A/N:

I know what you are all thinking-that I need to start updating rather than posting new. But I've lost interest in other stories mainly because that writing was not really from my heart; instead, it was kind of just so I could post something, and I'm not proud of that. But this is probably my most favorite thing I've posted, because I actually applied myself to this story and didn't just rush so that I could get a couple of reviews and feel momentarily good about myself. I'm really proud of this, because I don't think I've ever really taken my time and written one chapter as extensive as eight pages. And honestly, I've never had so much fun writing or been excited to write fanfiction. So I'm very happy about this, and if people don't like it I guess that doesn't matter, because I do and I'm just happy to finally share something I'm proud of with everybody.

Thanks, and please enjoy.

~VC

It was a rather gloomy Saturday that day in Amity Park, but they were still walking together, because that had been their plan, even though a soft mist had enveloped them and the man, tall and dark in a cleanly pressed black suit, carried an umbrella and was swinging it at his side with each step he took. Beside him, a girl in a new pair of expensive-looking blue jeans and a top that similarly appeared to have hollowed the wallet, along with an exorbitant amount of gold jewelry, strode, her hands shoved into her pockets and the thumbs hooked over the sides, where she could finger the newly-acquired wad of crisp cash. It was this money, of course, that had bought Miss Valerie Gray her new wardrobe, had bought her mother in Chicago a new diamond necklace, funded a car, and—best of all—had moved her father and herself out of their crummy apartment in the neighboring town of Middleton and into an actual home in Amity, in walking distance of her school, Casper High. Her new job paid as heavily as the hoop earrings she'd been able to order online because the jewelry in Amity's seemingly one and only store was not good enough for her suddenly greedy eyes, and she found that the flow of money seemed to increase when she spent a little extra time with her employer, a thin, formal-type gentleman named Vlad Masters, who'd now taken up residence in Amity as the mayor. But she would have been content to spend a Saturday morning with him even if he had not saved her life as he had—or so he would have her convinced, because he was an incredibly good liar, and could mimic all the expressions he'd ever need to have someone sure of his falsified sincerity—because he was extremely kind to everyone in Amity Park, especially the teenagers.

Of course, she might have thought more poorly of him when he first began his reign as mayor, when he inadvertently took away her job at the Nasty Burger, and had forced upon the kids an unyielding set of rules which took away the majority of their freedoms, such as their ability to wear what they wanted and a sickeningly early six o'clock curfew. But—and as terrible as it may have been to feel such a thing—she was aware and incredibly grateful that his attitude had changed since the infamous incident that had gotten him on the news in many neighboring cities in which an innocent teenager, minding his own business, was shot by him when he'd been trying to vanquish a ghost that closely resembled a vampire. This boy was, perhaps, the most innocent of all innocent teenagers, and because of the special circumstances—the boy was, after all, Vlad Masters' nephew—the town was up in arms but the writers were smiling as they scribbled down whatever untrue profanities they could think to tag the new mayor with (e.g., abusive, impulsive, unfit to protect the town from future ghosts, etc., etc.). Of course, one might be tempted to claim that it was because of this unfortunate teenager that Mr. Masters had become mayor in the first place, and so his sacrifice so that they might be able to enjoy their freedom while they did not have to work or support a family should not be celebrated, but in all reality Valerie believed everyone was much better off now than when they'd been under the command of their previous mayor, and that seemed to be the standard belief. The food in the school had been almost instantly after the incident improved, their curfew—and Mr. Masters would express to the teenagers that he was pained to have to end the children's fun at any time, but that he could not stand by while they were risking their safety—moved to ten o'clock on school nights and eleven on the weekends, an hour later than their old mayor had ruled, and had not only begun improving the conditions of their parks and streets, but had also begun to develop a sense of safety in their town from the ghosts that seemed to constantly terrorize its good people with an increased rate of officials who knew how to use ghost weapons and were told to do so when a ghost showed its face or lack thereof. And even if some people were striving for some reasons to gripe, she herself had never been better-off because even though he'd taken her job at the Nasty Burger he'd given her one that paid nearly four times what she'd previously received and had also separately funded these things she now thought of as giving her a luxurious life. So she, and the rest of the kids in Amity Park, had really taken to him, and now she was doing what everyone else was in hopes of making a little extra money for that one material item that comes into a teenager's mind and does not leave until they can hold it in their hands. For her, it was a diamond-covered dress for their upcoming school prom, which she would have to buy with work money as Vlad Masters would not fund her wardrobe for free when he'd already gotten her a new car and home, no charge and no working. But even so they all thought he was pretty cool, and even if he hadn't had the money they would have been contented to spend that cold morning walking to a coffee shop with him.

