A/N: My first one-shot. Warnings; you could take this as Pitch Pearl . . . but it's not. Simply a very sad story told in assisted second person with first person, from Phantom's point of view talking to Fenton.

Disclaimer: I don't own Danny Phantom or any characters affiliated, Butch Hartman does.

The Tale Before Forever

I knew you were becoming guilty. And when you became guilty . . . I got guilty. But that was how it was. We were one person.

I watched your inner struggle, wondering whether to tell your parents, our parents.

You'd worked so hard to keep it a secret. Why suddenly become so shamefaced?

Because you knew you were dying.

I felt guilty, and not just in your guilt. It was because of me - the folks were right about one thing. A human can't have ghost powers. They'd burn out eventually.

I wasn't quite sure what would happen to my dim existence afterwards, but I wasn't worried. All I was worried about was you.

You were dying. You wanted to tell them before it was too late. I understood.

And then, one day, fate decides to help you along. They see me transform back into you while shoving that day's catches into the Fenton Portal.

That was a long moment. The first thing that came out of your mouth was, "I'm sorry."

For what, I wondered. For being what you were? For being on the edge of death? Or for not telling them? Probably the latter.

They stared at you, eyes disbelieving. Then Dad ran over to a corner of the lab and grabbed the Fenton Ghost Bazooka. And shot it. The last thing you heard was, "Get out of my son, ghost!"

At least I'm not the one that killed you. I was just the one that went to your funeral, and your father's trial. I was the one that watched your family split apart.

You couldn't stand leaving the Ghost Zone. I didn't blame you. Your life was over and, you thought, because of you, everything you'd ever known was ruined. More guilt. I couldn't feel it myself, this time, but it came off of you in waves.

You were wrong, of course. No fourteen-year-old boy could've caused such tremendous damage. Not even you, ghost boy. Not even you.

How guilty one feels isn't an accurate measure of how much one has screwed up.

Of course, now that everyone we knew is dead and gone, residing who-knows-where in this infernal limbo, it's just you and me.

Together forever, as it was meant to be.