In the End

by AkizukiSakura

We all know that Clockwork stepped in, stopped time, and saved Danny’s family and two best friends – and a teacher that cared for his students despite their ridicule of him – from certain, explosive death. But what if he hadn’t? ON HIATUS

2. Canta Per Me ne Addio

Title: In the End
Author: AkizukiSakura
Series: Danny Phantom
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance
Rating: M/R
Pairing(s): Vlad/Danny (Pompous Pep)
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for The Ultimate Enemy, but eventually plot divergent. There may be flashbacks or mentions of other shows later.
Disclaimer: Danny Phantom is owned by the esteemed Butch Hartman and all subsequent copyrights. I claim no ownership of this series, nor do I make monetary profit from the writing of this story.
Summary: We all know that Clockwork stepped in, stopped time, and saved Danny's family and two best friends – and a teacher that cared for his students despite their ridicule of him – from certain, explosive death. But what if he hadn't?
Notes:Okay, so the lyrics for this chapter are in Japanese Romanji – there's a translation at the end. The title is Italian. I though about using the Italian version, but the Japanese translation fits the story better.

Chapter 1: Canta Per Me ne Addio

Sayonara wo uta tte omoi koe de
Tsuki akari no yoru hoho wo yosete
Omoi de dake ga kanaderu uta wo
Dare mo inai nohara ni oite yuku no

Dareka ga aruita michi no ue ni
Tomoshibi ga hitotsu shiroku nokoru
Omoi wa itsuka dareka ni todoku
Tooi tooki no kareta de kitto anata ni

-Canta Per Me, Kajiura Yuki

-DP-

There was something within his mind warning him against waking up. It was nice and pleasant here, argued the first voice. There was warmth and sunshine and the pain was kept at bay – why would anyone want to go back to that world of suffering? Wouldn't it have been much easier to just let the fog deconstruct all thought and scatter everything to the four winds? Why would anyone go back?

The other voice was weaker right now but it hadn't always been so. This was the voice that told him to awaken. This was the voice that had pressed him into protecting his town because, inadvertently or not, wasn't he responsible for the repeat attacks? His family had constructed the portal but it was he who had messed with it and it was because of him that many of those ghosts continuously came back.

He didn't want to obey that voice now, though. Usually it went without question that he would obey. That was the voice that had him defeat Pariah Dark. That was the voice that had given him the idea to rip out his humanity in the future – which still sounded totally gross – and it was the voice that had helped him defeat his alternate future form. He had to obey that voice – he couldn't wallow forever in that in-between place.

Reluctantly, sooty black lashes fluttered open to reveal dazed sky-blue orbs, startling the doctor that had been checking his vitals. To his vision the doctor was nothing but a big white blob topped by fair hair – hardly enough to go on, visually. Despite the instruments he could guess were hooked up to him at the moment to keep his vitals monitored he felt his wrist lifted and cool fingers resting over it, obviously checking his pulse. He closed his eyes again to take stock.

First thing's first – he was weak as a newborn kitten. As soon as the doctor set his wrist back down he tried to lift it again. He managed perhaps an inch off the starched, thin sheets before everything shut down on him again. All right, so mobility was a fantasy at the moment. There was something heavy resting on his brow, something that itched and smelled faintly of astringent and cloth. The constricting feeling reached all the way around his head so he could only surmise that it was a bandage of some sort.

That was right; he'd been hit in the head by some metal. He had probably suffered a mild concussion from it, too, if the pounding in his head he was rapidly becoming aware of was any indication. The bandage meant that he'd probably been cut as well – being the hero really sucked sometimes.

That same heavy cloth was wrapped around his left shoulder and arm, too, now that he thought about it. Had he been hurt during the fight? He didn't recall sustaining any abrasions or cuts, though, only some really painful strikes. There were maybe some scrapes from where he'd hit the ground and all a few times, but nothing that would require such a large bandage – everything else would have bruised.

