Warning: GiW-related gore

This was going to be a twoshot but, due to high demand, it's now a full-fledged phicc! Updates about once a month. Enjoy!

"What do you remember about that day, Danny?"

The smell of antiseptic mixed with the citrus odor of ectoplasm. The sounds of expensive black shoes clicking against the tiled floors. Powerful hands, gripping small arms, dragging a lifeless body across the floor. The bright lights. Lips on tall faces that were always set in a frown. The white walls, floors, ceiling, suits. The glare of the lights against the floor. It's all white. The clang of the metal instruments being dropped on the white tiles. Who did that? It's so bright. The shoes won't stop clicking against the floor. Where's the body going? Why is it so bright?

"Danny?" The therapist leaned in, tilting her head to the side. Her blond hair slipped off her shoulder. "Talk to me."

"Nothing." Danny's eyes darted down to his lap where he held a blue stress ball. He pressed a finger into it, denting the material. It was soft, yet held a certain firmness that helped to ground his mind. He let out a shaky breath.

"I don't think I believe that," the therapist said lightly.

Danny furrowed his brow. "It's too...I don't know."

The therapist sat patiently, waiting for him to finish processing his thoughts. She was the best, the hospital had reassured his parents. She would be able to get through to him. Danny wasn't so sure. How broken was too broken for a therapist? At what point would medication not be enough? This wasn't normal. Nothing about this was okay. He wasn't okay.

Danny's mouth pressed into a thin line, twitching slightly. It was as if his mouth knew what it wanted to say, but it just couldn't quite find the words to say it. "It's too...bright," he finished lamely.

"That sounds stressful."

"I guess."

The therapist relaxed in her chair, her blond curls bouncing slightly at the movement. She folded her hands across her lap. In the moment, she looked so similar to Jazz that Danny could have smiled. "Did this happen the day after you were kidnapped?"

"No." Danny squished his fingers deeper into the stress ball. He was starting to get a headache. "No...it happened…after."

"How far after?"

"I don't know. After."

It was the climax of his stay at the facility. The day everyone was waiting for. All other tests had been run. They knew Danny's core temperature, they knew his height and weight, they knew his exact power level, they knew which chemicals he reacted to and which ones he didn't. They knew how to take down a ghost far better than they ever did. They had the knowledge they needed.

Now it was time to have fun with their prize.

The therapist nodded. "You mentioned a few days ago that they said something to you when you got to the room? Do you know what they said?"

"No." The words were an automatic reflex at this point. He remembered everything. Every footstep, every speck of dust on the ceiling, every drop of ectoplasm that stained the floor behind him.

"Where's your bark, dog?" The worst of them had said, laughing as he prodded Danny with a low-powered electrical stick. The real pain was in the collar. The stick was just for show. "Little doggy's lost his bark, hasn't he?"

His eyes darted around him. Chains appeared on his side. He shivered, the chains cold against his bare skin. When had they chained him to the table? Green bled into the white tiles, into the white of his jumpsuit. Of his gloves. The DP logo was gone and replaced by a gaping hole in his chest.

A hole.

In his.

In his chest.

"Struggle against me again, dog, and you'll get a lot worse than an electric shock."

"I'm not a dog," he whispered.

He wasn't a dog. They couldn't tell him he was. He wasn't a dog.

"They called you a dog, Danny?" the therapist asked, her clear voice piercing through the dense fog in his mind.

His head snapped up. He glared into the grays of her eyes. "I'm not a dog."

"I know, Danny." The therapist jotted down something in her notebook.

"I'm not a dog," he repeated, less sure of himself.

The therapist nodded again. "You're not," she affirmed.

"Right." Danny said awkwardly, his eyebrows creased in confusion. They sat for a minute in silence. Danny turned the stress ball around in his hands, focusing on the way the light of the office reflected against the matte rubber. It was soft, soothing. He pressed a finger into the ball, disrupting the flow of the light.

"So they took you into a room, right? Can you describe it for me?"

Danny tapped his fingers against the ball. "It was white. Like the others."

