₊˚. Radiation ₊˚.
Genre: Angst | Hurt/No comfort • Rate: T+ • TW/CW: Dissociation | Psychological Trauma | Implied Violence | Threatening Behavior
Prompt/Summary: “…Just don’t stand there, run!”
“Danny, it’s me. Please. Why are you acting like you don’t recognize me anymore?”
Phantom blinked at her like she was speaking another language—a thin, trembling voice wrapped in desperation.
Her hands hovered in front of her chest, palms open, pleading—fingertips shaking like fragile glass about to splinter. Tears shimmered in her amethyst eyes, clinging to the dark lashes before sliding down her cheeks like they’d rather stay than fall. Her skirt clung to trembling knees, a black tank top hugging a frame. Her short, raven-dark hair framed her face like shadows trying to protect her.
Danny? What Danny?
He tasted the name in his mind and found nothing—only a hollow echo that didn’t belong to him. Whoever she thought he was… she was wrong.
So so so wrong.
He tilted his head slightly, confusion twitching underneath his skin as his boots—gray, weightless—scraped against the cold tile. A lab. Sterile metal walls reflecting ghostly green light that flickered from the hummering swirl behind him. Shelves of jars and tools glinting like teeth, waiting to bite. The air tasted… bitter—chemical and burned.
“Where… am I,” his voice crawled up his throat like something resurrected. That echo—that eerie reverberation—it wasn’t his. It couldn’t be. His own voice felt like a stranger wearing him from the inside.
“You… you don’t know?” a male voice cut in.
Phantom’s head jerked in the direction of the voice—he hadn’t even realized there was a second human here at all. The boy stepped into the thin spill of green light—a red beret crooked on his head, round glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, fear tightening every line of his face. His hands were lifted slightly, palms open.
“No, I don’t,” Phantom growled.
Why did everyone expect answers from him? It was annoying.
He took a step—just one—and a scorched, metallic stench invaded his senses, like burned copper and flesh. His nose wrinkled, eyes squeezing shut as his hand shot up to cover his face.
“What the hell is that awful smell?”
“Dude, you stepped into the portal,” the guy stammered. “And—and it messed you up.”
Portal.
The word pounded against the emptiness of his skull—searching for something to attach to—and finding nothing but a void. A black, suffocating chasm where memories should be.
But there was just… nothing.
“What do you mean, dude?” Phantom spat, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. He leaned into that sharp edge of anger—at least that felt real.
He dug deeper into himself—searching, clawing—and then—
White-hot agony detonated inside of his head. His knees buckled. A strangled sound—half groan, half snarl—tore from his chest as his right hand clutched at his temple, fingers digging hard enough he could’ve cracked bone. The room swung, warped—lights bleeding into each other like they were melting.
“Danny!” her voice sliced through him. A hand—warm and human, too human—landed on his left shoulder. Too fucking close. Too fucking real. Too fucking much—
It was wrong.
“Get off of me!” Phantom roared, his gray-gloved fingers snapping around her wrist like a claw. His grip tightened—muscles straining, bones grinding.
“You’re—you’re hurting me, Danny,” she whimpered. Her gasp hit his ears like… music.
She was afraid of him. Wasn’t she? And something inside him purred awake.
His lips pulled into a slow, twisted smirk—crimson glow spilling across his eyes. A low laugh slipped out—broken, dangerous, delighted.
He rose to his feet without loosening his grip, towering over her—letting the fear collect in her gaze like precious ectoplasm.
Danny.
If that… was who she thought he was…
Wrong. Again. Everything was wrongwrongwrong.
Her pulse fluttered fast beneath his fingers—like a frantic bird trapped in bone. The warmth of her skin bled into his palm, nauseatingly alive.
Phantom stared, fascinated.
“Danny, please,” she stuttered, tears pooling again, her voice splintering. “You know me. You know Tucker. You know us. You have to. Remember? Just—think—”
Think? Thinking was the damn problem here.
