"Mom? Dad? You guys down there?"

Silently I glance around the corner, peering through thick locks of black. Mom was right – I really need a haircut. But I brush my hair out of my eyes and moving silently, make my way towards my father's cluttered desk and pause. Mentally I look quickly through the mess to find something, any indication that there is a reason for the strange feeling I have in the pit of my stomach. Aha.That something finally catches my eye, a detail possibly too small for any regular human to see. As usual my ghost senses haven't let me down - yet. Because placed carefully amidst the papers, and broken bits of technology is Dad's morning coffee, still steaming in the gaudy #1 DAD mug.

But no Dad.

"Hello? Anybody?"

I get no response. The lab is empty, only sound of life coming from buzzing machinery and nearly finished weapons. I look casually towards the portal, expecting to see the thick, chrome doors that keep ghosts from spilling out from their dimension and into our world. Instead my eyes are met with swirling green ectoplasm. Why the hell is the portal open?

And the plot thickens.

With a gasp I lunge towards the control board, smashing my knee off of a chair, knocking my head against the corner of the table, my fingers stumbling over buttons and switches as I try to find the one that will close this Goddamn portal before anyone or anything can get out-

"Smile Danny!"

I glance up just as the flash goes off. I blink. "Wha-"

"Sam, are you sure this is such a good-"

"Shut up Tucker, you don't know what you're talking about. Besides, Danny wants to go in. Right Danny?"

Tearing my gaze from the pasty white HAZMAT suit that has appeared in my hands, I stare idiotically at Sam and Tucker as they look expectantly towards me. Sam stands determined and bold, violet eyes set in that unwavering way of hers whenever she knows that she's right. While Tucker is anything but sure, clutching nervously at his PDA while his eyes bore into mine.

The words are out of my lips before I even feel them form.

"Of course I do! Tucker, it'll be fine, no need to shit your pants over it."

I've done this before.

"You see?" Sam says brightly to Tucker as he opens his mouth to retort, and she playfully tugs the scarlet beret he's never without down past his nose. "I told you. Chill the fuck out dude."

Why can't I stop this?

With numb fingers I tug on the HAZMAT suit, the cold, smooth material fitting snugly against my jeans, molding perfectly over my sneakers. My mind is screaming at me- No you fucking idiot, don't do it, you know what happens! –but my body isn't listening, it's gone on autopilot.

I'm careful not to get my t-shirt stuck in the zipper as it closes around my neck. I'm still struggling inwardly but apparently neither of my friends notice. I am dimly aware of Sam asking me if I'm ready and I nod. I can't speak; it feels like something's caught in my windpipe, preventing me from breathing, let alone talking.

I can still hear my thoughts as they scream uselessly in my ear to stop but I step forwards anyway, towards the open portal. I can see the inside of it and its filled with bright, glossy machinery, not the green, luminous ectoplasm like mere moments ago. I know that I should stop - my mind is begging to myself to cease walking because I shouldn't do this but I can't control my own body. I can hear Sam and Tucker talking behind me but their voices are echoing strangely in my ears now - what's going on?

I'm inside completely now and my hand drags against the wall as I try to see through the darkness that numbs even my ghost senses- there has to be a light switch in here somewhere –and suddenly all there is is light and I hear shrieking, tortured screams- is that Sam? No, I think that's me –and oh God, it hurts so fucking much, please just make it stop-

Pain. So excruciating, so sudden, it burns throughout my body without warning. My legs thrash as I claw uselessly at the metal floor. I can't think, I can't breathe. I can only scream. It feels as though each nerve in my body has been set on fire, and the flames are eating me alive. My muscles spasm again, and again, and again, and Christ it hurts. Please just make it stop, I wish I was dead-

And just like that it's over. I'm left on the ground, writhing in pain as my own, agonized cries still echo in my ears. I'm shaking, shaking from head to foot and I think I just threw up but I can't tell because it still hurts so damn much. But I have to move, I know I have to get up. Dragging myself forward with twitching fingers that have no pulse I make it onto my hands and knees and crawl to the opening of the portal. Each movement nearly brings me to the brink of losing it, but I have to keep moving so I make it out into the lab –

- only to come face to face with the butt end of an ectogun held by none other than my mother, a disgusting, ecstatic smirk on her face. Behind her I can see Dad, his face equally bloodcurdling.

My stomach plummets and my pulse starts up again, faster than humanly possible. My heart should be exploding.

I can barely feel it beating.

"M-Mom? Dad?"

"You're not my son, ghost," Mom spits at me, smacking away my trembling hand with her foot. And just before she releases the trigger I can see my reflection on the smooth, linoleum floor. The only thing I can focus on in my appearance is the snow white hair, and bright, glowing green eyes.

BAM!

"NO!"

Christ, not again.

I'm awake in an instant, bolting up and already moving towards the door as I attempt to untangle myself from the thin blue throw that has my waist in a death grip. Snarling in aggravation I manage to free myself, and scramble towards the door.

