Author's note: There's still sooooo much that's going to happen in this fic...

Thanks to baphospectra for naming the original character introduced in this chapter!


Disillusioned

I'm not who I used to be

"Danny, how do you want your eggs?"

"Scrambled," said Danny without pause, because he had to pretend he had a good appetite, had to pretend that mushy eggs and toasted bread and greasy bacon all sounded delicious.

Maddie stood at the stove, wearing an apron over her jumpsuit as she cooked up everyone's breakfast orders. Jazz and Jack sat with him at the table, both sipping from mugs of hot coffee sweetened with milk and chocolate creamer.

He was now old enough to drink coffee as well, as Jack had reminded him that morning already. Sixteen years old, yes, he could now do all sorts of grown-up things, including ingesting coffee to jump-start his nerves.

But Danny had declined the offer of coffee, because he was sure it would just burn up his insides and put all of his nerves on edge, and the last thing he needed was a stimulant that would heighten his anxiety and hurl him into another panic attack during class. No, what he really wanted was something to numb his senses, chill his pain, quiet his mind.

He glanced at the safe on the counter that held all of the household painkillers. Yearning, longing.

But he knew he probably needed the coffee. He had barely slept the night before, hardly slept most nights as he was woken by night terrors that he could never remember, drained by distressing dreams of trying to hide from the police and his friends and his classmates and his mother—

But she always found him. And when he woke up, there she was, waiting to serve him breakfast.

Danny gulped down water, discreetly slipping the antibiotic into his mouth that Maddie assured him he needed to make up for his missing spleen or else he'd die from an infection or whatever. It was the same reason he asked for his eggs to be scrambled, just as Maddie had instructed. Because without a spleen, undercooked eggs could kill him or something.

Not that Danny was completely against that possibility.

Maddie went around the table setting plates in front of everyone. Danny picked up his fork and immediately scooped up a bite of eggs.

"I didn't season it, sweetie," said Maddie, pushing the salt and pepper shakers toward him.

Danny shrugged and placed a bite into his mouth. Bland, boring. "Tastes fine to me."

Jack sprinkled some salt and pepper on his fried eggs. "Don't forget, Danny, you need to stay after school and talk to the counselor. Ms. Epps, is that her name?"

"Yes," said Jazz, holding a piece of bacon between two fingers. "I've spoken to her a couple times. She's really nice."

Danny glanced at Maddie. She gave him a small nod.

"All right," mumbled Danny. "I'll talk to her."

"I can still drive you home afterwards," said Jazz. "I'll just study for finals in the library until you're done."

"Study for finals? Aren't you already set to graduate valedictorian?" asked Danny, almost irritably.

"Uh—well, yes," said Jazz, "but that doesn't mean I don't want to ace my finals."

Danny stabbed at his eggs and shoved them into his mouth.

"We are so proud of both of you," said Maddie quickly.

She gently ruffled Danny's hair on the back of his head. Danny shuddered and jerked away from her.

After breakfast, Danny headed to Jazz's car parked by the front curb and got into the passenger seat. Jazz eased herself into the driver's seat and started the engine but did not put the car in drive.

"Uh, you know, Danny…" Jazz paused, chewing her lip. "I mean, do you want to drive?"

Danny stared at her, trying to decide if he heard her correctly. "Do I…what?"

"Well, I'm eighteen, so I can legally be in the passenger seat while you drive," said Jazz. "If you want, I mean. I know you haven't been practicing driving at all since you've been back, so I just thought I'd offer."

"You never offer to let me drive," said Danny warily. "In fact, you were really against letting me drive your car at all back when I was first learning to drive. That's why Mom ended up buying her own car, so I could practice with that instead."

"I know, I know," said Jazz, sounding apologetic. "But Mom and Dad are gonna buy me a new car for college, and you'll be getting this one. Well, but not until you get your license, of course. And I'm sure you're excited to finally get your license, right?"