…a spar of wood, wasn't it? It had been thick, heavy, and broken into splinters on the end that had impaled him, right? That would explain the bandage. He could only guess that there was a good shot of painkillers being fed into his arm via IV for him to not be feeling anything.

"If I sit you up, can you eat?" The doctor's voice was clinical but also somewhat warm and a little pitying. At the moment he was unsure of why anyone would pity him. Surely plenty of people had been in accidents before? Okay, so maybe those weren't usually injuries resulting from fighting evil alter-ego ghosts, but no one was supposed to know that part.

He opened his eyes again, this time a little startled, and let them drift over to the doctor. Now he could pick out a few more details than just a lot of white, though his sight was hardly as clear as it usually was. His expression must have shown his feelings because the doctor coughed faintly.

"Maybe it was a stupid question, young man, but we prefer to ask if a person is capable before having a nurse feed the patients; some take offense to being fed." Was it just him or were all doctors ignorant and stupid? Tucker had certainly had a reason to dislike hospitals, though that was more the sickness and blinding white surfaces than anything.

Tucker…

There was something lurking in the back of his mind now, something painful and dark that he didn't want to recognize. He mentally shoved it away and went back to drifting. As he slipped back into unconsciousness he thought he heard the door open and another voice speak up quietly, this one accented and familiar. Before he could properly place it, though, sleep claimed him mind once more.

-DP-

He was lucky that a nurse was present when he woke up again. A nightmare gave him a boost of pure adrenaline that helped when he sat bolt upright, eyes snapping open in a panic. A second later pain tore through his shoulder and he fell forward, the sudden strength gone as swiftly as it had come. It was the nurse's frantic calling that brought him back from the brink of a second bout of darkness.

"Mr. Fenton? Mr. Fenton!" A soft groan was the young nurse's response, letting her know that the youth was still conscious, mostly. How did she know his name, anyway? Oh, right… He always carried his license in his human form – he'd only gotten it a few weeks ago on the day of his sixteenth birthday. That was probably the easiest way that they'd identified him. Cool hands helped shift him upright and the nurse held him there as she reached for the remote that would move the bed into a position that would keep him sitting.

"Try to stay with me, all right? So much sleeping after a severe head injury can…" Whatever it was 'so much sleeping after a sever head injury' could have done, though, Danny tuned out as he tried to relax against the mattress and ignore the throbbing of his shoulder. Could this nurse please shut up and – ah, there, the morphine had kicked in again, slowly dulling the pain once more. Danny didn't look up from his lap – where his gaze had been resting since the nurse had sat him up – until the unmistakable scent of hospital food assailed his nose.

Contrary to popular belief, the food in a hospital was not that bad. Certainly it was not the best food to be found anywhere but, for a normal person, it was palatable. For Danny, though, the thought of food made him feel sick and the strong smell was not helping the delicate balance his stomach was in. Knowing he didn't have the strength to do it himself, the nurse had sat down and was attempting to feed him a spoonful of broth. Danny turned away, baffling and frustrating the girl.

"Hey now!" she began to scold, cheeks reddening. Danny ignored her, letting his gaze rest listlessly upon the drawn curtains in the room. The girl tried several times to make him eat – each time he either ignored her or stared at her impassively. He wasn't upset. He was too lethargic to be upset and, granted, it was entirely possible she had never dealt with a patient like him. After all, it wasn't every day that a person witnessed…

Witnessed…

The scene he had been trying so hard to suppress came, unbidden, to the front of his mind and, with it, the shock that had kept him calm dissolved. He noted distantly that the nurse had muttered something about boys and their stubbornness as she bore the tray away. The desire to cry was a powerful one but he refused to cave. It was his fault they were dead. What right did he have to sit here and cry?

The urge to leave hit him suddenly and powerfully – he did not want to sit here any longer. He didn't want to be confined to this hospital room with nurses that tried to feed him or with doctors that were happy with their lives. He didn't want to be around this place, the air saturated with sterile smells and the taint of sickness barely held at bay. He tried to resist, tried to stay where he was, but in the end he weakly pushed the blankets away. He knew he couldn't just walk out of here – first off, he doubted he could even walk across the floor, much less out of the hospital like this and, secondly, a well-meaning doctor was bound to try to stop him. This left him only one option.