That was, all but one kid.

Valerie had begun speaking—remarking how nice it was to finally get to spend some time with him that was not consumed by work—when the two of them saw this kid exactly, laying beneath the layers of branches and needles of one of the pine trees in the park, as if he were trying to keep from being touched by that morning's domineering haze of fog. His head rested in his hands, but he himself did not appear to be resting and looked far from relaxed; his lanky body had tensed, clearly, pressed tightly against the patch of dry, catch-fire grass on which he lay. His eyes were open and they, too, matched the irritated tone of his body—they were gazing at that prickly layer that sheltered him but they were pulled into an icy glare, as if he were a character in a story whose father's life was taken by a pine tree. His lips were pressed so tightly together that they were now a milky white, and it was plainly obvious, especially to Valerie, wearing the new contact lenses she'd never thought she'd need but that Vlad had bought her, that he was distractedly chewing on the inside of his lip, as if deep in thought. Of course, this boy, the one teenager in Amity Park who did not associate with the mayor, was too far-gone to notice them now.

She nudged Vlad, who was waving at a group of fourth graders sharing root beers on the jungle gym of the nearby playground and pretending they were drinking alcohol as they'd seen their fathers do at the bar every Monday night when there was football, moving their small bodies sporadically and spitting out nonsensical phrases mingled with words dubbed "naughty."

"Alcohol isn't a joking matter, boys," he said in his sympathetic mayoral voice. "A lot of people get sick and can even die from drinking it too much," he continued, and did not give his attention to Valerie until the kids nodded and promised to enjoy their soda instead, but he still made a mental note to have one of those alcohol awareness groups come into the elementary school on Monday because he really didn't believe them, and though he could not care in the least if some little brats in an unimportant little town became addicted to drinking alcohol, for god knew he himself had it off far worse, it was his duty to act the caring mayor and if keeping everyone in control meant pretending to be concerned for the future of the children, he would.

"Yes Valerie," he said, turning away from the young drunkards with an amused expression adorning his face.

"Look," she said quietly, almost suspiciously, frightened by his hateful expression that if he were to come out of his trance he'd surely let them have it, and pointed with the hand on which she wore multiple gold rings and one sporting an exceedingly large diamond, all purchased after completing tasks for Mr. Masters. On that wrist, there were several thick gold bangles, which jingled as she moved her hand. "See Danny?"

Vlad turned his gaze in the direction she was pointing, to the tree where the mist had mingled with the sweet needles and evoked the sensual and somehow startlingly icy smell of evergreen. There he saw what Valerie had seen—there one adolescent who harbored a grudge for him in the entire town, a boy who just happened to be his nephew (or so everyone, including his new sidekick Valerie, had come to understand their relationship to be) laying beneath it and glaring up into its center with eyes that glowed with a fire-like rage and actually seemed to illuminate the space between the bottom branches and his soft, still slightly plump face. "Yes," he said with a kind of somber air about him, and that expression of amusement had of course gone immediately when his eyes found the teen. "Yes, I do see little Daniel."

"He looks angry," Valerie spectated in an almost stupefied fashion; her mouth hung open and her black eyebrows had pulled together in a perplexed manner. "What do you think is wrong with him?"