Danny shrugged. "I'm not exactly excited about driving a pink car to school."

"Danny, you know this car isn't really pink, right? It's just a wrap. It's silver underneath."

"Yeah, well, I still don't need a car. I can fly."

"Why aren't you flying now?"

Danny said nothing. Jazz put the car in drive and started heading toward Casper High.

"It's just…" Jazz sighed deeply. "Things are changing for both of us. I'm going to be moving out the end of summer, and you'll more or less be an only child. Well, not a child—I didn't mean it that way."

Jazz cleared her throat. Danny creased his brow as he studied her in profile, remembering how not too long ago, she was telling him he was "just a kid."

"I just thought you'd want the freedom of your own car," said Jazz. "The freedom to drive wherever you want without Mom or Dad in the passenger seat. You know, so you can start feeling like a real adult."

"Is that how you think I want to feel?" asked Danny. "Is that how I should feel?"

Jazz pursed her lips but kept her eyes forward on the road.

At school, Sam and Tucker met up with Danny by their lockers.

"Hey, Danny!" greeted Sam. "How was your Sunday? Relaxing, I hope?"

"Not really," said Danny as he opened his locker. "I mostly just did more makeup work and studied for finals."

Sam chuckled. "You're so responsible and mature now."

Danny frowned. "Mature?"

"It's a good thing!" insisted Sam. "Tucker and I should really start studying more, too."

Tucker groaned. "Ugh, don't say that. I was just gonna cram this weekend."

"But we should start studying now," said Sam. "Maybe we could all study together this week? How about today after school? We could meet at your house, Danny."

"Can't." Danny shoved his backpack into his locker. "I have to talk to the school counselor."

"Right." Sam wrung her hands. "Jazz mentioned that."

Danny turned away from his locker to stare at her and Tucker. Sam nervously popped a couple knuckles while Tucker awkwardly hit his fist against his thigh a couple times.

Yes, of course Jazz would tell them that. What else did they have to talk about if not him?

Danny hummed and gave them a sardonic smile before returning his attention to his locker.

Throughout the day, Sam and Tucker continued to try talking to him normally, all the same topics about video games and movies they used to passionately discuss, all the same gripes and complaints they used to make about overly strict teachers and brutish jocks and oh if each class could just be ten minutes shorter or ah this shirt was brand new and now there's a marinara sauce stain on it.

Danny tried to respond normally, tried to smile appropriately and laugh at the right times, attempted to copy all the old motions. But they felt fake, a shadow of something that no longer made any sense to him.

During lunch, he excused himself to the restroom to readjust his right contact, which was itching and burning. He recognized his reflection: dark hair, thick eyebrows, pale skin. Familiar, yes, but it was like looking at a photograph of someone else, an image of another person entirely.

He knew he was Danny and yet he wasn't entirely sure where Danny actually was right now.

"Hey, Fentnerd," said Dash as he strolled into the restroom and unzipped in front of a urinal. "Gonna have another freak-out in class today?"

Danny's heart raced as he ran out into the hall. He could hear Dash snickering as the door swung shut behind him.

At the end of the day, Danny followed Sam and Tucker into Lancer's English classroom.

"Danny!" Lancer turned his attention away from some papers on his desk. "How are you?"

Danny sensed the pointedness of Lancer's question, the underlying concern about his meltdown in class on Friday.

"I'm fine," he answered simply.

"Did you have a good weekend?" asked Lancer.

"Yeah!" Tucker clapped a hand on Danny's shoulder. "We played video games at my house on Saturday."

Lancer smiled, looking only at Danny. "That sounds like it was fun."

"Yeah, it was!" said Tucker with an emphatic nod.

Lancer was still looking at Danny, still smiling. Waiting.

"Yes, it was," said Danny.

During Lancer's lecture, Danny tried to focus, pressing his pen hard against his notebook paper as he took notes, copying Lancer's words over and over again. Whether they were important or not, it didn't matter, he just needed a constant stream of words in his head to block out everything else.