He was pleased to realize that, even though he felt inhumanly weak, the ability to shift to his ghostly form seemed entirely feasible. Rings of light appeared around his waist, shifting apart. It was just like nothing had happened, yet he decided against his typical phrase; it seemed too juvenile now, too innocent. He started to drift upward and was stopped by the tug of the IV still in his arm. Without even having to think about it he turned that arm intangible, let the needle fall to the floor, and made his escape through the ceiling and out.

Perhaps his power was drained so that he couldn't call on his more dangerous attacks, and his ectoplasm shield was likewise above his abilities right now, but phasing and flying were so easy that he barely needed to concentrate to do them. It was even better because, in his ghostly form, he seemed to be lacking the injuries that had plagued his human form. With little thought of where he wanted to go he simply drifted away.

Flying, he noticed immediately, helped calm his feelings. The desire to cry was still there, but it was subdued. The pain in his heart subsided in favor of a numb feeling that crept over him.

He would not cry – crying meant that they were truly gone. Crying meant that he had lost everything. Crying meant acceptance, and he was not ready to face the truth.

-DP-

Danny Fenton was not the only one who felt the lives lost. He was just the only one who knew the entire story. To everyone else it was simply a tragic accident that he had survived – certainly it had been all over the news.

People lamented the loss of those six lives. The Fentons had been strange and eccentric but they meant well – even the oblivious Jack – and the daughter had been brilliant in a snobbish way. That young woman had so many opportunities waiting for her in life. She'd had offers from Harvard and Yale, among others, had scored the highest on record on the C.A.T.

The teacher was one of those teachers that no one liked but that everyone knew. Mr. Lancer was a teacher that actually cared about his students, even if he was old-fashioned in his views, and he was easily ridiculed by even the geekiest of students. He had worried and cared, though, about a student that would cheat on a test – had called those parents to discuss that student's future, had given him a chance to do the honest thing without confrontation.

The two teenagers were not popular, not by any stretch of the imagination, but the dark youth had been a genius with anything technological, able to crack codes and software with ease. Deigned a "techno-geek" by anyone who saw him, he had a brilliant future with software and hardware design. The Goth girl was seen as antisocial but had shown on several occasions to be an impassioned individual capable of making her opinion known. She could have easily become a journalist, a photographer, or an animal rights activist from her vegetarian lifestyle.

It was amazing how many people felt the loss. Fellow classmates who had bullied and made fun of the teens – and Danny's parents – had stared in disbelief at the television when it was all announced. All right, maybe they'd had a standing hierarchy, but it was only high school. No one really wanted Sam or Tucker to die. Even the bullying from Dash had been innocent enough; a few scrapes and bruises, never anything life-threatening. It was character building.

What were they supposed to do now? Who were they supposed to bully and, secretly, envy? Danny, Sam, and Tucker had not been the most popular students but their close-knit friendship was enviable by anyone who saw them. They didn't bother to conform to the standards set by the popular crowd. They didn't stylishly linger at the mall. They didn't wear all the fabulous clothes –Tucker wore a red, beret-style cap!

But they had always been together in the lunchroom and after school, could be seen walking around town. Everyone had known two of the losers would end up together, and no one had to be a genius to guess who.

Except now it wasn't going to happen. The teens, the Fentons, and the teacher were all dead and a certain raven-haired youth had been landed in the hospital from the same incident. How was the school supposed to deal with the loss of four people who attended it regularly? Even Mr. and Mrs. Fenton came by often – granted, it was usually on another paranormal hunt, but they were still as much a part of the community as anyone.

It didn't seem possible that six bright, shining lives had been so easily snuffed out. It didn't seem possible that there would be no more obnoxious shouts of "Ghost!" from the Fentons, no more sighs of exasperation from the redheaded Jasmine, no more techno-geekin' for Tucker or saving the frogs for Sam.