The therapist leaned in, resting her elbows on her knees. "Danny, are you okay to tell me what happened next?"

He shrugged. It didn't matter, anyways. He had to. His parents were paying good money to make sure he did. And the last thing he wanted was to let his family down. They'd already been through so much, with him being ripped away from his home so violently like he was. Jazz hadn't been able to leave visits without tearing up yet. And his mother...

Danny didn't know how to deal with his mother crying.

"They, uh, put me on—uh, I mean, they shocked me first." He risked a glance up at the therapist. He had her undivided attention. "And I went on this table. And...and then—uh—they...you know."

"What happened?" She said, her voice soft like velvet.

"You read the report," Danny said bitterly.

"I want to hear it from you."

Danny glared down at his lap. "They put me on the table and poked me with the metal stick. And laughed. And then...they...my jumpsuit—and. They took the scalp—" Danny choked, dropping the stress ball on the floor. His hands shot up and grabbed his hair. He bent down until his elbows mimicked the therapist's.

"I'm—I'm sorry." He rocked back and forth in his chair. "I'm sorry."

"Danny, it's okay. You in a safe place. Focus on my voice."

"I'm sorry," Danny gasped, struggling to slow the erratic air coursing through his lungs. In, out. In, out. He shut his eyes, chasing away the memories. Like a bad horror movie, they refused to stop. They flashed against his eyelids in random snippets. A flash of light as a new metal instrument was plucked from the table. The agents unzipping his jumpsuit and touching his bare skin. The white hot pain of his skin being peeled ba—

"That's right, Danny. Breath. You're right here, in my office. You're safe. Focus on my voice. Breath with me okay? In...and out. In….and out."

He was in the office.

"You're doing so great, Danny. Keep breathing with me. In...and out…and in…"

He was in the office.

"Danny, can you look at me?"

Breathe.

He was in the office. He was safe. In, and out. He needed to look at his therapist. She was there to help him.

His unfocused gaze shifted up to meet the steady eyes of his therapist. She smiled warmly at him. "Danny, you're doing so great. I know this is very difficult, and I'm proud that you're starting to open up with me. The things you're feeling right now are valid and okay. You don't need to apologize to me or anyone else about it, okay?"

In, and out.

"Yeah."

Danny arrived at the adolescent inpatient facility two weeks ago. He knows this because that's what the psychiatrists have been telling him. He also knows he came home from the GiW facility a month before that because he asked Jazz on the phone last week and she told him. And then she asked if he was okay and if he needed her to call a nurse and if he felt better on medication. He hung up and wheeled away, only for her to show up at the facility the next day furious for hanging up on her. Looking back, he knew it was a shitty thing to do. He just...couldn't handle her energy at the time.

"You're lucky your sister cares about you that much," a brunette boy told him stiffly, coloring in a mountain scene he'd outlined.

There wasn't much to do in the facility during free time, but one thing the hospital did provide is blank sheets of paper and markers. Some of the markers even had stamps on the other side. Danny found the yellow one with star-stamps last week, which quickly turned into his favorite marker. It didn't require much thinking, just a gentle press into the blank sheet of paper.

The other boy arrived a few days into Danny's stay. He was set to leave the facility next week, he said. He had a standard two-week stay. Suicide attempt, he'd told everyone during group therapy.

"My sister moved out when I was eight," the boy went on. "She comes around on holidays, but other than that I don't see her much. My family's not that close like yours is."

"Jazz is nice." Danny said. His therapist told him he needed to talk to the other patients more. But it was...weird. The other patients knew about Phantom. The whole world did. He was all over the news, apparently. Some of the other patients were starstruck that Danny Phantom of all people was here in the facility, but others were less happy. Some people refused to look him in the eye, glared at him when they thought he didn't notice. Others cowered from him, afraid he would beat them up for existing. Like the GiW did to him.

The boy paused his coloring. "You know, during...everything...she was on the news all the time, right? Demanding for the government to let you come home? She cares about you so much, dude. You're so lucky."

He felt something flare inside of him. "I'm not lucky."