I'm not going to make it- I'm positive I won't -so I turn about and head straight to the waste basket sitting near my desk. It's in my hands the moment last night's dinner begins to make a reappearance. My vision blurs and my throat burns as the bile quickly surges upward and there's nothing I can do to stop it or the smell that invades my nostrils.

Mom's meatloaf tastes even worse the second time around.

More bile rises at the thought.

I'm shaking uncontrollably as the retching begins - my stomach is empty but my body doesn't want to believe it. Ectoplasm is swishing through my blood right now, trying to find the source of the sickness so it can stop it. I'm dimly aware that my veins are a shining, radioactive green and I'm assuming my eyes are too. Coughs begin to wrack my body and I grip the wastebasket, hard enough I hear a snap! but my head is spinning too much for me to care.

This is gross.

Finally it's over.

Cautiously I sit up, afraid any sudden movement will send my stomach spiraling into more vomiting, but for the moment I'm okay. I run my trembling fingers through my hair and they come back soaking wet. Grabbing my t-shirt my fear is confirmed - I'm drenched in sweat. I groan, unwilling to find the energy to take a shower, regardless of how much I need one.

I glance at the clock which reads 2:35, in bright red numbers.

Fuck.

I close my eyes and press my hands against my temples, trying to think above the pounding in my head. Do I lay here on my carpet for the next, four or so hours? Or do I take a shower and maybe get an actual good night's sleep?

I opt for the floor, only because when I try to sit up the room begins to spin again.

Ugh. What's wrong with me?

I wonder dimly if maybe Mom had some Ibuprofen, but then I quickly throw the idea away. I tell myself it's only because I don't want to wake her up, and that it's not because I'm not afraid of her.

Why would I be afraid of my own mother?

Thoughts begin to buzz around my already throbbing head and with a moan I force myself into a sitting position. Flashes from my dream- Christ, it was only a dream! -are starting to invade my mind so I know sleep isn't an option.

Shower it is.

I don't even bother standing, instead I crawl pathetically to my door and phase through. I repeat the action once more as I reach the bathroom door. It's pitch black, but I can see everything: the sink, the shower head, the small crack running along the floor near the counter.

Even so, I make myself stand on unsteady legs so I can switch on the light. Grimacing I listen to every creak and pop of my joints. I think the ectoplasm is finally done with it's cleansing so I feel my wrist for a pulse; yep. Weaker and more spasmodic than any regular humans pulse but it's there.

I stagger to the shower, avoiding the mirror- I am not afraid, I am not afraid -and turn on the spout. It's nice, and I can't help but sigh out loud once the warm water begins to ebb and flow over my tired body.

I'm not worried that Mom and Dad will wake up - they've slept through worse. I swallow as another wave of nausea washes over me. No no no...

At least I'm in the shower this time.

I count the scars running across my chest and arms, for lack of anything else to do. With clumsy, exhausted hands I untangle the knots in my hair. I name the proper use of commas. But I still can't stop thinking about my dream.

My eyes are starting to close with every passing moment so with regret I slowly shut off the shower and make my way out. The cool air hits my skin and I can see goosebumps running along my skin but I don't feel them.

I wrap a towel around my waist and glance quickly towards the mirror. It's clouded by mist, and I'm relieved. But the relief fades away as I realize I can't hide from myself- and my dream -forever.

Slowly, with guarded, light footsteps gained from practice I make my way to the damned looking glass. What if I fell in, like Alice? I laugh quietly, humorlessly. My throat is dry and raspy. I cough.

Taking a deep breath through my nose I wipe the smog away from the mirror with a clenched fist and closed eyes.

1. 2. 3.

I open my eyes, trying to breathe.

My reflection is still distorted somewhat from the remaining water droplets, but it's me alright. Tousled raven hair plastered to my forehead. High cheekbones. Upturned nose with small nostrils. And deep, large blue eyes.

I sigh, feeling stupid for being scared of my own reflection. I mean, it wasn't like I would just wake up as Phantom with a bullet through my-

I brush the thought away, and look closer towards the mirror.

A lot of features on my face aren't normal though. A light bruise, barely visible on deathly pale skin decorates my right cheekbone. Lifting my hair out of my eyes I find the still healing cut that runs across my forehead. And underneath my tired eyes are deep, permanent dark circles from getting little to none sleep in the past year and a half.

I sigh and turn away, letting my hair fall back into my face. The bruise I got from a scuffle with the Box Ghost - boxes of books are harder than they seem. And the cut, half tinged red the other half ectoplasm green came from barely skimming past one of Skulker's prized knives. Sam had freaked out, nearly tackling me to the ground to examine to the cut, but by that time the blood was already running thin and the skin was closing up.

I can't help but think that where the cut now sits is exactly where Mom pulled the trigger, with Dad edging her on. I bet they had fun dissecting me afterward.

"No," I murmur. "Don't think about that now."

The room is starting to blur in colors around me once more, so gripping my towel I flip off the light and stumble out into the hall. I'm nearly to my bedroom when a soft voice calls my name.

