Soy Guy: Kind of a strange take on Brainwashed. It was starting to creep me out, so I stopped writing it. I think some of you will like it, so...here it is.


Breathing…

He was breathing…slowly but surely in small strained puffs. There was a strange taste in his mouth, and his tongue felt swollen.

Water…He was thirsty.

His body was pulled out flat, so he must be either standing, or lying down.

Probably lying down.

He could feel blankets beneath his body.

He tried to move, groaning slightly as he felt something holding him in place. A thing was fastened around his wrist. Both of them…his ankles too. He was holding something warm in his hand.

His eyes flickered open, attempting to view the bright world around him. He quickly retreated, the light taking him by surprise. The darkness of his mind was more comforting; more familiar. He wanted to stay there longer…

But something was telling him, it was time.

"Time to wake up, Lucas."

He tried again, slowly cracking his eyelids open, allowing the world to come into focus, bit by painful bit. At first, none of the shapes around him made sense. They were strange and nameless, which confused him. How could he have been here for so long, and not know them?

Relief washed over him as the objects slowly morphed into things he recognized. A desk, some beds, a gray metal chair resting by his side. There was a man sitting in it, his eyes shut, head lolling to the side. It was his hand the boy clutched. He stared at the man for only a moment, before gazing back at the ceiling.

His eyes were flickering slightly. He must be tired. Something told him that it was time to awaken, but…he already had… so now he could sleep again. Sleep was calling to him, singing softly, promising him things that only slumber could bring. He had lived amongst those things for so long.

It was time to return…

If only for a little while longer.


Weeks had passed. It had been much too long…

He had failed again.

Professor Jonathan Rivers could feel the boy's hand below his own, open and limp. The child had grasped tightly to the man's wrist all those weeks ago, whimpering in fear, before succumbing to slumber.

Jonathan did not hold his hand. He simply set his own in the boy's palm.

He didn't know why. It felt right, as if it gave the sleeping child a sense of power.

Power he would need to survive in a world where he was helpless.

"It's time to wake up, Lucas." The man whispered tiredly. He had repeated that phrase over and over, soon losing hope that the boy would awaken with the sound of his name.

At least the name he had now.

Jonathan pulled up the tight sleeves of his off-green sweater, wiping his brow in the stifling heat. The chair he sat in was stiff and hard, made of smooth metal. The man longed to curl up on one of the room's spare beds, and truly find sleep…but something prevented him.

The boy wasn't even his child, and yet he waited by his bedside like a nervous parent, praying for him to emerge from sleep.

He wanted this one to work. The boy was perfect, a spitting image of Jonathan in his youth.

Already the child's ebony hair was growing again, showing that, while its master stayed dormant, something was still working; something was still ticking within the boy.

Jonathan could only hope that it counted his mind as well.

"It's time to wake up, Lucas."

Something within him clicked. The voice was so familiar. He knew it.

"Listen to this voice." His mind called to him. "You should listen."

There was something about the voice that commanded attention. The boy found himself struggling to obey. He had been welcomed into his dark world again, but now was the time to emerge. It was time to face reality.

His fingers twitched. He tightened his hold around the man's hand, refusing to let him go. He could hear a startled gasp, but ignored it. He continued to fight the dark claws that had burrowed inside of him. They held on possessively to him, but he knew he had to leave their safety. It was important. More important than anything.

"P-please." He croaked, trying to force his eyes open.

Then it hit him.

Screeching tires, burning rubber, broken glass landing on his skin. Air whipped past his face as the world spun around him.

Someone was crying.

A hard impact, his flesh dragged across the ground.

Oozing darkness…

He screamed.


Jonathan was dragged from his thoughts as the boy suddenly shrieked, thrashing against his restraints. The child's blue eyes shot open, desperate and panicked. Tears ran over his cheeks as his scream faded into violent sobs that soon dwindled to sharp breaths. The whole time, Jonathan grasped his hand, speaking softly, trying to calm him.

"It's alright, Lucas." He whispered, stroking the boy's clammy skin. "Small breaths, son. Small breaths."

He couldn't help but smile as the child's breathing slowed….and his eyes remained open.

Lucas was awake.

Soon would be the moment he was waiting for.

Quickly, the man unfastened the straps holding the boy in place, allowing him to move freely. Jonathan could feel those blue eyes watching him as he pulled the binds away…they were fearful.

Perhaps nothing had worked. It had all been a waste.

"Are you feeling alright, Lucas?" The man asked, taking a seat once more. The boy was still staring at him, his cheeks wet from his tears. Something tugged at the professor's heart as he remembered another little boy, crying softly after scraping his knee.

They looked so much alike.

"D-dad?" The boy whispered, sucking in air. A spark of recognition dawned on the teenager's features, and a weak smile cracked through his fear.

"Dad." He repeated again, his voice stronger. Jonathan nodded in reply, grinning broadly.

"How are you feeling, Lucas?" He asked, wiping the child's eyes with a tissue.

"Alright…" The boy whispered.

"You certainly came back with a bang. I was expecting you to wake up gradually. You almost gave me a heart attack."

"I'm sorry." Lucas replied softly.

Something was wrong.

Jonathan could see reproach in the boy's eyes, as if he was confused. Had he seen something? Was something of Daniel Fenton still there?

No…there couldn't be. Daniel was gone.

Only Lucas remained.

"You look different." The boy whispered, staring up at Jonathan's face, his expression looking lost and confused. "I—I thought you…were bigger."

A twinge of uncomfortable fear ran up the man's spine.

It hadn't worked.