The other boy looked up at him in surprise. "What?"

"I was locked up in a government facility for...for three weeks. How is—uh, how is that lucky?" Danny asked.

"I was saying that you're lucky your sister loves you so much, not that you became a walking experiment—"

"Shut up!" Danny was on his feet in an instant, his face red. "I'm not! I didn't ask for this! Shut up!"

"Boys!" Came one of the nursing assistants. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm sorry!" Danny yelled, his eyes wide.

"Phantom's gone crazy," the brunette said. Turning to Danny, he hissed, "I can't believe you were in charge of protecting—"

The nursing assistant held up her hands. "Devon, would you like to take a minute alone in your room?"

"No, I want to get back to my activity!" The brunette pointed at his paper. "It's not my fault Phantom's acting like an animal!"

The blood drained from his face. "I'm not a dog!" Danny yelled reflexively. His shaking hands flew up to grip his hair.

The nursing assistant held up a hand. "Danny, I know you're not. Would you like to come over here with me?"

No, he needed her to understand. She needed to understand. "I'm not a dog!"

Another staff member approached him. "That's right, Danny. Would you like to continue coloring with me?"

"I need to...to change." He mentally poked at his sleeping core.

"Change into what?"

He needed to get out. Leave. The walls in here were white. Who designed that? He was trapped. He couldn't breathe. He tried to transform again. "Why can't I change?"

"I think he's talking about his ghost," one of the staff members whispered to the other.

"It's not my ghost, it's me," Danny argued. "I can't...I can't find it. I need to—uh, to get out of here."

The bright lights glared down at him, and walls started to move in. A familiar weight appeared on his neck. No no, he wasn't back at the government compound. He was at the hospital. Breath two three, out two three…

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the first staff member pick up the brunette's art supplies and move to another table.

"Do you remember when you got here?" the new staff member's voice was patient. "The hospital had to give you a chip that took away your...other side for a time. It'll be out as soon as you are ready to leave the hospital, I promise. Why don't you sit down and color with me, Danny?"

"I'll get it back?" Danny said, a hand automatically covering his chest where his core rested.

"Yes, Danny, once you complete this program," the nurse said. "Please sit down with me?"

"Okay," he said, removing his trembling hand slowly from his hair. "Okay."

He glanced around the room. People were looking at him. Some people seemed curious, but most appeared tense, as if they were plotting their escapes should he go on a murderous rampage.

He blew out a large stream of air and sat back down in his seat, suddenly exhausted. He tried to ignore the way the tension in the room immediately dissipated. He scowled, despite his best efforts.

The staff member slid a blank sheet of paper towards her. "What do you think I should draw, Danny?"

Danny shrugged and glanced around for the yellow stamp marker. It was on the floor. When did it fall?

She bent down and grabbed the marker from the floor. Handing it to him, she said, "I think I'll draw my favorite lake that my family likes to go to during the summer. What are you drawing, Danny?"

"Space. Or something," he said, poking the marker at his paper. Maybe he could make some constellations while he was at it.

"That's cool! Space is so interesting, and I love those markers. Something about using those stamps is just so relaxing, isn't it?" she asked.

Danny shrugged again.

"You want to work with NASA, right?"

Danny frowned. "I do…"

"You seem unsure," she observed.

"I just don't know if...you know...someone like me can be hired by them," Danny said. "It's not exactly a secret that people are afraid of me. You know? And after...everything…" Danny huffed, pausing his coloring and reaching for his hair once again. "My grades are awful I'm not...I mean, uh...I'm not exactly human. The...the government made sure to let me know."

She sighed. "Danny, don't—"

"But it's true, isn't it?" his wide eyes met hers. "That no one thinks of me as human? I mean, I—I know...like..I'm not but I still...I still want to be treated like one." An all-too familiar lump formed in his throat. "And I know what the other...other people...teens say here. They're all...all afraid of, uh...me. And I—I know the staff is too. Ghosts aren't...they're not—uh...mindless blobs of...of energy. We have thoughts and...stuff...feelings too. They're just...a...just different...I guess. But they're still there."