"Danny?"

I shriek, and instinct sends me spinning around into a crouch. Mentally I kick myself as I glance at Mom's startled face. I swear to God if my eyes flashed-

"Sweetheart, are you feeling okay?" She's walking towards me now, and dammit why am I shrinking against the wall like some sort of animal? Words are forming on my lips but I just can't get them out. "Danny, honey you're scaring me."

Say something you asshole!

"M'fine," I finally manage, with more difficulty than it should have took. "Really Mom," I pause to take a swallow and force out the words again. "I'm fine."

She's kneeling now, and our eyes are practically level although I doubt she can really tell in the pitch dark. I'm fighting the urge to run as she brings her hand up, trying to find my face. I make myself stay put and God, it hurts, that's how much I don't want to be here right now. Finally her hand meets my head. I whimper at the touch. "Oh sweetheart, you're burning up."

I'm actually taken aback for a moment; it's a rare occurrence for my temperature to be higher than the normal standard, and even rarer for me to have a human virus. Ever since the accident my body readings have been much lower than your average human being, and I'm immune to practically every disease known to man.

Except for the flu apparently.

"C'mon, time to go back to bed Danny."

Mom is hauling me to my feet, and I barely have time to grab onto my towel. "Please Mom, m'fine really," I mutter, and even in my fevered state I can hear how pathetic and slurred my words are. I'm dimly aware of being handed an extra pair of clothes.

"Now you change. I'm going to get you some Aspirin and a glass of water. Then you're going to bed and there is no way you're going to school tomorrow Danny." She's using her I-Know-What's-Best-And-Don't-You-Dare-Try-And-Argue-With-Me voice, so all I can do is struggle to put my pants on as I hear her shuffle in the medicine cabinet downstairs.

I think I'm fading in and out of consciousness though because next thing I know I'm under the covers fully clothed and Mom is smoothing my hair back. "Take this," she tells me softly, and hands me a pill and a glass of water. I do as she says - I haven't got the energy to do anything indifferent, even if I wanted to.

"Thanks," I whisper, even though my brain is still screaming DANGER! DANGER! at me. This is my mother. I am not afraid of my own mother.

"You're welcome baby," Mom murmurs back. "Just get some sleep, okay?"

I nod and groan as sharp pain pricks my temples again.

She gets up to leave and as soon as she does this horrible, heavy weight begins to weigh down on my chest. I have to tell her.

I have to tell her so I'm not afraid anymore.

"Mom?" I call out, half hoping she hears me and half hoping she doesn't.

"Yes honey?"

My body is trembling, whether from fear or fever I'm not sure. But I speak, before my brief fit of courage has drained completely.

"Mom, what if I was part ghost?"

Cautiously I look towards her through the dark. I can see that she has a strange expression on her face, partly amused and maybe slightly alarmed. Crap. Why did I do that?

"Danny, you have a fever. You need to sleep."

Sleep is sounding really good right now, but for some reason I can't back down now. No matter how much I want to.

"No Mom." My voice is the strongest sounding it's been all night. "I'm serious."

My room is filled with heavy silence.

She takes a deep breath and I can tell she's thinking. I bite my lip, hard enough I taste blood and ectoplasm. Dammit. What have I done? What if she figures it all out? I regret the impulsive question already - I'm screwed. I wish I had powers like Clockwork, so I could reverse time.

But I don't. And I can't.

"Well," Mom says at last. "I don't think it really matters anyway sweetheart. I mean, to be a ghost you would have to be dead. And evil."

I wince, and as the weight remains on my chest, suffocating me. I knew it. I know I shouldn't have said anything at all. I curl up underneath my comforter, trying to stop my body from shaking and my teeth from clattering together.

"Okay. Night Mom." Even in my own ears I sound defeated, empty.

Mom pauses for a moment in my doorway, probably wondering about my erratic behavior. "Alright, well goodnight Danny," she says, apparently reaching her own conclusion. After all, I did have a fever. "I love you. Now get some sleep."

I don't reply.

And I don't get any sleep either.

EDIT: I got some comments saying they were confused as to what was real and what wasn't. Basically Danny wakes up from his dream after the gun goes off. Hence the untangling himself from his blanket and puking his guts out :D

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGST.

And swearing. And more aaaaaaaaaaaaangst.

Been craving Danny Phantom lately. I mean, I go to write down what I need to pack for camping and my brain is all like: "No! Draw Danny Phantom instead! C'mon!"

So I do and forget what in the hell I needed to pack. Thanks Danny.

The dream sequence was beta-ed by the lovely and amazing Fishy-Icon. Thanks love! But I couldn't wait to post it so I did. And there are probably a gazillion mistakes galore! Also much thanks to Death Before Darkness with a bit of grammar help as well. *cough* I'm kinda hopeless with this stuff.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeell it's practically Wednesday already here and I really need a shower so enjoy! And review!

~LeiaOrganicSolo