Bad idea considering how busy I am, but I want to see how this idea is received. This is my sorceress Sam story. First story in third person, so criticism is welcome.

Sam is instantly aware that the place she awakens is not familiar.

She's a light sleeper. Always has been. Even more so when Danny went through the Ghost Portal only to emerge with ghost powers and an alter ego. Whenever he visited her late at night, usually when she slept, Sam always awoke the instant he entered her room.

It feels like that now. A distinct knowing that there's another person in the room, despite not seeing or hearing them.

Beyond that feeling, she feels the fabric beneath her fingers. Sam's bed is satin. The silky sheets and feather pillows are nothing like the rough material and cotton pillows she feels now. And the smell: not lavender like her detergent, but clinical, sharp.

Her senses leaping into overdrive is Sam's last resort to avoid panic. Though her eyes are closed, she can sense that the other presence knows she's awake, even if they are giving her the courtesy/illusion to pretend they don't. No matter their reason, Sam knows it won't last much longer. She has to open her eyes, has to confront whatever it is she's gotten herself into this time.

Strangely enough, Sam can't pinpoint what she did. Last she remembers, as hazy and clouded as it may be, is Danny flying her home, swinging her wildly through the air to illicit shrieks. She remembers him setting her down, winking as he said happy birthday, kissing her swiftly on the lips before disappearing back into the sky.

It's hazier after that. What did Sam do? Is this a ghostly plot against Danny? Where is she? Another thought strikes her. Am I in the hospital?

Panic spikes through her despite her desperate attempt to settle it. She's Sam Manson. Part of Team Phantom. She fights by a superhero's side to protect mankind. Panic at a time like this would betray all of that.

Her eyes flash open.

Whatever Sam expected, it wasn't this.

Stretched in front of her are four superheroes. They aren't ones she's seen before, but their affiliation is obvious. A white, bald teenage girl (white as in the actual color, not the race) stands directly in her line of vision, eyes soft and expression open. Beside her is a casually dressed, dark haired boy, his chest sporting the well-known mark of Superman. His expression is kind, much like the bald girl. Beside him is another young adult wearing orange and black gear with a mask shaped to be a tiger. Her expression is largely hidden by her mask, the only betraying feature a small frown. On the other side, a tall, dark-haired and way-too-hot-to-be-true man in black gear and a blue emblem stands with a neutral expression pressed into the lines of his face not covered by his black domino mask.

Sam's mouth parts, but when nothing comes out, she closes it again. She should talk first-set the conversation before they do it for her. Can I help you? would work, or Is there nothing better on TV?

The white bald chick directly in front of her snorts unexpectedly. Sam seizes up at the sudden sound, her eyes instantly searching the other girl. Her eyes had begun glowing green, like Phantom's, but without pupil or iris.

Sam's sluggish mind clicks rapidly, trying to draw the proper connection between the red X, glowing green eyes and blue cape. Martian Manhunter…

"Hey," interrupts the guy with the blue bird on his chest. His voice is kinder than expected, and though his eyes are hidden his face still manages to come off sympathetic, the neutral expression fading. "I'm Nightwing, and these are friends of mine. We're heroes. You're safe now."

You're safe now.

Safe from what? I'd be a whole heck of a lot safer if this martian stopped READING-MY-MIND!

The glowing eyes fade, revealing warm amber eyes. "My apologies," her light voice broaches, "I'm Miss Martian, and there is much we have to discuss, but let us first assure you we are not your enemy. We brought you here for your safety, but we had to be sure you would not compromise ours."

Sam's muscles tighten, though she doesn't clench her hands into fists. Where does she even begin? Where is she, exactly? Why was she saved by superheroes? What happened? What's happening?

"What's your name?" Nightwing tries again.

"What's yours?"

It comes out before Sam can catch up to herself, and she doesn't know whether it was justified or not. They are superheroes, but does that mean she should blindly trust them? Does it even matter; do they already know her name and asked out of courtesy's sake? For better or for worse, Sam has chosen her attitude for the following conversation. Her pride would never allow her to backtrack or apologize.

Nightwing seems to accept this and steps back, giving her more room.

Nothing more is said, though their gazes all weigh heavily on her, waiting for her to start the conversation.

"What happened?" Sam asks after a prolonged silence.