"No, Lucas. I've always been like this." Jonathan had to struggle to hold back his tears. "When we'd go to out, people would always say that we looked exactly alike."

In truth, he had never been out with this child. He had been shopping with one so similar…so many years ago.

But Lucas smiled as if he remembered, his confusion ebbing away.

"You're right." The boy replied. "My mind's a little fuzzy."

Jonathan let out a sigh of relief.

Perhaps it had worked after all.

Lucas laughed then, the sound ringing with the youthful innocence belonging only to the young…a laugh that didn't match his true age.

Jonathan remembered Daniel, lying on the operation table, laughing weakly as he talked to the doctor, obviously delirious from the drugs in his system.

"I thought you were going to kill me…"

He had then settled down into the covers, his striking blue eyes glazing over as he succumbed to the darkness.

Thos would be the last words Daniel Fenton would ever say.


The real world was very bright. Lucas found himself blinking constantly, his eyes so used to his dark hideaway. A part of him wanted to go back, but he found that it was barred to him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't unlock the passage to his old home…so he sat, listening to his dad as he talked about old times.

This made the boy slightly annoyed. It was if the man didn't think he could remember even the simplest of things. Earlier he had made a simple mistake. He had it straight now. The smiling bear of a man had faded into an older slim one.

No more mistakes.

"Do you remember when we went ice skating, and you slipped, Lucas?" his dad asked, his voice carrying a slight tinge of panic and excitement.

The boy paused, noticing that the man kept repeating his name unecessarily.

"Your mother had to make her famous cocoa. Do you remember it, Lucas?"

He did. Warm, creamy, with marshmallows floating like little pillows on top, and specks of dark cinnamon giving it an aromatic smell.

"Yes." Lucas replied. "The cinnamon was my favorite."

Again, his dad gave him a frightened look, and paused.

The boy bit his lip, realizing that he'd made another mistake.

"Your mother never put cinnamon in it, Lucas." The man said, stressing the child's name. "She only put cocoa."

"But what about the marshmallows?" The Lucas asked, feeling panic welling up inside him.

What was wrong?

Why was everything coming out wrong?

"There never were any marshmallows." His dad said, his voice cracking. "She never put any marshmallows or cinnamon in it, Lucas. Just the cocoa. You always liked it best that way."

The boy desperately searched his mind for the memory his dad recalled, but found the image of the bear man returning once again. It was blurred, but still clear enough to see. The man was holding a blue clay mug, taking a marshmallow from inside, popping it into his mouth. Lucas could see himself doing the same, and the two laughed.

The boy tried to change the man's image into his dad's, but found it impossible. No matter how hard he tried, the plump man refused go away, and Lucas was still sitting beside him, drinking the cocoa that he was supposed to never have liked.

"Dad?" He whispered. "What's wrong with me?"

Slowly, tendrils of black oozed over his eyes, cold…yet painless . The comforting darkness of his old home swirled around him, blocking his sight. He could feel it envelope him…pulling him deeper into oblivion.

Jonathan stared down at the boy, holding tightly on to his hand. He barely managed to hold back his tears…tears of utter disappointment and failure. He had been so close.

It had been too good to be true.

For one fleeting moment, Lucas had been back with him.

Now…

The child's old memories were commingling with the new. Daniel and Lucas were melding together, creating something…that was neither.

Daniel was gone…

Lucas was dead…buried in a graveyard only a few miles away.

So who was this?

"Dad?...What's wrong with me?"

The boy's words ran around in Jonathan's head, repeating themselves over and over again.

"…What's wrong with me?"

His fear was that of a young child…his pleading sounding so much like another little boy, lying on his deathbed.

"Dad? What's wrong with me?"

Jonathan tried to push the memory away, but it came, barreling down on him in full force. The man could see himself, standing by another child's bedside, holding the boy's small, pale hand. Filmy blue eyes stared ahead, almost hidden by black hair matted in blood.

"I'm going to be…ten next week." The child whispered, focused blankly at the wall.

"Yes you are, Lucas" Jonathan choked. "Yes you are."

The man emerged from his painful memory, glaring at the boy resting before him.

He would try again. The process could be repeated. He would be successful even if he had to repeat it a thousand times. Daniel's body was still alive. He would try again.

He would bring his son back…


A tendril of black rubbed against his cheek, wiping away a tear he hadn't acknowledged. The boy smiled weakly, thanking it softly.

A light voice laughed, sounding like bells on the breeze. A woman appeared from the darkness wearing a floral summer dress, and sporting a pair of thick-rimmed sunglasses. Her brown hair was held back in a messy bun.

She smiled warmly, waving to the boy.

Eventually, her color began to bleed away, dripping to the ground until she was only black and white…like an old photograph.

"D…" She called, her message drifting away before she could finish. But the boy knew that she was addressing him, asking him to come over to her.

He started running. She seemed so far away…and didn't appear to be getting any closer.

"D—"

The woman's voice was cut abruptly short as something rammed into her side, knocking her away.

A guttural cry tore from the boy's throat as the thing turned on him, twin yellow lights shining too brightly in the darkness of his world. It gave a sickening shriek as it barreled toward him, showing no signs of stopping.

Screeching tires, burning rubber, broken glass landing on his skin. Air whipped past his face as the world spun around him.

Someone was crying.

A hard impact, his flesh dragged across the ground.

Oozing darkness…

But this time it didn't end. Images squirmed around him, like ravenous worms, digging pathways into his mind. He felt trapped as they backed him into a corner, forcing their memories upon him, scratching and clawing to gain entrance to his brain. His thoughts seemed to freeze over, and he could feel himself falling, a continuous stream of new memories entering without further resistance…