Of course, Valerie would not know the extent of the problems that plagued one of her best friends, but Vlad was not left in the darkness and had, yes, adapted a new face, finding that as time progressed it was growing more and more simple to act as though he were saddened or concerned in such moments—the smiles that used to threaten to peek through his elaborate masks now lay dormant within him, and now he could have a good laugh in his mind about this or that but look as the part of the caring and thoughtful mayor everyone thought he was. Now, this remained constant with all matters in which he dealt, but when it came to Daniel his outer reaction just may resemble the inner more than the young drunks or a teenaged girl who thought she was so poor-off because she did not live in a castle like television programming had nailed into her head to be the standard for girls like her. Because though, yes, Vlad had himself been the source of this newest problem that plagued Daniel, like many others, he still had never ceased to care for him and long, if only in the late hours of the night when he was not thinking about his duties as mayor or how he would carry out his conquest of the insignificant world he was condemned to walk, that he be able to nurture this boy and call him his own. And sometimes, in his weakest moments in those late hours, his plans turned to Daniel Fenton and were carried out until his mind, almost resembling that of a teenager, found something momentarily more important and relevant to latch onto. Sometimes, plans were not meant to include Daniel, but did anyway, because the boy felt the need to get himself involved. And there was a clear division in these two formats—when he planned for Daniel, Vlad tended to be gentler, while, if the boy found himself involved and unwelcomedly so, he might just risk death, just as he had in their last encounter after he'd found the legendary map Vlad had been coveting and had not been too keen to hand it over. But it would be unfair to say that Vlad Masters had ever set out to kill him, or desired to do so—rather, driven by intense emotions, he was often more violent, and perhaps would have killed Daniel if the boy had not been himself (that is, a strong, getting stronger, boy).

This time, his plans had included Daniel, and had unleashed a terrible amount of conflicting emotions within him purposefully, though he would never enjoy seeing the boy overcome with angst as he was now, and had to focus his mind on the outcome he would have most preferred, that thing he thought of at night and when he saw fathers and sons mingling throughout that little town or, worst of all, when he saw the boy himself with his real father, a big oaf named Jack Fenton who could not have named the outstanding word of the poem 'The Raven' if you'd set the poem itself in front of him and highlighted said word in yellow—when he saw that man touching Daniel, even now, when they seemed to be on worse terms than ever before, Vlad felt rage flare inside him and would think or, once, whisper aloud, "get your filthy hands off my boy." And so when he thought of finally having Daniel as his own, along with the satisfaction of taking him from Jack, it became a little easier to put the boy through pain, especially because it was pain with which he'd had firsthand experience and knew to quell as if it were some form of art. Of course, the boy could not go to Jack Fenton for help, because Jack Fenton had never experienced rejection as Vlad Masters, and now he himself, thanks to him, had.

It was a rather cruel plan he'd cooked up one night when he was wandering about town, making rounds meant to keep the people engaged in his campaign, either by simply nodding in greeting or stopping to chat, but even his presence there increased voter mentality to him, and, in keeping with his constant, "if it keeps me in power…," he didn't mind. He'd gone into Amity's semi-large mall and was strolling its halls when he noticed Daniel and his friend, a boy named Tucker, who Vlad often disregarded because of the color of his skin, sitting at a table, which was littered with wrappers of burgers and empty containers that had held onion rings and half-drunken vanilla shakes, in the center of the mall. Because the new mayor was not one to pass up an opportunity to study up on his quote unquote enemy, he sequestered himself behind a potted fern but made pains to appear simply to be loitering so that his new citizens did not come to see the madness their mayor really possessed; no one he encountered seemed to think it odd, and the boy did not notice, so he was able to catch most of the dialogue they were exchanging, and while most of it consisted of things that were of no use to him but still stood to amuse, and, in one instance, when Danny admitted that he was thinking of domesticating his dog, Cujo—or, one might say, the precise reason ghost-hunter Valerie Gray had come to be—because apparently he was also suffering night-loneliness, fill him with sadness but also an odd sense of comfort with the idea that someone, especially this someone, could understand his situation, Vlad Masters saw none of it as weaponry he could potentially aim at the boy in that seemingly never-ending struggle for a (real) relationship to remove him from the sea of loneliness he felt constantly to be drowning within. That was, until Danny Fenton began to talk of Sam Manson, the girl Vlad remembered to be dressed in black and had believed that she was much better than everyone else, which he knew because she had that air about her.

"I just don't know what to do," Danny had confessed, his face paling and the eyes similarly diming in a hopeless manner. "I…I'd be devastated if she ever chose someone else, and I want to be with her, but I just don't know how to tell her."