Because something about being in this room again made him queasy, something about sitting at this desk made him feel like something very bad was about to happen and he knew he was just imagining it he knew he was fine and safe here but his insides kept sloshing and cramping up and he just wanted to get out of here to leave leave leave—

A knock at the door. Danny jumped, placing a hand over his hammering heart as he looked over at the door. All the other heads in the classroom turned as well.

"That must be the yearbooks," said Lancer. The classroom erupted with excited whispers that turned into whoops and cheers as Lancer opened the door and a couple of students carried in boxes filled with the newest Casper High yearbooks.

"There's no way I'll be able to get your attention back, so I'll let you all have the last fifteen minutes of class to look through the yearbooks," said Lancer.

The students cheered again as Lancer handed piles of books to the first student in each column of desks. The books were passed to the back, the sound of flipping pages and squealing filling the whole room.

"I thought you said you weren't gonna buy a yearbook this year," said Tucker as Sam placed a yearbook on her desk.

"A whole book that killed a tree and features nothing but the current mainstream fads and football propaganda glorifying jocks and cheerleaders." Sam made a face as she opened the book. "My mom bought it, not me. She thinks it's important I have a way to look back on the most miserable years of my life in this oppressive establishment."

"Yeah, right. You wanted her to buy it."

"I can get all this exact same crap for free on Instagram."

"Shut up and sign my yearbook already."

Sam groaned and began scribbling something in Tucker's yearbook. Danny stared at his own yearbook on his desk, still unopened. He looked up to see Lancer watching him, causing him to quickly throw open his book and pretend to be very interested in all the smiling pictures and happy captions punctuated with exclamation marks.

"Oh, my gosh, Danny!" gushed Paulina. "Your sister is gorgeous!"

Danny furrowed his brow and turned in his seat to find Paulina and Star holding one yearbook between their desks, their heads almost touching as they studied the page they were on.

"She looks just like a model!" Paulina sighed. "I hope my senior picture looks this good."

"You know it will, Paulina," said Star.

"Yeah, I know," said Paulina with a flip of her hair.

"Still can't believe someone related to Fenton could be so hot," said Dash. "You know, I tried asking her out once and she turned me down because I was 'mean' to her little brother."

"Are you sure it wasn't because you were a freshman and she was a junior?" asked Kwan.

"Look, all I know is, Fenton's sister said she would come to my party if I invited Fentgeek himself, so I invited him and guess what?" Dash scowled. "She didn't come. Totally blew me off."

"She got you good," crowed Kwan. "Nice prank."

"It's not just you, Dash," said Star. "She turns down everyone. I heard a bunch of guys asked her to prom and she said no to all of them, like even the hot ones." Star turned up her nose. "She's kind of a snob."

"You're one to talk, Star," said Kwan.

Star pouted. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Danny curiously turned around in his seat and flipped through the pages of his yearbook until he found the glossy senior pictures printed in full color. Jazz's photo was easy to find, her red hair shining and teal eyes sparkling. It was the same photo that was printed on her graduation announcements.

Guilt stabbed his gut as he stared at the photo and remembered the unused prom dress in Jazz's closet. He wondered if it was still there, hanging in its protective plastic.

"It really is a good photo," said Sam. "You have good genes in your family."

Danny looked up at her. Sam smiled kindly.

"Hey, can you three sign next to your pictures?" asked one of their classmates, Greg, as he slid his open yearbook onto Tucker's desk.

"Only if you sign yours!" said Tucker with a grin, pushing his own yearbook toward Greg.

Tucker scrawled a note in Greg's yearbook before handing it over to Sam. Sam used a purple gel pen to sign her name in elegant, spidery handwriting.

"Your picture looks really pretty, Sam," said Greg with a shy smile.

"Yeah, well, my mom forced me to show up for school picture day," said Sam dismissively, but there was a faint pink glow in her cheeks.

