A/N: "Poo-tee-wat."

I think it's safe to say that the death of Danny's family and his best friends would qualify as PTSD. And, you know, half-dying.

I do not own Danny Phantom. (Warning: profanity.)

Meh. I cut a whole section out because it wasn't relevant and too awkward, so now this is a bit shorter than it was. Not my best thing, but it works. Enjoy? (And I'm so sorry, it's okay if you don't review; I'm awful with replying on time. For those of you who I haven't gotten to yet, I promise I will! Just... someday. I really do appreciate everything, it's just that replying has always seemed stressful especially with everything else going on and so I'm always so late.)


The Gap in the World


The world burned green.

Everything hurt. Hurthurthurt. A thermos clasped in his hands, butitwasntenough. Oh god. Oh god, oh god. They were dead.

Dead.

Dead.

A piercing pain in his chest, an agony that wouldntgoaway. He didn't know why, but his face was wet, his tongue filled with the taste of saltwater. He didn't have the energy to stand up. He didn't have the energy to do anything except curl up in a ball and tell himself itsnotrealitsnotreal.

But it was. Goddammit. It was.

(He heard footsteps running toward him, but it didn't matter, couldn't matter, because they were gone and nothing, nothing could change that anymore–)

Clockwork. That ghost. Master of Time. The one who had caused all of this –

(No, no, that had been him. His own hands that murdered his parents, his sisters, his best friends.)

– but maybe he could fix it.

He latched onto it, a desperate hope billowing wildly through his core, his heart, the very thing that made him human and ghost.

He stood up. His bones ached. His knees stinged, where they had scraped against the concrete. Both green and red covered his clothes, the red now slowly pooling out. Somewhere along the way, he had turned human again.

He shook his head, clearing it of the cobwebs and thoughts that meant nothing. Clockwork. That was what was important.

He took a clumsy step forward, almost falling. Something caught him.

There was a buzzing in his ears. Variation, a rise and fall of a chattering pitch. Like a squirrell. What was that?

He realized, suddenly, that it was another human. A police. Concerned for Danny Fenton's wellbeing, the boy who had just seen his family and best friends die. Saw Mom and Dad and Jazz and Tucker and Sam and Mr. Lancer die.

Die.

A shock, a memory of green and painpainpain. He screamed, a raw sound of griefagonypainnowhydidyoutakethemfromme. The world folded onto itself, events collapsing onto one another. He had just entered the Portal. He had just died. They had just died.

It felt the same. The same heart-rending numbness, and it was too much. Compounded upon another, double the force. A memory scattered through time, relived in the wakening of another trauma.

In a day, a week, a month, he will have forgotten the pain, the moment of agony. He will have repressed it, a blank hole in his mind only to resurge with a vicious force in what should have been his happiest times. He would not remember, would not remember his own face with cruel mocking red eyes killing those who mattered most, until he did and did and did and couldn't live with the pain any longer.

In that moment though, in that singular moment, the pain would never be over. An eternity, where he prayedhopedwishedbegged for relief, for the world to right itself again, for this to have never happened. He sobbed, he screamed, he pissed his pants for all he cared. There was an explosion building in his chest, his throat was raw, and ohgodtheyweredead.

They were dead.

They were dead.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Clockwork was not to be found.

He had been drifting through out the Ghost Zone, hoping to stumble across the time ghost's tower, but Clockwork had either decided to not reveal himself or Danny was looking in the wrong place. Although, considering the Master of Time was supposed to be omniscent, he thought it was probably the former.

"Fuck," he cursed, not caring about the profanity. He kicked a glowing plant angrily, feeling perverse satisfaction as it snapped in half.

Angry tears welled up in his eyes.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Why couldn't everything just be back the way it was? Why had this happened? Why?

Why me?

His foot hurt. Recognizing that fact made him just that much more miserable. It was another sensation to avoid miserably, another sensation to numb.

He thought about their faces. What had they looked like, when they died? Condemning? Forgiving? Loving?

They would never come back.

He would never know what their last thoughts were.

There was no save-all, no do-over. Clockwork, the bastard, bastard, who had caused all of this, would not be found.

They were gone.

The agony that ripped apart his chest was indescribable. They were gone. They were gone. A medallion embedded within him, cruel laughter echoing past a forked tongue –

A boomerang, flying through time –

The Nasty Burger –

His enemy, laughing and mocking and a time limit that he had to, had to beat.

He couldn't stay strong. He couldn't continue fighting.

This time, he curled up and cried like a baby, unheeding of the acrid taste and smell of smoke in the air.

He just couldn't fight anymore.