Leveling the Fenton bazooka at her target, Maddie can't help but smile to herself. The ghost kid, supposed "hero" of Amity Park, hovers just slightly off the ground in the middle of her basement. She's not sure what he's doing, nor does she particularly care. All she knows is, he has no idea she can see him, and she has a perfect view. All that matters is this shot.
Her finger tightens around the trigger and she hears a small click, telling her that the safety is off and she has the clear to fire. Jack and Jazz are out having a father-daughter day, and Danny is with his friends, which means she's all alone. That also means that there's no one to interrupt her shot for once. For whatever reason, Jazz likes to bump into her or her father and throw off their trajectory. She likes to play it off as an accident, but Maddie isn't a fool. Perhaps Jazz doesn't like her parents fighting, and that's fine. She's not around to see it this time.
"Goodbye, and good riddance." Maddie mutters to herself. She takes a deep breath and pulls the trigger.
The ghost boy turns around just then. Maybe he heard her, or maybe he was just finished studying the map in his hands. Either way, he immediately stills, and the pleased smile on his face drops as his gaze lands on the beam of pure ecto-energy hurling right for him.
He doesn't have time to run or turn intangible at all- just as she had hoped for. The beam hits him in the stomach, and Maddie gets a brief glimpse of the ectoplasm that gives him "life" before he's moving. Or, running, to be more precise. He dodges her second shoot and races up the stairs, too weak to faze through the ceiling.
The Fenton bazooka is heavy and slows her down, but she doesn't dare just leave it there. She presses it against her side and sprints up the stairs and into the kitchen after him. To her surprise, he's not there. For a second, she thinks he did manage to faze through the wall and escape, but then she notices what the red tint of her glasses hid upon first glance.
The ectoplasm. It's everywhere. It's in puddles all over the floor, splattered on the table, and smeared on the walls where he must have leaned against for support. The mess is unsightly, but helpful. It leads her into the living room and up the stairs to the second floor. The sight makes her uneasy. For some reason, Maddie can't help but see it as... blood. But that's ridiculous- ghosts don't bleed. And even if they did, who cares? They're already dead. It's not like her shot actually hurt the ghost boy.
Right?
Shaking her head, Maddie shoves the thought away. It's not like she cares anyway. The hall lights are off, and she refuses to turn them on and alert him to her presence, but it's not need, anyway. The ectoplasmic trail glows a ghostly green, and she follows it down the hall- and stops outside of Danny's room. She approaches the door hesitantly, lowering her weapon. The door is open just a crack, meaning the ghost opened it manually but couldn't shut it behind him. Maddie's hand goes to the door knob, only to immediately be yanked back. Her glove is coated with ectoplasm of course, but also something else. She pushes her goggles off to see better, squinting at the stain on her glove. It's odd, but the stain looks a lot like-
Blood.
A chill runs down her spine and Maddie pushes open the door. She steps into Danny's room and, despite the dark, can clearly see that ectoplasm mixed with blood is covering the floor. "Danny?" She calls the ghost's name hesitantly. Maddie isn't sure what compelled her to do so, just that the scene in front of her is making her worry more than she probably should.
A low groan sounds from the corner of the room, and Maddie drops the Fenton bazooka, hurrying over to the figure huddled in the shadows. The closer she gets, the less ectoplasm there is. Instead, it's blood. Everywhere, making her heart pound and her palms slick with sweat. She can't help but feel like she made a very big mistake.
As she approaches, he holds out a hand, trying in vain to keep her away. When she moves closer though, his defenses crumble like a house of cards, and she pulls the boy - her boy - into her arms. "Danny?" She tries again, brushing his black (not white) hair out of his blue (not green) eyes. He doesn't make a sound, but his eyes are still open, still shining with life, and she takes that as a good sign. "Danny, sweetie, I- I don't understand." She whispers as tears gather in her eyes. "Wh-What happened to you?" Then her gaze slips down, and the pieces fall into place.
The hole in his abdomen makes her stomach twist, and she has to look away to keep from vomiting. Her hands shake, but Maddie can't bring herself to loosen her grip. She did this. There's no other explanation. She killed her son, her baby.
He groans again, softer this time, and though it's hard to see with tears streaming down her cheeks, Maddie looks into his eyes. He's looking in her general direction, but doesn't see her. She can see the haze in his eyes, and she can tell that he doesn't have long. "Danny? You're-" She can't bring herself to say it. Not with the crushing guilt in her chest. "The whole time?"
There's a pause, no sound at all except for the beating of her heart and the emptiness where his should be, and then he nods. "Mom," Danny says weakly, specks of blood dotting his lips, "it's not your fault." He tells her, but she can't bring herself to believe him. She can't bring herself to accept that he forgives her- after all the times she's tried to bring harm to him and the one time she actually did.
She doesn't tell Danny this, though. Instead, she just holds him close. Her mind is telling her that she shouldn't just sit there- that she should call an ambulance and try to stop the bleeding while she waits, but her gut tells her to stay right where she is. It tells her that his wounds are too severe to be fixed, no matter what she tries, and that she should make his last moments fond ones. It's so frustrating- to know that she can't do anything to save her own child, and it brings a fresh wave of tears to her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Danny." She sobs, crushing him against her. "I'm so sorry." There is no sound of protest, or insistence that she's not a fault. How could there be? Corpses don't talk.
A/N: And this, my dear readers, is why his parents are depicted as such terrible shots in the actual show.