Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/398083.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Gen, Other
  Fandom:
      Danny_Phantom
  Character:
      Maddie_Fenton, Jack_Fenton, Vlad_Masters, Danny_Phantom_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Labrat, Vivisection, Angst, Dead_Dove:_Do_Not_Eat, Body_Horror, Mild
      Hurt/Comfort, But_mostly_just_hurt, Forced_Ejaculation
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-05-05 Updated: 2013-01-18 Chapters: 2/? Words: 4091
****** Subject ******
by occasionallydarkfic_(Song)
Summary
     There was a very good reason Danny never told his parents about his
     ghost half. Lab Rat -esque fic.
Notes
     A/U: I wanted to attempt to write a fic as disturbing and graphic as
     the ever famous "Lab Rat" (and offshoots) -because I am a sadistic
     author.
     WARNING: Look at the rating- it's an "M", See the genre? It's
     "Horror". THIS IS ACCURATE AND SHOULD NOT BE TAKEN LIGHTLY. Actually,
     this probably warrants an "NY-17" or "MA" rating....
     This fic is written to make you squick. If I make you want to vomit
     and/or cry, I've succeeded.
     Song is not associated in any way with Billionfold Studios, Butch
     Hartman, Nickelodeon, or anything legally or otherwise associated
     with the production and distribution of "Danny Phantom" In no way
     does Song condone the actions taken and situations explored in this
     fic.
     This is your final warning.
     READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
     Edit 2/19/18
     Minor changes to a few paragraphs to make it more realistic. New tags
     added.
***** Danny *****
I can't move, though I don't know if it is because of fear or the fact that I
am bound to the exam table. My fingers curl into a fist, aimlessly fighting the
restraints even though on some visceral level, I know they won't budge.
My parents wouldn't risk that.
A teal covered head appears over me, goggles and mask shielding her face. If I
could see through them, I'm sure I would see a mask of indifference, or perhaps
intense concentration. Another, larger figure leans over the other side, this
time in orange and black. His face would be one of excitement.
The metal shears he retrieves are glowing green ever so slightly with a ghostly
hue. They move down each leg and arm, cutting through the hazmat like butter.
First the right, then left as they are passed from one scientist to the other.
The gloves and boots are removed as well.
One latex covered hand feels for the lip of my suit, pulling it up far too
quickly for comfort. They shears used are cool against my skin as they glide
down parting the material and insignia on my chest. The further they go the
more fear broils in my gut. I KNOW what is going to happen. It is something I
was always afraid of, and the exact reason I have never told anyone.
The shears slice through the last of the material and I am exposed. What little
remains of my pride is pulled from under me where my skin meets metal table. I
want to shield myself from my parents- once again struggling at the restraints.
It is only now I realize just how venerable I am- bound, spread eagle to a
table with two scientists with no sense of morality or restraint when it comes
to their research.
They have access to my whole body.
This becomes exceptionally clear as they wander near my lower half, abnormally
interested.
I feel like some kind of sick subject. A specimen in a lab, waiting for the
inevitable.
"This is amazing, Jack!" I hear a voice to my right say, "We might even be able
to explain some of their reproductive cycle!"
I can feel her eyes on me- wanting to know if it- if I- were really real. The
light above me is blinding and makes everything little more than a dark
silhouette. I desperately search for something to stare at other than the
people preparing me for dissection. I find a small lens and realize with horror
they are recording this. New restraints are placed around my thighs and upper
arms, totally immobilizing me.
A hulking figure looms above me, lifting various pieces of my anatomy and
measuring them. It is torturous, the fleeting touches that I know I don't want
but that my body responds to anyway.
The table moves, and suddenly my knees are bent, exposing my backside to the
frigid air.
"Core temperature..." Something cold slides into my bottom shattering any sort
of desire I had before. I try and squirm, but can't move. Somewhere along the
way it brushes something sending a wave of heat up my spine and down to my
toes. It is pushed inside before reaching a stop far deeper than I thought
possible. 'Just thermometer,' I tell myself over and over again, but it doesn't
help. Is this what it feels like to be raped?
Hands are ghosting over me, poking, prodding. The glass is removed after a few
moments and I can't help but sigh in relief.