"None of the staff is afraid of you, Danny," she reassured. "If we were, you wouldn't be in this facility. But you're here because we and your parents want to help you. You've been through something really traumatic and everything you're feeling is normal and very human, okay? We all want what's best for you."

"Then why aren't I—uh, I allowed to go ghost?" Danny demanded. "Why do I have this...this...chip inside me?"

"Hospital policy against having weapons inside," the staff member told him. "You know this, Danny. It's not that we don't trust you, it's that we are responsible for everyone that passes through these doors. Including you. What if you use your powers to hurt yourself? What if you use them to leave? We can't have that." Her expression softened considerably as she added, "And I don't think this response is that surprising to you, right?"

No. It wasn't surprising. But that didn't mean he had to agree with it.

"Yeah, I guess."

"You can't control what others think of you based on the media, but by being a good person, which you are, you can change people's perceptions of you. And Danny, I don't think anyone here thinks badly of you."

His jaw tightened. "You're wrong."

"I think people may be initially apprehensive or nervous, but once people meet you it goes away immediately. People like you, Danny. You're a good person and it shows."

He was silent at that.

"Do you think you're a good person?" the staff member asked with a gentle voice.

"I don't know," Danny answered, refusing to meet her eyes. "I try to be. But I...I don't think...you know, I don't think it's working."

"But you still try, right?" she pressed.

"Yeah," Danny said.

"Then that's all that matters."

They continued coloring in silence for a while. Eventually, even Danny was forced to admit his night sky had more than enough stars in it. He flipped his sheet of paper around and starting drawing Saturn. He always liked the way Saturn looked with its rings and its swirling gas clouds. It was colorful, yet peaceful at the same time. If only he could see it in person.

Something wasn't right. Before, he didn't realize. But now, with the silence and the mindless energy of dotting stars against the night sky, he understood what was wrong. And before he could help himself, Danny blurted out, "I don't like that."

The staff member peaked over at Danny's drawing, "Your drawing of Saturn? It looks good to me."

Danny shook his head. "No. Not that."

The staff member stayed silent, allowing Danny to collect his thoughts. His brow furrowed, and he gripped the table as if that stability would someone help him form sentences faster. "I...don't like...being called an animal."

"Yeah?" the staff member asked, a clear prompt to continue.

"They...you know," Danny shifted uncomfortably. Before coming to the psych ward, his parents hardly made him talk about his experiences. They thought space was the answer. One month and several meltdowns later, his parents had realized that space was very much not the solution. Talking through issues with professionals was. Danny, despite his teen hormones still screaming at him to block everyone out, had to agree.

"Sorry," he apologized. "This is hard."

"It's okay. We have all the time you need here."

"I just—it's just like, uh...they never—they never called me by my name. Ever," Danny said awkwardly. "One of the nicknames they liked was—uh, was dog. Sometimes it was just animal though. Like...like they couldn't pick the worst one. I was all of them combined. I was...I was just an animal to them."

The GiW called him that right from the start. They hit his head in the van ride over to the facility, which they said was because they couldn't have him escaping, but Danny knew better. They dragged his dazed body through the maze that was their hallway system until they stopped at a pristine white door, identical to the other doors they passed on the way over in all manners except for its label. Alpha Priority Room.

"I'm that special?" Danny asked, his brave mask doing nothing to cover his trembling voice. The GiW had injected his body with some liquid on the way over, forcing him into Phantom form. He couldn't change back, no matter how hard he tried.

"Save it, ghost scum," one of the agents said as he swiped his card along the scanner next to the door.

The door hissed open, revealing a room no larger than a prison cell. The walls, ceiling, and floor was all white, and four security cameras sat upon the corners of the room. There were no lights on the ceiling, no windows overlooking the outside. Just whiteness.

The agent shoved him inside, and his weakened form could do little more than brace his impact to the ground. Danny rolled over just in time to hear the agent snarl, "You're government property now. No one can save you here. You're nothing more than a fucking animal to us."

The door closed, and Danny was encased in darkness.