All the money in the world had not saved the Mansons from their grief. Even the grandmother, known for her cheerful, somewhat wild, ways went through boxes and boxes of tissues. Mrs. Manson could not hold one of her lacy, delicate handkerchiefs for long before it was soaked beyond usefulness – Mr. Manson looked like he had not shaved since the incident.

They were not rich but Mr. and Mrs. Foley were equally shell-shocked at the news that their boy – their only baby boy! – was gone. There would be no more excitement on birthdays and Christmas when their computer-whiz son opened his gifts. There would be no more yell of anticipation when he opened the box containing a new PDA, no more hugs and rants on why the newest version was inferior to the older, or how that back door in the software still hadn't been fixed.

What were they supposed to do now? How could they face the only surviving Fenton child and not wish that he was gone and that their child was the one to survive? How could they move on with their lives now? Mrs. Manson could no longer try to fit her daughter into frilly pink dresses – Mrs. Foley would not be able to be an overbearing mother to her darling child.

What were they supposed to do now?

-DP-

The ghost community, the ones that Danny dealt with on a regular basis, feigned nonchalance but some of them could not suppress the fact that they, too, thought about those teens. Skulker, Spectra, Ember, Youngblood, and the Box Ghost in particular – all of them had regular interaction with Danny and, thus, with his two cohorts. They had seen the friendship. They knew that Danny would sacrifice his life for his friends and that, in turn, Samantha and Tucker would do the same.

Danny had the power; Tucker the technological brains; Sam the logic and book knowledge. They made a team that older, far more experienced, ghosts had trouble penetrating. And yet, despite the fact that it was Danny who could defend himself the best, Tucker and Sam never backed down. They never said 'Oh, sorry, we can't help'. They raided the weapons Jack and Maddie Fenton created; they stuck to the youngest Fenton's side like little burrs.

And now they were dead? It seemed impossible to believe but the simple fact that six people had been blown into tiny pieces could not be disputed.

The ghosts could only imagine how the young halfa was feeling. Sure, they fought on more than one occasion. Sure, the snowy-haired child was somehow more powerful than all of them. They had all been shoved into that ridiculous thermos on more than one occasion but, when it came down to it, he was a hero for all of them, not just humans.

He protected the humans from Pariah, yes, but he saved the ghosts, too. Even though the ghosts constantly attacked him – even though they tried and tried to undermine him – he had still helped them.

That hero's complex of his had to be his tragic flaw. He had to be the hero against Dan – not that any of them knew of the future Danny had prevented, only of the present Dan that he had defeated. He had saved the world from Dan but it cost him the lives of his friends and family. He could have run. He could have made them run, too, but what would Dan have done to everyone else?

How would the pure young halfa have lived with that on his conscious?

Everyone knew he wouldn't have been able to. He would have been wracked with guilt, eaten alive from the inside with the knowledge that he had been so selfish. It was just the kind of person he was. And he was what, sixteen? A high-school student still with mediocre grades and no known extracurricular activities. How had such an average teenager become such a hero in the space of two short years?

How was he able, constantly, to stave off the one ghost that all the others feared? That ghost, who was a halfa too, who'd had his powers for twenty years? Plasmius could duplicate himself. He was rich, he had access to the materials to create weapons, he had power that Danny did not, and yet the youth triumphed time and time again.

Was there truly power in the desire to save people? And if there was, what happened to it now that he had failed?

What would the young Phantom do now?

-DP-

There was one other person that was thinking about all of this. He knew only vaguely what had happened between Daniel and the ghost-who-was-not-Daniel but he knew more than what the news did. He knew whatever had happened had not been an accident but he doubted it had been Daniel's fault. Not on purpose, at any rate, because he knew that Daniel meant well but he was also inexperienced when it came to focusing on more than one thing. If he was focused on defeating his enemy it took his friends shouting his name for him to realize that he was in trouble.