"19.44 Celsius" She reads.
I hear a writing utensil scratch against paper undoubtedly taking down the
data.
"Did you finish modding the exto-sexer?" He asks. "We'll want to get a good
sample."
I hear her rummaging about, returning a moment later with a device in her
hands- one that I vaguely recognize as something advertised in a dirty magazine
I had seen Dash and Kwan looking at- but altered with what I knew was an ghost
resistant and therefore phase proof coating.
I look from one to the other. As bad as that was, I know this will be worse.
"Please... don't... let me go..." I mouth unable to vocalize.
They are neither paying attention nor to the care as the momentary peace is
broken when something else cold, long and hard pushes into me. It's bigger than
the thermometer uncomfortably huge inside my body.
Something clicks loudly, and I can feel my muscles begin to tighten and blood
pump south. I watch my dick get hard like a sick horror playing on a screen,
like it's not really happening to me.
As I get harder, a small hand takes my flesh and threads it into the device.
It's soft and good and entirely wrong.
I cannot stop myself from rising to the occasion. My body takes pleasure and
begins to move against my will, though it does not get far as I am strapped to
the table.
The thing inside me pulses again, tingling and making my body contract again. I
can't look. My eyes are screwed shut, begging for it to stop as wave after wave
of pleasure or pain- I can't tell which, perhaps both- wash over my body. This
is an intimate sexual contact that I can't escape in mind or in body. My balls
contract- I come hard and fast.
"Subject displays typical copulating behaviorism- possible hold over from
life?" She notes out loud, glancing at the camera.
Tears are rolling from my eyes. I'm crying. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't stop
my own body from betraying me, from... enjoying this torment.
It was never supposed to be like this.
I'm supposed to be the hero! The good guy! Good people don't... enjoy things
like... like that.
A final wave of pleasure rips by body apart as I begin to cry in earnest now.
Not the horrified tears of before, but chocked sobs that grip my entire body.
Make it stop. Please! Please... It's Danny... your son... I want scream but the
words won't come.
The worst is that I know this torment is just beginning.
Somewhere, deep inside, I know it's my fault too. My responsibility. If I
hadn't gotten caught- if I had told them before-
"See if it's temperature has changed at all," she interrupts my train of
thought before it could finish.
I try and contract the muscles- maybe, I can stop it from going in all the way.
Maybe I can stop it from touching that aching part of me. and again I feel the
glass rod pushed into my body. My resistances doesn't help. Instead it seems
only to fuel the guided attacks as it is pulled in faster than before.
Agonizingly I wait as they move about me. Each step jolts my body and seems to
rattle the thermometer still inside me.
All thoughts of telling them disappear as I know now, without a shadow of a
doubt, if they ever find out what they've done to their only son- it would
destroy them. Like they are destroyed the ghost boy.
Me.
If they even would consider me their child after my death.
"Don't forget to put the sample into the liquid nitrogen Jack, we don't want it
to degrade on us."
He grunts in affirmation, already busying himself with collecting my fluids.
She returns a moment later, where her hand finds its way down between my legs.
She removes the thermometer and reads "18.87" out loud before recording the
data on the paper. "Hmm, interesting..." She trails off staring at me for a
moment. The table moves, and I am flat on my back once more. A scalpel is
handed from one to the other and I know with an unwavering certainty, I'm not
getting out of this.
"Starting with standard "Y" incision on ventral side of subject," The feminine
voice speaks, making note of the date and time for proprieties sake.
I can only watch as the scalpel gets closer and closer to my body, easily
parting skin when it touches.
The layers are pealed away, rolled over my sides to expose my musculature.
It's beautiful, in an odd and more than slightly disturbing way. I knew that I
had gained muscle from my activities, but to see it so plainly before my eyes
is an experience in of itself. Green ectoplasm is beginning to leak from the
remaining structures, seeking to repair a surface that is now tacked down to
the table.
If I had anything in my stomach- if I even have a stomach in this form, it
would have come up. Bile- or whatever the ghost equivalent is, rises stinting
my throat.
Turning to the side I begin to cough. Burning acid green liquid splatters from
my mouth and nose as my body spasm.