Greg took the yearbook from Sam and placed it on Danny's desk. He flipped back a couple pages and scanned through all of the photos with a frown.

"Oh, there you are." Greg pointed to one of the pictures. "I almost didn't recognize you. You just don't look like that anymore."

Danny stared at his black-and-white sophomore photo, a boy with soft features and bright eyes smiling at the camera, blissfully unaware of what was soon coming for him, all the horrible things that would happen to him.

Indeed, the boy in the photograph certainly looked nothing like the reflection Danny saw every day in the mirror now, hollowed cheeks and empty eyes he tried to hide behind colored contacts.

"Well, all these pictures were taken back at the beginning of the school year," said Sam. "We all look a little different, I think. Tucker even got new glasses."

Tucker proudly wiggled one of his glasses' temples. "I did and they look fantastic."

Danny hastily signed his name next to his photo and closed the book, shoving it toward Greg. Greg took the book but did not leave, instead studying Danny and looking uncomfortable.

"So, um…" Greg cleared his throat. "You're okay, right?"

Danny narrowed his eyes, aware of other students eavesdropping nearby, all just as curious about his strange psychotic episode in class on Friday.

"Yeah," said Danny darkly, almost in warning.

Greg seemed to take the hint and said a quick goodbye before moving on to another group of students huddled over their yearbooks. For a long, tense moment, Sam and Tucker were silent.

"So—ah—you do look really different, huh?" Sam's tone was cheerful but a little nervous as she set her yearbook on Danny's desk, open to the page featuring his photo. "I mean, besides Tucker's new glasses, he still looks like his picture, and I look like mine, I think. But you really changed."

Danny held in a groan as he was forced to look at his stupid picture again.

"It's because he grew like half a foot this past year," laughed Tucker. "I mean, dude, everyone in your family is tall, so we all knew you'd eventually get tall too, but I was hoping we'd be the same height at least a little longer."

"Aw, don't worry, Tuck." Sam slid her hand under Tucker's hat and roughed up his hair. "You'll start puberty someday, too."

Tucker scowled. "Hey, our voices dropped at the same time, remember? And I've got more chest hair."

Sam drew back her hand and stuck out her tongue. "Ew, please don't tell me more."

"You're the one who decided to make your best friends a couple of dudes."

"And you make me regret it every day."

Danny pushed Sam's yearbook away from him.

The bell finally rang, and the energy in the classroom increased as everyone gathered their belongings and pranced out of the room. Danny sluggishly scooped his yearbook and other items into his arms and followed Sam and Tucker toward the door.

"Danny," said Lancer before he could get very far. "Can I speak to you for a minute?"

Sam and Tucker halted, watching. Danny pretended to straighten the books in his arms.

"I kind of need to get going," said Danny. "I'm—um—well, I'm supposed to talk to the guidance counselor."

Lancer nodded. "Yes, of course. I was actually speaking to Ms. Epps about that this morning."

Danny also nodded, his knuckles cracking just a little as his hands clenched into fists.

"Allow me to walk you over there," said Lancer, moving past Danny and then gesturing out the classroom door.

Danny stared at Lancer's beckoning hand. Sam and Tucker were still standing beside him, neither of them moving.

"I don't need you to do that," said Danny.

"I know you don't," said Lancer. "But I would like to."

Danny narrowed his eyes, but he didn't see any way to get out of it. Certainly not without Lancer sending yet another email to his parents.

"Fine," Danny grumbled.

He followed Lancer out the door. Sam and Tucker gave him a final look before heading down the hall in the opposite direction toward their lockers.

"So how was your weekend?" Lancer slowed his pace until he was right next to Danny.

"You already asked me that before class."

"Right. Yes, I did."

Danny kept his eyes forward as he continued walking.

"Have you met Ms. Epps before?" asked Lancer.

"No."

