voice lower, almost daring. Slowly, he dropped his hands to his sides. "Tase me. Shock me. Just do it." He stepped closer, closing the gap between them again, his bright green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her grip on the taser falter.

Before Valerie could react, he grabbed the hem of his black hoodie with both hands and yanked it up, revealing his chest. Then, without hesitation, he pressed his torso against the barrel of the taser. The coldness of his ghostly form seeped through the air between them, making her shiver.

"What?" Valerie blurted, her voice tinged with confusion and disbelief. Her eyes darted downward, catching sight of something she hadn't expected—a jagged Y-shaped scar spanning his chest and torso. Her breath hitched as her mind scrambled to process it. Another scar? Such a big one? What the hell?

Valerie had never seen him with scars before—not as Danny, not as Phantom. It sent a pang through her chest. She didn't know what he'd been through—or what had been done to him.

"Please," Danny murmured, his voice trembling now, raw and desperate. "Just—do it. I need it." His tone sounded like a plea, as if he was begging her for anything—release, pain—something to silence the torment inside.

She froze, her hand gripping the taser tightly, but she didn't fire. She couldn't. The sight of him threw her off balance in a way she hadn't expected. He wasn't just asking her to hurt him—he was demanding it.

"What the hell, Danny? What are you talking about, need it?" Valerie demanded, her voice rising as she tried to make sense of his words. "When did you become so... desperate?"

Danny didn't back down. Instead, he stood there, his chest still pressed against the barrel of the taser, his eyes filled with an unsettling desperation and defiance.

"Just—do it for my birthday," he said, his voice trembling but resolute. "Shock me. Hurt me. Torture me. Please, I need it."

Valerie's grip tightened on the taser, but her thoughts swirled in chaos, making her hesitate.

What the hell is he saying? Why does he think I would do that? What made him like this—doing this very strange behavior?

She couldn't look away from the scar on his chest—the faint Y-shaped mark that told a story she couldn't begin to understand.

What did they do to him?

Her mind raced through everything she'd learned about the Guys in White, about his parents, about Phantom.

— She had seen the footage of his capture, the collar, the inhuman way they had dragged him away like an animal. She had hated him then—hunted him. —

But now? Now she was staring at someone who wasn't just broken—he was shattering right in front of her. And he was asking her as if she would finish the job.

Her stomach twisted painfully.

I can't do this. I'm not like them. But what if he… what if he really wants this?

She tried to steady her breath, but her fingers trembled around the taser.

"Danny, come on. This is nothing like you," she said softly, almost pleading with him to snap out of it. But her own words sounded weak, even to her ears.

"I can't do it myself," Danny said, his voice barely a whisper, almost swallowed by the silence in the room.

Valerie's breath hitched as she lowered her arm, the taser falling limp at her side, the barrel no longer pointed at his chest. She stared at him, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief.

Definitely not normal behavior at all. Why is he acting like this?

Danny watched her for a moment, then slowly tugged his hoodie back down, covering the scar that had been exposed moments before. His expression darkened, his green eyes dimming with disappointment and something colder—resentment.

"See?" he muttered, stepping back slightly. "You don't care about me. You can't—help me. You just don't want to help me."

His words stung, sharper than Valerie wanted to admit. She tightened her grip on the taser at her side, feeling a pang of pity despite her rising frustration.

"I'll only use this if I need to protect myself, Danny," she said, her voice firm but tinged with emotion. "You're just—sick. Twisted in your head, twisted in your mind." She took a deep breath, forcing herself to look him in the eye. "I don't know what happened to you and what is going on, but… you need help. Real help. And it's not the kind of help I can give you."

Her words hung heavy in the air, the pity in her tone was undeniable. But deep down, she wasn't sure if she felt sorry for him or for herself, being caught in the middle of something she couldn't fix.

Where is the Danny that I used to know?

She thought again, a thought that couldn't escape her. It made her chest tighten with sadness and anger.

"Val," Danny began, his voice trembling. "It's the only thing that makes me feel—alive." His desparate eyes shimmered as if tears were threatening to shed, but he held them back, his expression was with pain and resignation. "But… I understand."

Before she could respond, before she could even process the depth of his words, he vanished. One moment he was there, his cold presence filling the room, and the next, he was just gone.

Valerie stood frozen, the silence pressing down on her like a heavy weight. Her grip on the taser slackened, and it fell to her desk with a dull thud. She was alone again, left with nothing but the lingering chill in the air and the echo of his broken voice ringing in her ears.

Her heart and stomach twisted painfully.

"Oh, Danny. What happened to you?"

Valerie's POV!

Longer chapter again, I know! I've reread it, revised it, refined it, polished it like a hundred times, and it's still not how it should be. I'm tired of it, but I really wanted to publish this chapter.

I thought, perhaps it would have been better to write this from someone else's perspective—someone observing a twisted, broken mind. How they slowly piece it together, noticing the strange behavior, the cracks in someone they thought they knew. The hurt, the pity, the empathy.

How a person becomes so fucked up.

Danny wasn't always like this. He used to be happy, a bright and cheerful kid. But then everything changed. One event after another chipped away at him until there was almost nothing left. And the worst part? His parents were the seeds from which this brokenness grew.

"I'm not fine. I'm messed up."

I know. But that's okay. Another day, another low. Eventually, you'll be fine again. Take your time, Danny.