Then the pain sets in.
I grit my teeth fearing that they will crack. I've heard that can happen to
people under torture. I can't help but taste the disgusting stuff that just
made it's presence known. I can hear one of them collecting it for a sample.
Hesitantly I open my eyes to see her coming down again. The green blade in her
right hand, carefully placing just below my ribs.
I don't feel anything as it begins cutting the tissue in a mirror of what was
done to my skin. The cross sections of the muscle look more like something that
would be stuck on the grill and cooked than something that is-was-IS a part of
me.
Each flap is rolled over the sides of my abdomen, a few connecting tissues cut
and collected to allow for the dissection.
A chunk of meat is sheared from one of the sides. A ligament from my ribcage is
lifted and snaps from the strain to join the skirt steak a la Danny. She turns
away, grabbing something small that I can't see well enough to tell what it is.
A high pitched whirring buzz cuts through the tense air- and with a sense of
dread I know what she has in her hands.
It's a small green circular saw.
All hopes of surviving this drain out like my ectoplasm dripping on the floor.
She's smiling.
Smiling.
She's enjoying this.
And in a sickening way, I can almost understand why. This the accumulation of
years of research- I am going to be the thing that proves them to be real
scientists, not crackpot crazies that believe in something that doesn't really
exist as the world sees them. For that, I hate her all the more.
I'm almost sorry that so many of their various ghost theories will be proven
wrong.
Almost.
But I can't bring myself to care. I am the one being vivisected. I'm the one
being tortured, experimented on and d-dyeing.
Dying.
I didn't think I could. That's just something I don't think about. Yet I know I
am.
The ectoplasm is starting to tint red with the blood from my human side.
Usually, unless it is bad, the injuries from one form don't affect the other.
To see this is just a confirmation of how bad this really is.
The blade seems to descend in slow motion screeching as it makes first contact
with my sternum.
Shouldn't this hurt?
Shouldn't I feel something more than this... numbness?
Maybe I'm going into shock.
I hope so. I've heard that shock is nice. Maybe then I won't care anymore.
The bone- or whatever, is made quick work of. Little flecks of it are on either
side of the cut, oozing sluggishly.
Those are collected into a vial, and a truly evil looking device is taken from
the table.
He places it over the break in my chest and begins cranking. The two sides
separate slowly and I can see something moving.
"This is amazing..." she breaths again, looking at my heart as it beats inside
my chest.
Iridescent green numbers (I am starting to hate that color) change signaling
the end of another minuet in this hell- another minuet closer to my end.
The lab is starting to swim and a strange sense of vertigo grips my gut. Grey
is starting to paint my vision, splotches of pigment blocking the view of my
own autopsy.
"Amazing," she breaths for the third time prodding something unknown organ.
In the warped reflection of the camera lens, I see her lifting a scalpel-
"Careful Mads, we don't want to destroy it until after we've had a chance to
study it."
It.
I'm an 'it' now.
She agrees and moves to a different structure to cut.
To describe what it feels like as an organ is being methodically hacked out
from within you is like describing salt.
You can't.
What I think is my spleen is plopped with a slight squelch onto a nearby table.
He takes it, carefully placing it into a container full of an unknown liquid
where it hangs suspended.
Seeing your own organ suspended in a jar like some... specimen is entirely too
much for me to handle.
A ghostly wail rips itself from my throat and the lab starts shaking. The
lights above the table begin to sway and tiles fall from the ceilings. One of
the tiles breaks over her head, knocking her unconscious. Jack rushes over to
her, fear evident in his face. The cable holding the lamp breaks hitting him in
the back of the neck. He too, crumples to the ground.
The sound still emanates from my mouth as the lab collapses around me.
Inventions disintegrate and the air fills with ill-colored dust.
I have no doubt that had the lab not been reinforced, the whole house would
have collapsed. The remaining lights shatter and the area is bathed in
darkness. My cry ceases and I know I don't have much time. Pulling the last of
my reserves I turn intangible and am able to slip through the restraints. I
notice that my ghostly wail destroyed the transformer which converted
electricity to the ecto energy that powered the lab- and kept me from escaping.
Without thinking I try and sit, only to be forced back down by pain.
