Trigger warnings: for suicide and self harm.

Danny Phantom fights with a burning passion, saving the lives of countless people and becoming a hero in the eyes of many. He sees himself in the newspaper, smiling and kicking ass, and knows that he is doing good.

Danny Fenton holds the blade in his hand, turning it over and over, watching the steel catch the light of his bedroom lamp. Why couldn't he do good too? Danny Fenton is just a screw up, barely worth mentioning. His friends would argue that they are one and the same, he and Phantom, but he knows better. Phantom is a persona, a mask he puts on to hide his shame. The world would be better off without Daniel Fenton in it. He sighs as he finally lets the tip of the blade cut into the exposed flesh of his forearm.

You would think, as someone who basically experiences pain for a living, that Danny would be tired of it. But that was Phantom, and this is Fenton. Phantom's wounds don't transfer to his living body very often, and when they do they heal so quickly they're barely worth mentioning. The exhaustion lingers though, and he has seriously considered raiding his sister's makeup to cover the dark circles that ring his eyes. Looking exhausted will just make people worry, and he isn't worth the hassle.

Another cut, another sigh of relief. This is what he deserves, what he needs, what he craves. Fenton has been doing this for a while now, initially starting with his legs in order to avoid detection. He couldn't let anyone find out; everyone would worry and they would probably make him stop. Both outcomes were horrible to think about. He couldn't stop, not anymore. Had he been less tired, it might have occurred to him that he had an addiction, but the momentary relief and pleasure was too satisfying to listen to reason.

Now he's working on his forearm. It's winter- no one will see. He prods himself onward, an old towel beneath his freely bleeding arm. He should stop soon though- he didn't eat dinner I'm not worth it and can already feel the beginnings of lightheadedness. Bleeding 'til he passed out wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, but he didn't want to be late to school, they'll notice, so he stops for the night. He can come back to his little project tomorrow.

….

Sam and Tucker are bright and cheery, as always. I don't deserve their attention. He notices the way their gazes linger on him, checking to make sure he's alright. Fenton straightens himself a little bit more, hoping to look less like a failure. Jazz's makeup is helping, he can tell by Sam's relieved smile.

"You've been sleeping more," Sam says approvingly. For a moment the comment fills him with pride, but I'm just a liar the guilt replaces it immediately.

"Yeah." Might as well continue with it.

"No ghosts bothering you lately?" Tucker asks.

"Nah, things have been pretty quiet this week." His arm is proof of that. When he's busy fighting ghosts, Phantom doesn't give Fenton a chance to indulge in his favorite pastime.

"That's good to hear. You deserve a break every once in a while," Sam says. No, Phantom deserves a break. I don't deserve anything.

….

School is mostly uneventful. Fenton finds himself pleased that he's wearing a black jacket today, since he managed to bleed through his light bandaging. Can't even bandage yourself right. It's like you're asking to get caught. Fortunately he brought more, and it doesn't take him long to wrap it around his arm. He makes sure to tie it more tightly than necessary, savoring the new discomfort it causes. You deserve nothing but pain. He makes sure to avoid the mirror when he leaves the bathroom.

"Was there a ghost in there?" Tucker asks when Fenton comes back to class. He gives his friend a confused look. "You were gone a while."

"Oh, nah I just wanted to get out of here for a while," he lies fluidly. Feeling another pang of guilt when he realizes how easy it's getting to lie to his friends. Tucker chuckles at the lie.

"I feel ya, man." He is immediately hushed by the teacher, and the conversation is dropped. Fenton is left to his own thoughts, which isn't a pleasant experience.

Are they even really your friends? If all you ever do is lie to them, you can't say you're friends with them. Phantom is a better friend than you are- at least he cares. You don't care about anyone but yourself and your own problems.

Exhausted- mentally, emotionally, and physically- Fenton puts his head down and promptly falls asleep.

"You gotta get up, Danny. Class is over," Tucker is whispering in Fenton's ear, trying not to bring any undue attention to his friend. You don't deserve such kindness.