"Well, she's wonderful. Very easy to talk to. All the students seem to love her." Lancer paused. "I hope you'll like talking to her, too."

"Okay," said Danny.

"But I'm also around to talk," said Lancer. "If you'd like."

Danny said nothing.

"I know things have been hard for you the past couple months," said Lancer. "I know you've been struggling with…a lot."

Danny gave Lancer a curious glance.

"Your mother came to talk to me a few days after you went missing," Lancer explained. "She visited me at my home. I'm sure she told you this already."

Danny furrowed his brow. "No, she didn't."

"Oh." Lancer pressed his lips. "Well, she was of course trying very hard to find you and talking to anyone who might have had an idea of where you could be. And I unfortunately had very little to tell her, but she did tell me about…"

Lancer looked very uncomfortable now, his eyes on the floor. Danny scowled, waiting for him to look up again, to say more.

"What?" asked Danny impatiently.

"Your use of painkillers," said Lancer, sounding reluctant. "How you snuck out in the middle of the night to get some from Sam."

Danny grimaced. "She told you about that?"

"Yes." Lancer turned his head to look at Danny again. "Does that bother you?"

Danny could feel his neck burning, his hands shaking as he stared back at Lancer.

Then he turned his face forward again and shrugged.

"Whatever," he muttered. "Everyone knows about it now. Sam's mom and the media made sure of that."

"I'm sorry you've been having to deal with that."

"Are you? Are you really?"

Danny glared at him. Lancer blinked a few times, looking bewildered.

"Yes," said Lancer. "Of course I am, Danny."

"'Danny,' 'Danny,' 'Danny,'" echoed Danny mockingly. "Why are you calling me that now?"

Lancer frowned. "Why am I calling you what? 'Danny'? That's your name."

"I'm aware it's my name," snapped Danny. "But you still call everyone else by their last names, so why not me?"

Lancer hesitated before answering, "It just seems more appropriate to call you by your first name right now."

"Why? What's changed?"

They reached the door for the guidance counselor's office. Lancer stopped in front of it and stared at Danny for a long moment. Danny shivered, his arms and neck goose pimpling as he stared back, not even having to tilt his head up like he used to. Lancer was only a couple inches taller than him now.

"Would you like me to stop?" asked Lancer quietly.

Danny's eyes suddenly burned with the mounting stress of tears. "I just want you to go back to normal." He used one hand to gesture toward Lancer, side to side, up and down. "This—whatever it is you're doing—I don't like it."

Lancer's face fell, looking hurt. "I'm sorry, I just—I know I was very hard on you before, and I'm trying to be kinder now."

"So you weren't trying to be kind to me before?" asked Danny with a bite in his tone. "You're admitting that?"

Lancer sighed. "I was expecting you to be more like your sister, I suppose. But I shouldn't have pushed you to be something you weren't." He paused. "I was wrong to put that kind of pressure on you."

The tears were pushing hard, but Danny fought them back. "Look, you don't need to be kinder. You don't need to go easier on me or whatever." He pressed his fingers to his chest. "I'm not damaged goods, I'm fine. I'm not going to break."

"What do you call what happened in class on Friday, Danny?"

Danny froze, taking a moment to process Lancer's question. He stumbled back a small step before breaking into a fierce scowl, one small tear escaping the corner of his eye.

"I'm sorry," said Lancer, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have said that."

"I'm not broken." Danny's voice was low, dark, shaking with emotion he couldn't control. "I came back. I chose to come back. Because I'm not so easily beaten."

Lancer's brows drew close together, his bottom lip sticking out slightly as he stared at Danny silently.

And then the door to the counselor's office opened. Danny and Lancer both straightened as a middle-aged woman wearing a beige skirt suit and turquoise jewelry greeted them.

"I thought I heard voices out here!" The woman's hazel eyes sparkled behind her blue-rimmed glasses as she smiled first at Lancer, then Danny, then back at Lancer.