As far as I can tell everything is ... more or less intact. I feel around for
the pins holding my tissue to the table, pulling them out ungracefully. The
tension is relieved as a new ache replaces it. Carefully taking each side I
fold my skin and muscle back into place.
With both hands wrapped around my belly to keep my insides in, The link between
my two halves is fading. The strange stasis between life and death is the only
thing keeping me... here. Somewhere deep within myself I know that if that bond
breaks -
I concentrate desperately on where I want-need to go, and my solid form turns
to smoke and fades away.
~~~
To Be Continued...
***** Vlad *****
It is dark outside- sometime in the long hours before dawn, I believe. "Who the
hell calls at this hour?" I grumble to no one in particular, rolling off the
bed. I take a moment to adorn the golden silk nightshirt that is always left
hanging on the handsome antique oak dresser next to my bed.
My fingers deftly button the two sides together in a well practiced motion. As
an afterthought I don the quivet robe as well. I walk from the master
bedchamber down the marble staircase that leads to the entrance hall of my
mansion. Though it is not as grand as my castle in Wisconsin was, it serves its
purpose.
The grand entrance looms before me, and again the bell rings out it's
foreboding tune. I can't help the faint sense of dread that settles in my
stomach, as strange as it sounds. My employees know not to disturb me on my few
nights of greatly deserved rest, which means this house call is either
political (unlikely- I have the whole town wrapped around my little finger.
Nothing happens here unless I say so.) or personal. The second option is even
more disturbing.
I open the door to find "Daniel?"
He looks up at me with dull blue eyes, and I know- whatever has happened to
force (he would willing seek my presence in no other situation) him here was a
terrible ordeal.
He collapses into my arms. "Help me... Vlad..."
"Daniel? DANIEL?" Good lord, is he naked? And more importantly why?
"Please... don'wanna die..." he slurs, falling forward. I catch him easily and
carry him into my home.
Though a distance I traverse every day the walk from the door to my private
study seems the longest I've ever taken.

I set him down on an expensive couch (I'll deal with that later, it's not like
I can't afford it) before kneeling to assess the situation.
If I hadn't been surprised before, I certainly was now. To say trauma of this
magnitude was horrific was crude understatement. I know that no normal human
could survive these wounds, indeed, most ghosts would cease to exist with this
kind of injury.
"Daniel? Daniel, listen to me!" I speak in gentle but stern tones "I need you
to change for me. I cannot treat the injuries sufficiently in this form." He
looks at me in horror for which I can only shake my head sadly. "Come here,
dear boy. I'll help you onto the table."
He nodded gingerly and before he could protest I lifted him from the couch,
gently resting him on the table. "C-can I have... a blanket, or something?" He
asks softly, shivering.
I nod, humoring him. I'll still see everything. (I've seen everything) I have
no choice, I am the only one equipped to handle a situation such as this. If
supplying something as simple as a bed sheet will save him from some
humiliation, so be it.
I return a short while later with a large linen for him to cover himself. He
wraps it around his body, laying back on the cold metallic surface. It takes
some time, but he closes his eyes and pulls forth the energy to transform. The
rings that accompany his change are dull rather than the burning flash I am
used to. I can see his bare shoulders under the covering (what on earth
happened to his suit?), indistinct ooze of various fluids now stemming from
deep cuts into his pale and now ghostly flesh.
Walking slowly like one would approach a wounded animal I moved towards him. I
watch as he shrinks into himself, pulling the sheet closer to his form to hide
from my searching gaze.
"Good gracious Daniel, what happened to you?" I ask though I feared I already
knew.
His gaze meets mine for a brief moment before looking away. "Vivisected."
Hastily I rip the sheet from his grip causing him to painfully assume fetal
position. He cries out in pain and pulls his legs to his chest where I am
reminded once again of his nakedness.
Yellow-green tinted bruises paint his body. Even his... coffee cakes, even his
genitals are bruised. A few sticky drops of ectoplasm laced semen stick to his
skin and I know he has been assaulted in the most vile way possible.
"I am so sorry, little badger..." I whisper, knowing I acted too quickly. I
acted in shock and without thinking. This is a delicate situation, and must be
treated as such. Coaxing him from this defensive stance I carefully place the
sheet over his lower half, and onto the only uninjured place on his body- his
back.