That night Vlad Masters got in touch with one of his business partners in Michigan, who had a son named Elliot. Elliot was five years older than Danny, and had been, in all truth, the closest thing Vlad had ever had to a son before the half-ghost boy entered his life the year prior. And even though he'd known Elliot since he was a newborn, he seemed to lose all interest in him with the appearance of the Fenton child, and so would be expected, but he'd never forgotten Elliot—in fact, he still sent him money on his birthday and other holidays, which was more than he could say for Daniel. But like one who has been exposed to electronic gaming and realizes that playing cards don't cut it any longer, Vlad immediately upon meeting the Ghost Boy adapted an attitude that if he were ever to have a child it would be Daniel and Daniel only. And so when he'd invited him to come spend the week with him in Amity Park, he was smiling on the outside but because the kid was not Daniel so unbearably irritated on the inside he thought just this once he might slip up and let this emotion take his face; however, he thought of the outcome of Elliot's being there and he was able to relax again as he greeted him.

Elliot was a theatre-type; he liked to embrace all aspects of human nature through clothing but because there were so many to choose from he often wore blacks and whites only to remain neutral, and could add color with his rather exorbitant personality. During one of his school plays, he'd been the part of Edward Hyde, and had died his hair white because he believed it suited the character; when the play was over, he realized he liked how it looked, and had kept it like that ever since. It looked very strange, considering how tan his skin was because he loved the beach and owned his own boat, which he used as often as possible, but because his eyes were so shockingly beautiful—they were almost a bright green, and when you saw them you'd be taken aback and immediately come to believe he was wearing colored-contacts—that all attention was drawn there and his peroxided hair was generally forgotten. But even if the eyes were not enough to draw attention from the top of his head, the fourteen-carat-diamond encrusted gold cross that hung from his left ear, a gift from Vlad on his eighteenth birthday, because he was very religious, usually did the trick.

Vlad Masters knew he'd be perfect—not only did he fit the bill of a handsome, goth-looking teenager, but he was incredibly hungry for love, and would take any attractive girl he could get.

He would not tell Elliot of Daniel, and would simply tell him of the daughter of one of his unnamed friends who'd told him she was looking to be in a relationship. He told Elliot that she was very pretty and was a self-proclaimed goth, and looking for someone similarly so; even though he was not a goth, Vlad said, she loved theatre and was also incredibly religious. They'd be a perfect match, though it wouldn't hurt to play up the aspect of inner-darkness, Vlad told him, but before he released Elliot into this new and rushed romance, he advised him not to mention his part, or her parents', for that matter, in setting them up, so as not to hurt her feelings. He told Elliot it would be best not to mention him at all, because she thought he was old and "uncool" and would perhaps feel the same of him if she knew they were related. Otherwise, he was free to tell her his origins—he could even make up something, if he wanted, because Vlad knew how he so much loved to pretend.

And so he had, it seemed.

"Oh," Vlad said now, placing one hand on Valerie's shoulder. "It may simply be nothing, my dear. Teenage boys are sometimes very melodramatic."

Valerie frowned and took a sort of half-calculated step forward. "We should talk to him."

The hand on her shoulder stiffened to keep the girl in place; Valerie turned to look at him with an expression of that same stupefied confusion. "I think it'd be best if we just left him be," Vlad said, and continued as if in attempt to appease those overly ready feet of hers, "He looks like he wants to be left alone, doesn't he?"

Valerie regarded Vlad for a small moment, as if she were trying, and one might say wisely so, to decipher those true intentions—after all, she could not see why this man would chose not to comfort his nephew when he was clearly in need. But Vlad, of course, was very good at faces, and through a gaze resembling that of moroseness, he was conveying to her that, yes, he did very much care for his nephew and was without a doubt concerned, but he understood the boy better than she and was aware that when he seemed to be upset it was best to give him his space. She would agree, as Vlad thought she would, but it was unknown whether or not she'd actually bought into this mask he'd donned, because she seemed distraught.