"Ms. Epps." Lancer gestured to Danny. "This is Danny Fenton."

"Danny, yes, of course!" Ms. Epps held out a hand. "A pleasure to meet you."

Danny took her hand, the contact making him shiver. He shook it robotically, allowing her to decide when to pull away.

"You too," he said blankly.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," said Lancer with a small incline of his head. "I'll see both of you later."

Danny did not even give a final glance in Lancer's direction as Ms. Epps ushered him inside and directed him to sit in a chair facing her desk. Ms. Epps took a seat on the other side of her desk and rested her elbows on top of it, clasping her hands. Danny set his books on the floor next to him and looked around the room, noting the framed certifications and diplomas on the wall and the pictures of Ms. Epps on the bookshelves flanking the large window behind her desk. She was posing with faculty and students in each of the pictures, her eyes huge behind her glasses and her mouth always open with smiling excitement.

"So, Danny." Ms. Epps rested her chin on her clasped hands. "What's on your mind, handsome?"

Danny shivered again, his breath fogging.

"You're a ghost," he said.

"Hmm. Maybe you're not as dim as Mr. Plasmius said you'd be." Ms. Epps' hazel eyes twinkled into a ghostly silver. "Pity, I like dumb boys."

Danny fought back a scowl. "So you work for Vlad?"

"That's right. The name's Aletheia, Theia for short." Theia tilted her head from one side to the other. "I've been assigned to overshadow your school counselor since you're being forced to talk to her this week."

"So Vlad knows about that?" asked Danny.

"Your mother told him," said Theia. "She asked for his help. Mr. Plasmius decided that overshadowing the counselor was the best solution since you're a terrible liar and have a tendency to say the wrong thing." She smirked. "He also says you're very prone to breakdowns."

Danny could not fight off a scowl this time.

"And Mr. Plasmius' ghost identity is very closely tied to yours, so he can't have you making any costly mistakes that might expose either of you," Theia continued. "So now you can meet with the counselor every day like you're supposed to without any risk." Her eyes flashed, her glasses sliding down her nose as she smiled at Danny. "I'll be sure Ms. Epps only remembers what I want her to after we're done here."

Danny folded his arms. "So what are we supposed to do here?"

"Whatever you want, cutie," Theia purred. "You can work on homework, take a nap, or we could just stare at each other." She tapped her nails against the desk. "We can also actually talk."

"Talk about what?"

"Again, whatever you want. The weather, sports, or you could get some actual therapy out of this. I mean, just because I'm not a real counselor doesn't mean we can't talk about your feelings."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Pass."

"Aw, come on." Theia pouted. "I'm sure you have a lot of feelings and thoughts to get off your chest considering everything you've been through."

Danny furrowed his brow. "Do you know what happened to me?"

"You mean how your mother held you prisoner as her secret lab specimen for three and a half weeks?" Theia simpered. "Oh yes, I know all about that."

Danny's chest thudded. "Do, um… Do all the ghosts know?"

"Oh, no. Just the ghosts that work for Mr. Plasmius. And not all of them, just the few that are part of his highest inner circle." Theia's eyes glimmered. "Like me."

Danny released a breath.

"The other ghosts working for Mr. Plasmius know that you were gone, of course," continued Theia. "All the ghosts in the Ghost Zone were very aware that Danny Phantom was gone, just like the humans in your town. But the ghosts working for Vladco only know that Mr. Plasmius wants to keep the police from discovering more than they should. They have no idea what that 'more' might be."

"Vlad's just trying to protect himself," muttered Danny. "He doesn't care about me. He never did."

"He does actually like you, you know," said Theia. "He does care about you. In his own way."

Danny narrowed his eyes, remembering how Vlad just walked away from him in the lab, leaving him to die on that examination table.

"And some ghosts actually care about you, too," Theia went on. "I mean, not all of them. Not even most of them. But some were worried."

"Really?" asked Danny skeptically.