The "Y" incision starts at each shoulder, swiftly cutting through flesh meeting
at his sternum and leading down to where it disappears at his groin.
The flaps of skin are held in place only by gravity.
"May I?"
He nods, eyelids closing as I hover above the incision site. As gently as I can
I lift the skin from his form. The dissection is text book perfect, each side
of the tissue cut cleanly displaying the underlying structures. In muted horror
I notice various things missing, his spleen, a rib... I can see his heart
beating sluggishly as the break in his sternum expands accommodating the oxygen
filling his lungs.
I've seen enough to be able to treat him sufficiently (perhaps more than
necessary if only to quench my own morbid curiosity)

"Do you want anything..?" I ask. "I am afraid that this will be... painful
otherwise." (Frankly I am surprised he has survived this long, the amount of
pain he must be in.)
His pupils dilate hysterically. "No!" He shouts an octave higher than usual.
"No. " He repeats again, voice level. "I-I don't want to feel helpless. Not-
not after what happened."
My expression softens in understanding. "Would a local anesthetic be more
acceptable?" He thinks, looking up at me in uncertainty. "You will still be in
full control."
Almost fearfully he nods giving me the go-ahead.
I return with a small vial of plasmid, an ecto-active anesthetic. He dully
focuses on the needle as I approach and I cannot cull the small encouraging
smile that graces my features.
With a glow of ghostly energy I cauterize the end of each artery and vein. Were
there much of anything else to bleed out he would be surely dead. "Your
ectoplasm core is almost non-existent. I'm going to sew you back up with some
of my own plasma, as well as giving you a transfusion. You are beyond lucky
little badger, that I am a universal donor else you would not survive the
night." I tell him and he nods softly.
Carefully manipulating ectoplasm into a thick thread I begin the reconstruction
by tying back together his sternum. "As it is, this will take weeks to heal,
even with your accelerated healing rate... who could have done this to you
little one?" I question absently not expecting an answer.
So quietly I can nae hear it, he answers with the words that though I knew, I
feared. "Fentons." He whispers, not meeting my gaze.
Anger bubbles within me. The fool. I never would have thought Jack capable of
this sort of depravity, but even for all my hatred I had misjudged him. Despite
all his wrong doings against me, I never would have pegged him as someone who
would do... this. As if following my line of thought Daniel shakes his head.
"It... it wasn't..." he speaks softly, tears welling. Whatever was left of my
heart fell from my chest.
Maddie. Madeline did this. In a sick sort of way it made sense. Madeline was
nothing if not dedicated. I loved her once (some part of me even now still
wants to) but the evidence before me is irrefutable and kills any feelings I
may have had. The Maddie I knew and loved was not the same person who did this.
The Maddie I once knew was dead.
With a swift precision born from years of ectoplasmic manipulation I close the
cuts over his repaired rib cage, piercing tissue and suturing muscle into a
recognizable form. It was far from the perfect fit that I would have liked as
the sides did not match as they should- almost as if... samples had been taken.
Behind me one of the beakers filled with my ectoplasm ready to transfuse
explodes. Inhaling deeply I command the ectoplasm back into its inert and
harmless form, directing it into another container. Finally the layers of skin
are stitched together. I exhale loudly, removing the mask from my face.
"Let's get you cleaned up."
Taking a step back from the table he catches my gaze pleadingly. "Don't- don't
go." he chokes.

Understanding dawns on me and I use some of the last of my energy to send a
duplicate to retrieve some warm water. Far more gently than I would have
thought myself capable I wipe away the fluids from his body. He tenses
noticeably as I near his nether regions. "I'm not going to hurt you little
one..."
A few tears stray down his face and I can tell he is trying desperately not to
cry.
Taking the robe I wore earlier I wrap him in it's exquisitely soft folds,
gently gathering him in my lap. He turns and buries his face in my chest.
Before long his sobbing soaks my nightshirt but I do not mind. Instead I simply
rock him back and forth whispering words of comfort to the broken boy in my
arms.
===============================================================================
(Probably) Fin
 
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