"Oh…okay. Yes," she said after a few moments, and dropped her gaze, which now seemed completely disheartened because she wanted so badly to go and comfort the boy but would never disobey his uncle and her employer, not to mention the mayor of the town. But Vlad caught on quickly, of course, and immediately sensed for the first time since meeting the girl a disconnection between them, one which, he suddenly feared, might lead to her refusal to serve him any longer, or possibly begin to question why it really was, exactly, Danny Fenton hated the man so much and just who it really was in that long silver cloak with the spiked hair and vampire fangs who she'd seen on more than one occasion lingering near City Hall. And obviously, that was the last thing he wanted to have happen now, for he'd gotten her, and little Daniel, for that matter, just where he wanted.

"Tell you what," he said, and squeezed her thick shoulder in a comforting fashion. "I'll go speak to him, because he has a terrible temper and tends to snap when he is angry, even at those he holds dearly to him, such as myself. And of course I would not want you to have to endure that—after all, I've known him since he was little and by now I'm so used to it I have developed a very effective formula for quelling his anger. So why don't you go home and tomorrow we can continue this outing?"

Valerie looked up, and now her eyes did not glean with the sadness of not being able to aid Danny, but with that evoked by the rather selfish realization that Danny was somehow now more important in the man's eyes than she; however, this reaction left quickly, as she had never been able to feel such emotions as jealously for very long, especially when it came to Danny and her relationship the Vlad Masters—after all, she seldom saw the two together, and was instilled with the knowledge that Vlad not only did not spend as much time with him, but he didn't spend the amount of money, either. And what was really the most unfortunate part of it all, she wasn't even related to him as Danny was, yet she was getting twice as much attention and pampering. So feeling jealous that he wanted to talk to the boy once in, what?, four months, when he was consumed with what must be a very pressing problem was enough to make her disgusted at herself, and almost immediately the clouds in her expression cleared as she made a silent prayer for Danny and asked for forgiveness. She nodded to Vlad.

"Sure, of course, Mr. Masters," she said, and threw an easy smile his way. "Call me whenever you wanna meet up."

He smiled back at her and squeezed her shoulder once again. "Of course my dear. And don't you worry—my little badger will be just fine. I think I'll take him out for breakfast and he'll feel better once he's eaten."

At hearing this nickname uttered, and the reassurance of his plans for Danny that morning, any suspicion Valerie Gray had had as to the matter of Vlad's hesitation when it came to her wanting to console the teen left immediately. Her smile grew wider and, seemingly satisfied, she put her arms around him before turning and walking down the path which they'd come.

When he could no longer see her, he turned back to the boy beneath the tree, and though he was really in no mood to talk to Daniel, as he was still very upset over their latest quarrel, or quarrels, as it would seem, because their struggle for the Infi-Map had taken them to dimension after dimension where fight upon fight ensued, he was plainly aware that his plans to finally make the child his own were impossible if he had no contact with him. After all, how could he comfort the child in this cruel and unnatural time of need if he lacked the drive to do so? And if having the child was not enough encouragement, there was always the idea of possessing the Infi-Map, which only little Daniel knew the whereabouts of and was as of this moment terribly reluctant to relinquish this information—but the boy on his own would do just fine, although it was not above him to stop and consider his own brilliance when he concocted the plan so that the child and map would become his in one fell swoop, which was an image he would have in past times associated only with the sweetness of dreams. But now he thought the words "ruler" and "father" both sounded excellent together on his tongue, and he could see this future for which he longed with an increasing clarity.

In Rome the week before, he'd never come closer to achieving that two-sided delusion he carried with him since that day of his and his classmates' college reunion and seemingly always would.

He would readily admit that his short time as ruler of that place was perhaps one of the most fulfilling moments of the life he'd come to know and not-so-much love as except; until those Romans bowed before him and had him pose so that they might sculpt him, he realized he had not known what true power and glory felt like—after all, while he might control the town of Amity Park, what was it, truly? A backwater place he had not spared a glance until Daniel's appearance? But in Rome, elevated above all in a booth where he could watch poor peasant gladiators battle for his blessing in a bustling coliseum, never had he more felt like a god, but also as if he were simply suited for such a lifestyle. There was, however, one thing missing, he would come to realize: the other half.