"Yeah," said Theia. "Princess Dora was sending out some scouts trying to find you in the Ghost Zone. Frostbite, too. But if I'm being honest, most ghosts were thrilled you weren't around to harass them anymore. You're famous in the Ghost Zone, sure, but not exactly popular." Theia shrugged. "Ghosts don't really take too kindly to ghosts that betray their own kind, even if they're only half ghost."

"I wasn't betraying them," said Danny, somewhat offended. "I was just trying to stop them from hurting people."

"Right, yes, of course," said Theia. "Because you don't see ghosts as people, do you?"

Theia's silver eyes were beady behind her glasses. Danny shrank back in his seat and ducked his head.

"Look, if humans were trying to invade the Ghost Zone and hurt ghosts, I would stop them, too." He brought his gaze back to Theia's face. "But that never happens. Humans don't do that."

"You think so?" Theia scoffed with a small laugh. "Then why do you only go after ghosts on your nightly patrols? Why don't you ever fight off the ghost hunters?" She threw out an arm, gesturing beyond the walls. "Why haven't you been stopping the Guys in White from torturing ghosts?"

Danny's brow knitted. "The Guys in White?"

"Yeah. They've been especially aggressive since you went missing. I mean, not you as in Danny Fenton, you as in Danny Phantom." Theia folded her arms and swiveled in her desk chair, turning to look out the window behind her. "They've been capturing and interrogating ghosts trying to find you."

Danny's chest jolted, his heart racing as he remembered the white van parked at the school's curbside just a few days earlier.

"Me?" he gasped out, curling his fingers over his knees to stop his hands from shaking.

"Yes, you," said Theia almost snappishly as she turned her chair back to face him. "Of course you. You're their ultimate prize." She chuckled. "Well, but you're every ghost hunter's ultimate prize, aren't you? Even your own mother couldn't keep her hands off you." Her eyes lidded as she smirked. "Not that I blame her."

Danny glowered, feeling his cheeks burn.

"Oh, lighten up, it's a joke." Theia waved a hand in dismissal. "You can smile, you know. Or have you forgotten how?"

Danny's jaw tensed, but he was not sure he actually knew the answer to that question.

"How many ghosts have the Guys in White taken?" he asked instead.

"You mean in just the past couple months since you as Danny Phantom disappeared?" Theia glanced up at the ceiling. "I couldn't give you an exact number. A lot, for sure. But they've all been less intelligent ghosts, ghosts that usually can't even speak. The kind of ghosts the Guys in White obviously can't torture much useful information out of." Theia tented her fingers on her desk. "Otherwise, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be here talking to me right now."

Danny's stomach knotted.

"The Guys in White apparently aren't competent enough to capture more intelligent ghosts that could actually tell them who Danny Phantom really is," Theia continued. "In fact, the only ghost hunter competent enough to capture intelligent ghosts is you."

Danny balked. "What? I'm not a ghost hunter."

"What do you call chasing us down and sucking us up in that Thermos of yours?"

"But I don't kill ghosts or imprison them. I let them go."

"Does that make you feel better about yourself? To believe you're a superhero and not a hunter?"

Theia clasped her hands and pressed them against her cheek as she smirked. Danny lowered his eyes and did not respond.

Several silent moments passed. Nothing but the sound of muffled traffic from outside the window.

"Can I ask you something personal?" asked Theia, her voice very soft.

Danny raised his eyes, uneasy.

"What was it like?" Theia lowered her hands onto the desk. "To be experimented on as a lab specimen?"

Lying on a table under bright lights, forcibly undressed, quivering—

"I don't want to talk about it," said Danny, crossing his arms and pressing his heels into the floor as he looked away.

"I get it," said Theia. "It's every ghost's greatest fear now, ever since our worlds were permanently connected by that portal your parents built."

Theia's gaze fell to her desk. Danny looked at her again, sensing that she was being genuine.