He tightened the grip once more.
The male—Tucker—stepped forward, panic all over his face. “Dude—stop! That’s Sam—your best friend. She—she’s been helping you. She—she cares about you—“
A flash—a flicker—something like a memory scraped the back of his skull. A girl with black hair. A smile. Someone saying his name with pure warmth.
Her.
Then the feeling of a thousand needles driving beneath his skin all at once. A choked scream crushed behind clenched teeth. His vision erupted into blinding white, and cold fire of ghostly radiation tore through his veins—searing, devouring—like rewriting him from the inside out.
The memory cracked apart like glass and vanished back into the void.
He hissed, stumbling back a step as the pain flared through his head again. Sam freed her wrist, cradling it to her chest—a red mark already blooming like a warning.
She didn’t run. She stayed.
Why? Why would she even stay? Why would she even care? Why didn’t he feel anything?
“I don’t care what you call me,” he rasped, voice trembling with rage and confusion, ”but stop calling me him. I am not—Danny.”
He clawed at his chest—at that black suit stamped with the white DP insignia—digging right into the emptiness where something used to sit, used to burn—and came up with handfuls of nothingness. A dead star where a heart should be.
“Danny, listen to me—” Sam’s tears spilled harder now.
“No!” His powerful voice flared like a pulse, rattling metal shelves and sending tools clattering. His breath came as vapor—frost creeping across the floor. “Don’t speak like you fucking know me—you don’t. You’re lying. You’re lying to my damn face.” His voice cracked—the sound sharp and raw like something tearing.
Why was he even yelling? Was it at her or at the darkness inside his head?
He didn’t know. Didn’t care. He shouldn’t care.
His fingers dug into his own pearl white hair—desperate, frustrated, trembling. “Why—why can’t I remember? Why can’t I remember anything?”
Silence bled into the room.
“Because… you—you died.” Her answer broke in a whisper. “Again.”
His pupils blew wide. The world tilted.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
The word thrummed through his bones. He stumbled backward until his spine hit the far wall, his breaths sharp and uneven.
“Wha—what? What did you just say?”
She stepped forward slowly, like approaching a wounded animal.
“You—you died in this… in this lab,” she said softly. “Your parents… they were trying to build a portal to another world, another dimension. It—it went wrong. You stepped inside and—“
Images lashed across his mind—lightning, pain, screaming, a blinding green and white explosion ripping through every cell—
He collapsed again, both hands clamped over his ears as he gritted his teeth, as if he could block the memories from chewing through him.
“No—no—stop—“
He didn’t know who he was begging. Didn’t even want to beg in the first place. It had to stop.
Sam fell to her knees beside him, hands hovering—probably afraid to touch him again.
Because why had he hurt her? Why had his hand tightened instead of letting go? It felt wrong—like something human inside him recoiled—but man, it also felt pleasant, a twisted purr of satisfaction blooming in his chest.
He folded his arms tight across his torso—defensive, guarded—thoughts clawing through him. As if crossing his arms might protect him from whatever monster was waking up inside.
That… that couldn’t be right. But it felt so right.
Dammit.
“But you came back,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Half human, half ghost. You… you saved people. You saved me.” Her eyes shimmered, like her tears were gathering faster than she could blink them away.
Half ghost, half human… is that why he felt some weakness? How can… someone like him even become… this? But that didn’t matter now.
“If I saved you…” Phantom breathed, head tilting in a slow, unnatural arc as he studied her face. “Then why do I feel like a monster?” His expression was hollow—empty in a way that was so much worse than anger.
Sam’s breath hitched. She shook her head hard, words stumbling out between trembling sobs. “You’re not—you’re not a monster—”
A low laugh escaped him—humorless, dead. “Then why,” he asked, leaning in just enough for her to feel his cold breath, “do you look so damn terrified of me?”
Sam went still. Completely still. Her eyes wide—tears still clinging to her lashes.