"I'm up!" He sits up too fast and the entire classroom lurches as his head spins.

"Whoa, are you okay?" Tucker grabs Fenton's arm to support him and he has to bite his lip to not cry out from the sudden flash of pain. "Danny?" His pained expression apparently did not go unnoticed.

"I'm okay," Fenton lies, pulling his arm out of Tucker's grip as quickly as he can.

"You don't seem okay. What's hurting you? I thought you said you hadn't been fighting lately." Fenton grabs his bag and gets out of his seat, trying to avoid the feeling of being trapped in an interrogation.

"I've just got a nasty headache, that's all." He turns to look at Tucker, to give him a reassuring smile, but realizes he doesn't have the energy for it. He's pretty sure all he does is grimace.

"You wanna go to the nurse?" Tucker asks, sounding disappointed for some reason.

"No. The day is almost over. I can manage." All you do is lie.

"If you say so." Tucker doesn't prod anymore, for which Fenton is eternally grateful. He isn't sure how much more he can handle today. He's just so tired.

….

Fenton finally makes it back to the quiet of his bedroom, though he barely remembers how he got there. He vaguely remembers waving Sam and Tucker off with promises of seeing them tomorrow. All lies.

He resists the, now almost constant, urge to become Phantom. Phantom loves to fly, to leave his problems behind in death and escape into the night. Phantom is a good friend, a hero, a worthwhile person- Fenton could never hope to compete. They would be better off without you.

He sits on his bed, staring at his blade, once again wondering if tonight is the night. You're such a disappointment- No one loves you- Why aren't you as good as him? Fenton jumps up, his lethargy forgotten as he comes to his decision.

Tonight is the night.

…

Fenton hasn't felt this alive in a long time. He laughs, and he can't remember how long it's been since he's done that either. Phantom laughs a lot, his confidence bubbles out of him like a stream, but Fenton…

He pulls off his jacket and grabs the sharpened blade. Soon this body will be no more, so tonight he can do whatever he wants. The instant feeling of freedom this idea gives him is exhilarating. For a moment, he feels almost the same as when he flies.

When Phantom flies. Right. Right, he isn't the one who can fly. But maybe he will. Just this once. There's nothing stopping him now. But first, he wants to finish this work of art.

Fenton cuts far deeper than he ever has before and is fascinated as he watches the muscle and sinew in his arm make way for the blade. The pain is excruciating- nothing like he's ever felt in this body, and yet he can't stop giggling. Soon you'll be free.

After his fun with his blade, he tries to stand up and instantly realizes he's made a mistake. Can't even do this right...He thinks languidly as he sinks to the ground. He's too weak now- his head is spinning and the last of his blood is rushing in his ears.

Fenton closes his eyes, barely able to keep his head up. He puts his hand over his bleeding arm, barely paying attention to it anymore. He can't let himself slip into unconsciousness here- the chances are too great that someone would find him before...He hesitates. Does he really want this? You'll finally be free…

But how would he get to the roof? He couldn't do it himself. Phantom can help… He sighs. He could use a hero right now.

"Going ghost," Fenton whispers. This will be the last time. He feels his ghostly power surge through him, though with how weak his body currently is, he's surprised that the transformation even works.

Phantom opens his eyes, not feeling as well as usual. That's weird, he thinks idly. Without any further ado, he flies up to the very top of his home, though he wonders if he is flying a bit slower than usual. He alights on the roof, leaning over the edge and looking out over the town.

"Everyone will be happier," Phantom assures his other half. This is what heroes do- help people be free. In a last moment decision, Phantom flies even higher over the town. "Now you can really fly." When he touches the clouds, he changes back, feeling his power drain away and his pain come back stronger than before.

"Thank you," Fenton whispers, letting his fingers run through the clouds as he spirals towards the ground. He loses consciousness long before he hits.

Fenton had thought that Phantom would continue to live on after he died, but Danny Phantom did not come back. Fenton and Phantom thought there was a difference between them, but his friends and family saw none. What mattered to those who loved him was that Danny was no more.

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