It was a wonder no one ever found out his identity. Honestly, what were the coincidences that both Samantha and Tucker were constantly around Fenton and Phantom, both of whom had the same first name? Humans really were oblivious to so many things.

Even so, he had never really tried to actually kill the youngest Fenton. Everything he did was carefully calculated – he could beat the boy to within an inch of his life but he never moved in for the kill. Why?

The only one of the Fentons he really wanted out of the picture was that oaf, Jack, but even then the desire to kill the man had faded over time. What had started out as an almost obsessive desire to have Maddie as his wife and her two children – especially Daniel – as his own eventually turned into something that was more of a nurturing rivalry with the boy.

After all, despite his steel-gray hair and the circles under his eyes, he had stopped aging physically at the age of twenty-eight. Marriage to a human would be impossible and watching a daughter grow older than him would be strange. In the end he decided that he would do what he did for the sake of appearances. Daniel expected Plasmius to show up once in a while with some sort of diabolical plot and so he obliged the youth. He didn't have much else to do as it was except work on his plans for domination, but those plans were delicate. By the time he finished them even young Phantom would not be able to stop him.

That was all beside the point, though. At the moment the reason Daniel was placed in a private room away from the prying eyes of the media was because he had signed the check for it. The amount was pocket change to him and, after all, hadn't Daniel been traumatized enough for a few days? The catch was that the boy's condition would be reported to him. He had to keep an eye on his young protégée after all. Maybe Daniel refused to consciously be his heir but the fact remained that Vladimir Masters was more of a father figure to Danny than his idiot father.

Vlad had expected the first few reports – that Daniel slept for an abnormally long time, that his vitals were weaker than usual, that his wounds were healing a little faster than normal. He'd expected, too, that the halfa would wake up only briefly the first time around and that he'd probably wake up rather harshly the second time. He'd even expected the boy to refuse food. After all, he was bound to remember what had happened eventually.

The billionaire had not, though, expected the youth to vanish like that. He knew that injuries sustained in a halfa's human form were not present in their ghost form but that didn't erase them. To be honest Vlad was surprised Daniel could even take his ghost form after what had happened.

And though he wouldn't admit it to anyone else, Vlad cared about Danny, in a twisted sort of way. He'd done a lot of spying – had thought about cloning the youth! – but in the end it wouldn't have been the same. Just from watching over the youth he knew that there was something charismatic about him, something in him that was a born leader despite his apparent unpopularity and poor grades. Vlad rather suspected ghost hunting had something to do with those grades, too.

Why did the boy disappear like that? What did he hope to accomplish? Admittedly, Vlad could not say that he knew what Danny was going through – he never cared enough about anyone but Maddie to mourn a death. Perhaps this was his way of coping? Way or not, though, he was going to end up hurting himself worse with his foolishness and that was something Vlad would not allow. With a sigh he got up and shifted forms, black suit turning white and narrow chest broadening significantly. For others it might be hard to find the youngest Fenton but for Vlad it would take considerably less time.

-DP-

Of all places Vlad found the currently ghostly Fenton sitting on the metal railing of a billboard looking thoroughly depressed as he watched the town below. In truth Vlad might have missed him if the moonlight from the almost-full moon hadn't lit the youth's hair up so well. With the black jumpsuit Danny could almost have blended in with the shadows. It helped that the lamps that usually lit the billboard at night were broken.

It was cold out tonight – Halloween had been two weeks ago and the middle of November was chilly – so perhaps Danny hadn't noticed when his breath came chilled to announce the presence of another ghost. It was either that or he wasn't really paying attention, so Vlad broke the silence first.

"Feeling sorry for yourself, are you?" He was pleased when the youth jumped a little, surprised at the sound of another voice. It meant Daniel had no completely closed his mind off to the rest of the world. Lime green eyes lifted to see Vlad, who expected a scowl, or a glare maybe. What he got was the obligatory glance before the youth tucked his chin right back on his knees and ignored him.

