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LIME GREEN WISPS UNDULATE LAZILY inside a whirlpool vortex. The event. The accident. Or at least, so I had thought.

Now I know nothing had been accidental. What is that saying? There is no such thing as coincidence? In my own naïveté I had overlooked all the blaring signs. For months after the accident Sam, Tucker and I had chanted— like a prayer— how lucky I had been that I hadn't fully died. But it wasn't luck at all. It was the fruits of years of preparations.

I squint until my eyes are pinpricks. The swirls from the portal blur together making a fuzzy haze of green.

Now that I know what my parents are really doing with the Portal, the urge to shut it down for good is overwhelming. Hunting ghosts, only to rip them apart in order to fuel their own research. Skulker is one of many that unwillingly donated his energy to their cause. To me. I shiver. In fact, most ghosts I've encountered have been tests. Afterall, my parents needed some way to get me to develop and hone my powers. They were never supposed to seriously injure me. That had been Skulker's fatal mistake.

The sound of rubber dragging along cement erupts from behind me as the door to the lab opens outwards. I can tell by the weight of the steps against the iron staircase that it's my father. I pretend the Portal is more interesting than it is to avoid facing him.

"Morning, kiddo. Couldn't find you in your room. I thought for a minute…" His voice trails off uncertainly, before he clears his throat. "You hungry?"

He had thought I'd run from home. The idea is tempting. Ever since recovering from my vitamin detox I spent my time churning the possibility around in my head. But here I am. Still here. My parents and I both know I can't run. I need them to survive, just like I need this portal to remain open so that they can continue hunt ghosts, to continue to replenish my ectoplasm. At least, until the point when I can replenish it on my own. My mother insists that in a few years I will be stable enough to survive independent of the vitamins, of the injections. Forever, irreversibly, Danny Phantom.

My stomach churns violently as I tally up how many injections I've already received, how many ghosts have already died for me. My mother's voice drifts through me, a sharp rebuke: Honey, ghosts are the energy left behind when a human body and mind fails. Any consciousness you think they possess are merely extraneous impulses: A carbon copy. They are not, they can not, be truly alive in the sense that they are people. They are balls of condensed energy. Nothing more.

"Not hungry," I gasp. "I'm not… I'm not hungry."

A heavy hand falls atop my left shoulder. I instantly shrug it off. It doesn't return.

"You have to eat," Dad says softly.

My lips press together. The Portal continues to swirl unremarkably. With a small grimace I realize he isn't going to leave. Why doesn't he just get the hint and leave me alone? I can't bring myself to stay mad at my dad. I can tell he knows what he did was wrong, but he doesn't know how to fix it. That's at least marginally better than my mom, who still maintains that what she did was a good thing.

I spin and glance back at him, my eyes scanning his exhausted puppy-dog face and the plate of cookies he's offering up to me like some sort of penance.

I reach out and grab one, breaking it into pieces in my fingers as I try and force a bite into my mouth. I nibble at it like a squirrel, then stash the rest of it in my sweatshirt pocket to toss later when he isn't looking.

"Danny… This whole thing. Your mother and I… I just wanted to tell you that—"

Oh god, here it comes. I brace myself mentally. I'm not ready to accept an apology from him.

"What we did—" he continues, but gets interrupted by the rfffssssssp of the door opening again. Relief pummels through me, making my knees weak as I glance up at the staircase.

"Danny?"

Sam looks between the two of us as she winds her way down the stairs, Tucker following close behind. I can see a slice of orange as Jazz sticks her head through the doorway and observes. That's all she's been doing, ever since finding out what had happened: observing. She hasn't allowed my parents to be alone in a room with me for more than ten minutes, even if she just walks in and stands there, silent. She knows I'm not ready to spend that long with them. Already my hands are shaking. I stick them into my sweatshirt, clenched. They bump up against the discarded cookie.

Dad coughs and trains his gaze to the floor. "Alright, well… I'll just leave these down here for you kids."

He sets the plate down atop Maddie's work desk, which has been cleaned of coffee spills and crumpled papers. He shuffles for a moment, out of place among my peers, before he nods once and turns for the stairs. "I'll be up in the kitchen," he informs me, before he leaves.

Good. I'll stay down here. I've been camped out down here for a while now directly in front of the Portal, making it impossible for my parent's to continue their work. So far I've succeeded, but I know that eventually they'll force me to move out of the way.

Sam's arms wind their way around me loosely for a second, before she lets me go. I can tell she doesn't hug very often because her hugs are always slightly shy.

Tucker pulls over three chairs and positions them right in front of the Portal. All three of us sink into them.

"How's today?" Tucker asks hesitantly.

I shrug, pulling the cookie out from my pocket and wave it around at them. "Weird. Not as weird as yesterday. Or the day before."

Time was funny. Maybe I'm already adapting to this new world or maybe things are eventually righting themselves. Regardless, there's no great options other than to trudge forward. Running would result in death. Going to the authorities would result in being outed as a paranormal anomaly. All I can do is wrestle for control over the situation. I'm tired of feeling helpless, of having things happen to me without my permission. I certainly don't trust my parents anymore… but they're still my parents.

"Sometimes I wish I had never filmed my room so I didn't have to know. But now that I know, even though everything is messed up, it feels…" I trail off.

"Real?" Sam supplies. She stares at me, her eyes turbulent and angry. I know she wants nothing more than to whisk me away from this place. But then again, she's always had a different, more expendable, view of parents. I can't give up on mine yet.

I nod. She's right. My relationship with my parents is now real. My family is real. Before it had been some kind of elaborate act, but now the dirty laundry is out to dry. Sure, we have to sort it, fold it, deal with it. I know that even though it doesn't feel healthier right now, it is. I have to trust in that. Trust that we can repair things and that I won't be alone.

I glance between the two of them. Jazz, Sam, Tucker… They feel real too. More so than ever before. I reach out and grab their hands, giving them a squeeze, just to feel them, to remind me of them.

With another nod I get up out of my chair and head over to the table. My eyes drift across the stack of cookies and I drop my uneaten one next to the rest. A lone vitamin sits among them, sans Post-It. I pinch it between my thumb and pointer finger, holding it up to the light. With a frown I pop it in my mouth and swallow it dry, grimacing at the acidic tang. Now that I know what it feels like to stop taking these things I'm more compliant. Don't have much of a choice.

I glance back down. With a sharp wave of a hand I bat away an errant fly that is darting close to the cookies. I grab the plate and return to my seat, plopping down with an soft exhale and offering them up to the pair.

"Want any?" I ask, grinning despite myself.

Sam wrinkles her nose, but Tucker reaches over and grabs one. He settles himself down in the chair, preparing for the long haul of this stakeout. Sherlock and Watson. I pick up my half-nibbled cookie and return to eating it, finding that my appetite has reappeared and that I'm hungry.

"Will you be okay?" Sam asks, noticing my smile. What had I told her before? 'I hope so?' I glance down at the piece of cookie in my hand and find that I have a much more straight-forward answer.

"Yes."

Eventually. Right now it doesn't feel like it, but I gotta believe it will.

—fin—

I am the fly underneath their magnifying glass.

They tilt it from side to side,

making different parts of me smoke and squirm—

inspecting without compassion,

getting joy from starting

little fires.