"We were raiding a base we suspected of holding human captives," the Martian responds, "Though they were boom-tubed away before we could retrieve them. Security ran much higher than anticipated and several more members of our team were called in as reinforcements. The original plan had been to rescue the children, but because they were relocated, we would at least make sure the facility could not be used again.

"Despite activating the self-destruct failsafe, several lifeforms continued to stay. We forced them out, though they still fought to keep us from a specific lab. After overwhelming them we discovered inside that lab," she pauses, looking at Sam earnestly "was you. There wasn't much time, but Robin-our hacker-uncovered a little information about you. Your project name: Chiaroscuro. It didn't go into any detail beyond your health statistics and that they placed great hopes in your abilities."

"I don't have any abilities," Sam corrects sharply. Her mind was whirling with the information of a lab where she was kept and had zero recollection of, and her sickening fear of being unable to recall a memory so distinct regurgitated itself anger. "And no: this is not some desperate denial or secretly activated meta-gene. I don't even have it. I used the stupid goggles and didn't go subliminal or whatever that newscast said." Tucker had been so disappointed when the newscast exposing the goggles for what their true purpose was for had aired. Sam briefly ran through the memory as if to prove to herself she could still remember it.

"We know," Nightwing cuts in, voice maddeningly even. "We tested you for the metagene as soon as we brought you in. You don't have any meta-powers, but Doctor Fate-our expert on magic-confirmed you have an affinity for mystic powers."

"Magic?" Sam scoffs, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "I don't have any magic. Don't you think I'd've known if I had magic by now?"

They all exchange a look.

"Even if I did, why would you bring me here? I mean, a room this sophisticated must belong to the WatchTower!" Surely they wouldn't bring an unknown girl with unknown abilities into their most secure facility?

Another look exchanged.

"You've got to be kidding me. I could be evil!" The girl in front of the nervous apparent-magician tilts her head. Sam suddenly remembers her strong reaction to Miss Martian reading her mind, and finds herself deflating. "I'm not…" Sam protests weakly. "I don't have magic and I'm not evil."

"Look," Nightwing interrupts Sam's impending spiral into panic, "We aren't passing judgement; that's not what we do. We saw someone trapped by our enemies, so we freed you and brought you here to protect you and help you recuperate from whatever happened to you there. That's it."

"Then I can go home?" Sam asks in a soft voice, unnerved by how Nightwing's mask hides his eyes. She shifts her blankets between her hands for something to grasp, trying to look him right in the mask.

Nightwing hesitates.

"Are you saying-" Sam's voice raises an octave, and Nightwing shakes his head immediately.

"No. You're not a prisoner here. But we're not sure if it's even safe for you to go home. We don't know anything about you or why the light wanted you so badly."

The woman in the tiger get-up speaks for the first time. "Maybe we can bring someone here."

Miss Martian shoots her a sidelong glance and they appear to converse with their eyes before the bald woman looks Sam in the eyes and nods. "Your parents, or a sibling?" she suggests.

My parents…

The memory slams into Sam like a cement brick.

Her mother's eyes are wide, staring at something behind Sam. Nervous, the new sixteen year old glances behind her, only to find one of the few plants her mother allowed in the kitchen withered in its pot.

"What?" Sam snaps, turning back to her mother, nervousness changing to a more familiar parental anger. "If you'd remembered to water it like I asked you to, it would've survived."

Pamela approaches the pot, her gloved hands gently brushing one of the dead leaves. Instead of a wilting leaf, still desperately hanging on to the last bit of water it had left, the leaf is as fragile as dust, crumbling under Pamela's light touch. "They were your plants, Samantha," her mother states bluntly, a small smile pulling at the side of her mouth.

Sam frowns at her mother's obvious pleasure. "Is my dead plant really making you happy?"

"Yes." Pamela crosses the room and calls for her husband in an unconcerned voice.

"Pamela?" Her father enters the kitchen, casting Sam a brief glance.

"We were right."

"Right about what?" Sam demands, confusion causing her a headache. She wonders how bad the fallout would be if she ditched the birthday dinner her parents had forced her to consent to. "What is your problem?"

Her mother doesn't reply, busying herself in the drawers. Her father crosses the space between himself and his daughter to clasp a hug around her. "You were a difficult assignment," he mutters into her ear. "I'm glad it's over."