"It was…" Danny tried to find the right word, searching his heart, his memories. "Agony. Just…pain. So much pain."

He clutched at the front of his shirt, tugging it away from his skin.

"And fear," he continued, his voice losing strength. "I was always so scared of what she would do next. And when she wasn't there, I was literally just waiting for her to come back. Hours and hours in the dark, stuck in an uncomfortable position and unable to move, just lying there and waiting for the torture to start again."

The words were pouring out of him almost involuntarily. Tears spilled over, streaming down his cheeks and falling off his chin onto his arms, the chair, the floor.

"The sound of that door opening each night was terrifying," he choked out.

He hugged his arms and hung his head, heaving and sobbing and shaking, unable to stop even though he was trying, trying to keep it all in because he hated crying around other people even if they were ghosts.

But he hadn't realized just how badly his body had been aching for this release, how much he just needed to tell someone what he was really feeling because he couldn't be honest with his friends and Vlad would just try to take advantage of his vulnerability and he couldn't let the police know and he couldn't even confide in his mother because she she SHE—

Danny sucked in a breath and straightened in his seat, his arms still folded tightly against him as he returned his attention to Theia. A couple of straggling tears trailed down his face as his chest shuddered a few final times.

Theia's face looked pale. "I hope that never happens to me," she whispered.

Danny stared at her for a few silent beats.

"I hope it doesn't either," he said flatly but sincerely.

Theia removed her glasses, her ghostly silver eyes still glowing. "I know I work for your archenemy, so you probably don't trust me. But I think it's terrible what you were put through." She looked down at her hands, wringing a couple fingers. "As I said, only a few of us know what really happened to you, but I'm sure a lot of other ghosts would feel the same. I think most ghosts would not delight in knowing you were tortured by your own kind."

Danny shrugged with a small scoff.

"No, really," insisted Theia. "Many would have sympathy. Or at least pity. I mean, don't get me wrong, there are plenty of ghosts that hate your guts and would maybe get a kick out of it, but most of us don't really hate you. We just see you as an annoying little kid trying to play superhero."

She pursed her lips, her eyes moving up and down as she studied Danny. Danny reflexively tried to turn his body from her.

"But you're not a little kid anymore," she said with a small smirk, "are you? What's that thing humans go through, puberty? It seems it's been good to you."

Danny stared back at her, blank, empty, nothing more to say.

When he at last emerged from the counselor's office, Jazz was waiting for him out in the hall.

"How'd it go?" she asked cheerfully.

"Fine," said Danny, shifting the books in his arms and walking past her toward his locker.

"Oh, you got your yearbook, too!" said Jazz, catching up to him. "I skipped right over your picture when I was looking for it. You just looked—"

"Like a kid?" Danny finished for her.

Jazz looked startled as she fumbled with a response. "Ah—no—I mean, yeah, you've certainly grown since then, but also, you just… You look happy in your picture." She looked down at the floor. "I, uh… I just haven't seen you smile like that in a long time."

Danny stopped and stared at her. Jazz tentatively raised her eyes and met his gaze.

And Danny realized in that moment why he was feeling such a disconnect from himself, why even though he recognized his reflection in the mirror, he just didn't feel like he was actually Danny. He had been trying to find the old Danny, the happy kid that Danny used to be.

But that happy kid was simply gone.

And maybe it was just time for him to accept that.

Late that night in his room when the rest of his family had gone to bed, Danny stared at the various posters on his walls, images of video games and rock bands and constellations, his junior astronaut certification that his mom had proudly framed for him.

He gazed up at a poster of the Milky Way, tilting his head one way and then the other, trying to find the magic that this particular picture used to hold for him, the miraculous wonder that he used to feel when he imagined soaring beyond the stars and into the cosmos as an astronaut.

But he felt nothing.

These games, these bands, these dreams, they seemed so meaningless now.

He reached up and tore down each poster, crumpling them, throwing them away.