"Hmm," he'd said as a sparsely-clothed woman with long black hair offered him a platter of exotic fruits. Below him a peasant was being mauled by the lions he'd ordered be released. "He must have died." A look of disappointment crossed his face, because when he'd appointed John Fenton Nightingale to lay down the leafs of the blood-blossom he had perhaps not understood their potency, or perhaps childishly come to believe that he could throw anything terrible, deadly in this case, Daniel's way and he would somehow overcome it. He'd been aware then that he had presumably taken it too far, because he'd never once wished death upon Daniel, and felt an overpowering emptiness, one that was so great he seemed to forget the position he was now in until there was a tremendous roar of applause throughout the coliseum and the new leader looked down to see that the peasant gladiator, who had previously lain on the ground with the lions atop him tearing flesh from the exposed regions of his body, was now standing again and the beasts lay dead at his feet. Vlad's mind immediately left the Ghost Boy as he was overcome with amazement for the man's recovery; impressed, he, too, stood and began to applaud.

"I congratulate you, sir," he said, and the woman beside him, accustomed to the traditions of the Roman Empire, assumed her leader would take the handsome young man to bed with him when the tournament was finished. Hoping to get in on this, she clung to Vlad's raised arm to make herself known, and he seemed not to mind. "What is your name?" he said, as if he was so taken by this warrior that he failed to realize the beautiful young handmaiden at his side, running hands about his body.

Vlad would quickly stiffen, but not because of that touch—rather, because the warrior spoke, in a voice all too familiar to him. "Oh," the boy said, and lifted the helmet he wore off his head. Locks of white hair sprung up. Green eyes gleamed brightly. "They call me the Ghost Boy." And he suddenly took to the skies, axe in his hand, and flung himself at Vlad Plasmius.

Perhaps if their battle had not destroyed the city, Vlad could have made that dream he so closely held to him a reality; perhaps, he'd thought in the midst of their battle, as he carelessly flung disks of purple fire, which he had chosen because he was aware they would not kill him, seeming to have gained a sense of awareness after the scare that those little flowers might have destroyed the only person who could understand him so well, at Daniel, with an acute certainty, that by the end of that night they would both rule over this bustling domain, together, as father and son, as he'd fantasized since the moment he saw the boy change back into his human form after their first battle in his castle in Wisconsin. And he'd been so consumed by these thoughts that his aim was sloppy, and soon, before he even realized it, he'd set his kingdom ablaze, and too seemed to be true for his sad delusion. But unlike other plans Daniel thwarted, this one seemed to hit closer to home because he'd actually had those people bowing down, but what was more, he was able to so undilutedly envision a close future where there was a successor to his throne, the Ghost Boy himself. In fact, it should have been no surprise as to why this failure hurt so much more, because Vlad Plasmius had already begun making plans for Daniel to prepare him for the role of co-leadership; he'd been thinking, perhaps while he'd flung those disks, that little Daniel looked so much more like the peasants he saw battling and less like a leader in that he was so thin he appeared to be malnourished, and that he'd have to start fattening him up, so to speak, which he decided would not be a problem considering the abundance of food he'd already been offered since arriving.

So of course he was still very upset, but was newly hopeful that enticing Danny now would not only give him that perfect half-ghost son he'd always longed for, but a new kingdom to rule (that was, co-rule, because the boy would be at his side, of course) because if they were on good terms he might just be able to convince the boy to relinquish the coordinates of the map. And though Rome was no longer up for grabs, perhaps he would take Greece, or maybe he'd move away from that era completely and conquer something entirely different. There were plenty of possibilities and it would be untrue to say he wasn't exhilarated to explore them together with the child at his right hand.

Of course, to do that he would first need the map. And the boy.

But when he came out of his thoughts of that unsuccessful fantasy and turned to the tree where Danny had been, he saw it was now uninhabited. Vlad's mouth fell open slightly as he looked about the ground and saw a set of footprints he recognized to be Daniel's in the muddied grass that looked to be headed into the woods. At the tree there was not a trace of him, except that in its trunk he'd carved a solemn set of letters which Vlad Masters recognized to be the alias Elliot had created for himself for Mrs. Manson.

GREGGOR AND SAM, it said, and it had been scratched out over and over again until it was barely legible.

That future kingdom of his had never seemed so in reach.