"What?"

Sam struggles in his grip, suffocated by his arms. Unfortunately, her distraction left a window of time open for Pamela to plunge a needle into the exposed skin of her daughter's throat.

A gasp leaves Sam's mouth, confusion and panic swirling in her head as she registers the pain in her neck. Betrayal pierces her heart as her muddled mind makes the distinct connection that what her parents had just done was wrong. But before she can utter a question or protest, her mind is swept out from underneath her and she tumbles into oblivion.

"No!"

Sam's outburst startles the heroes, though their training barely shows it. Her breathing comes more rapidly, her hands beginning to shake on the blankets. "No, what?" Nightwing prompts gently.

"Not them! They-They d-did this!" Sam's hands climb to her throat, searching for the puncture mark that should be there. There isn't one. Had she imagined it? No, there was no way. It had to have healed. "How-How long was I gone?"

Looks are exchanged again, before Miss Martian broaches, "You've been out for a few days. But you were also in stasis, though we don't know for how long."

"The-What's the date?" Her hands continue to shake, and Miss Martian hesitates, glancing over at Nightwing for instruction. "The date!" Sam shrieks. Her head is beginning to pound with all the panic.

Nightwing puts his gloved hands over hers, forcing her to look him right in the mask. "I get it; things are crazy right now. But you need to remain calm. We can figure things out. All that matters is that you're safe now. Everything else can be dealt with."

Sam's hands stop shaking, but her panic continues to climb to new heights. Remarkably, Nightwing answers her query anyway, looking resigned to the fact that she was not going to calm down anytime soon. "June 29, 20XX."

The year didn't matter; it had been the same she remembered. But the month… Sam's birthday is May 4th, and that was the last day she'd seen…

The image of Phantom kissing her goodbye floods her mind's eye once more. She will be fine, but what about him? Sam had been gone almost two months… He.. he would've gone crazy and since he obviously didn't find her… what had happened to… to him…?

Stasis still in her bloodstream, it was unlikely Sam would've been conscious more than a few hours before needing to sleep off the rest of the drugs circulating her system. With the added panic and terror, her energy ran thin far faster than expected.

"Maybe you should've held off on the date," Superboy mutters to Nightwing, who sighs and moves off the unconscious girl's hospital bed. "Did you get anything, M'gann?"

"Nothing on her captivity. She was too afraid."

"It's fine." Nightwing, still resigned, leads the group out of the infirmary. "We'll just question her when she calms down."

"I don't think she will," M'gann corrects him. "She wasn't afraid for herself. Before she kicked me out of her head, she was recounting what she last remembered. There's a boy she's worried about."

"We did offer to allow someone to be with her," Artemis muses, latching onto this detail. "If we bring him here, maybe she'll be a little more open."

"We don't know who she is," Nightwing argues. "We don't even know if she's dangerous."

"If I read her memory correctly," M'gann continues, as if the others hadn't spoken, "He's a meta. Or at least, someone who can fly."

"Even more reason," Artemis reaffirms. The scared girl's reaction struck a personal chord in her. She knew what it was like to be terrified and alone, needing someone to trust when everything else is so unfamiliar and uncertain.

Nightwing sighs once more, but doesn't disagree. "Fine. But we still don't know anything about her. How will we even find this guy?"

"The boy's name was Phantom, if that helps," M'gann offers. "White hair, green eyes. That's the clearest read I got from her."

Nightwing pauses. "I recognize that name." He goes over to the computer, pulling up the internet and typing in the name. Several sites pop up, all highlighting the Phantom of Amity Park, Illinois. Nightwing couldn't help but be excited at the prospect of finally reopening the Phantom case.

When the articles began popping up a little over a year ago, Batman had sent a small group to investigate. Nightwing had been among them. Unfortunately, in the day and a half they could spare to investigate, there was nothing but inconclusive data. Civilians had panicked twice over ghost attacks, but by the time the heroes arrived, there was nothing there. Nightwing was the only one not convinced that it was all superstition.

Nightwing feels a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "M'gann, call a team together."

Let me know what you guys think. Ideas, criticisms, comments, life stories... They're all welcome!

~Disclaimer Disclaimer~