His smirk died—carved off his face in an instant—replaced by something far more dangerous. A fractured grief. Sharp enough to cut bone-deep. His right hand rose and trembled, a gray glove brushing his line of sight. He stared at his own fingertips as if they were foreign.
“What… what did I do,” he whispered, voice scraping raw, “to become this… thing?”
His crimson eyes jerked toward the portal—a swirling maw of ghostly green, snarling and spitting sparks. The hunger radiating from it thrummed straight through him, vibrating in his bones. It was a mirror. A destiny carved in ectoplasm. A warning—one he could feel sinking into his ribs.
He pushed himself upright in a single, slow motion. His shadow oozed along the floor behind him, warped and wrong—again—shaped like someone else was pulling the strings.
A stranger wearing his skin. Someone he didn’t know. Someone he’d probably fear. Someone who laughed when the girl screamed.
“What’s… wrong with me?” The words leaked out thin and fragile—barely human.
But that fragility… it shattered in seconds.
A sharp, violent twist clawed at the corner of his mouth—that grin again—stretching too wide, like it was trying to tear his face apart. He pivoted toward them, movements stiff and predatory, every muscle drawn tight like a wire ready to snap. His eyes burned with a feral light as they locked onto the girl and the boy frozen across the room. His fingers curled slow and tight—fists trembling—tendons coiled beneath his skin like something inside was trying to break out through the flesh.
“You think,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “that you can brainwash me?” He stepped forward, each step a hard crack of boots against tile—deliberate and punishing.
“You really believe… you can weld my mind back together with your pathetic lies?” Another step—the fluorescent lights flickered violently overhead.
“You think…” His voice dipped in venomous spit, “I ever cared about you?”
One last step—close enough to feel the warm tremor of Sam’s breath against his cold skin. Close enough that if he leaned forward, his teeth would graze her throat. Close enough that he could rip the fear out of her throat with his teeth if he wanted.
Dammit, he wanted to taste it. So so so bad. He wanted to feel the scream break inside her chest.
“You’re so…” he murmured, leaning his face inches from hers, “so. very. wrong.”
His words rippled the air—a glitching frequency, warped and cruel. Even the shadows recoiled.
“Sam! Don’t just stand there, run!” Behind Sam, the boy—Tucker’s voice cracked.
Phantom chuckled. Slow and thick and malevolent.
“Run? Where?” He leaned in, lips brushing Sam’s ear. “There’s no door that can keep me out.” His gloved fingers, ice-cold and merciless, ghosted up her chin, just hard enough to promise pain. He tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his eyes. “There’s no world where you can escape me.”
Somewhere deeper in the lab, metal clanged—sharp, sudden—a fallen beaker shattering across the tiles. The crash ricocheted through the silence like a gunshot.
She flinched. Her shoulders jumped. Breath caught.
His smile only stretched wider—teeth glinting like fangs in the green light.
He was enjoying this. Every flinch. Every tear. Every scrap of fear she fed him.
It felt wrong. And it felt so incredibly right. A perfect nightmare he couldn’t—wouldn’t—pull himself out of.
“You never stood a chance.”
⟢ I seriously thought for a second I was doing this whole event so so so wrong. Like—me, being the not-genius I am, assumed the first word was the title and the prompt was the summary. But apparently you can mix them both? Pfft. I’m already doing it this way and I’m sticking to it.
⟢ Sometimes my brain just… refuses to comprehend basic instructions. I had all the confidence in the world, until I suddenly felt socially awkward the moment I realized it. WHEEZE
⟢ I have no idea where I was even going with this one shot. I just had one vision stuck in my mind—Danny with those eerie crimson eyes (like in Control Freaks). And what if… Danny stepped into the portal and came out with nothing? No memories. No idea who he is, where he is, or what happened to him. What if he didn’t become a hero this time… what if he came out already evil? Even when he was already the hero before he stepped back into the portal? Something something something like that.
Thanks to the wonderful @nope-asdf for proof-reading again! <3