Vlad hid his surprise under a scowl. Well, that was certainly different. Usually his mere presence was enough to put Daniel on high alert. This time he was given no more attention than a fly on the wall – probably less since a person usually contemplated killing the fly – and he was certain he didn't care for the feeling. He hovered in the air for a few moments, askance. What now?

"Is this what you plan to do then, Daniel? Wallow in misery?" he tried instead. Not even a twitch from the youth. Since when did Daniel have any self-restraint? Normally it took only one insult from Vlad and the youth flew off the handle to try, usually ineffectively, to make him regret his words. Vlad frowned, his patience wearing thin, and tried one more time.

"They are dead, dear boy. Putting your body in undue stress isn't going to bring them back." There, finally – the boy had twitched at his words, those white-gloved hands tightening into fists. "Or didn't you know?" Vlad continued, watching Daniel closely. "Even if you change to your ghost form your body is the same. You've probably torn open that wound in your shoulder and – missed!" he announced, skirting the green energy that the youth had shot at him. Vlad could tell as it flew past his shoulder that it hadn't been very strong anyway – the important thing was to make Daniel open back up.

Looking back at Daniel, though, Vlad almost blinked in surprise. The glare in those green eyes was almost murderous – he didn't think he'd ever seen such a hateful stare from the younger halfa. Under the anger, though, Vlad could tell that Daniel was hurt more than anything. Instead of backing off, though, Vlad crossed his arms.

"Go back to the hospital," he ordered firmly. To his surprise Danny got to his feet, fists clenched tightly. Vlad could tell he was holding back, something that shocked him further.

"Leave me alone," Daniel said fiercely. Vlad stared at him.

"I beg your pardon?" he said finally, his tone dangerously soft. Usually when he spoke with such ice it was because he was going to get serious, and usually the white-haired child knew it. This time, though, Daniel only rose into the air opposite him, green energy glowing at his palms.

"You don't know the whole story," he hissed. "You don't know what happened. You don't know how I feel and you don't know why it's my fault! So shut up and leave me alone!"

Well, Vlad could hardly stand for such sass from the brat, could he? In the space of three seconds he had the younger halfa pinned to the billboard via a hand closed around his neck. Daniel clasped his hands around Vlad's wrist, his green gaze baleful.

"Listen to me, you impertinent child!" Vlad said haughtily, red eyes flashing dangerously. "I am trying to help you! This childishness will end if I have to make it. You are not the only person in the world to have ever lost someone dear to you and you will not make matters worse for yourself by neglecting the needs of your body. Do you understand me?"

Normally by this time Daniel would have given him a nod, or a choked out gasp of assent, or even a glare of reluctant consent. This time he only stared at Vlad, somehow completely unimpressed and not afraid of Vlad's mounting anger. The older halfa felt his control fading swiftly – his grip tightened. The youth didn't even wince. Vlad's voice went lower, his tone deadly, as he leaned forward.

"Either you will agree or I will take matters into my own hands," he threatened in a whisper, his claret stare boring into those glowing green eyes. He couldn't be certain just whyhe worried so much about Daniel – he suspected his young rival was wondering, too – but Vlad could not help but think about that what-ifs of the situation. What if Daniel had died, too? Would he have been able to handle it? Such a large portion of his life revolved around the youngest Fenton. Mentoring him delicately, maneuvering him appropriately, boosting his power with every fight, and simply observing him when he went to school.

Even with his threat, though, Daniel said nothing against the hand on his throat. In fact, if Vlad didn't know any better, he would almost swear that Daniel wantedto die. He thought about that for a moment before shock crept over his features. Slowly he released the youth, staring at him, his mouth a firm, tight line. Thinking about it now, he shouldn't be all that surprised that Daniel might wish he was dead. His family was gone and his friends were gone.

Still, that Vlad would not allow. Instead he reached for one of those frail wrists, exerting a harsh current of power through the youth. Apathetic or not, Daniel yelled just like always before falling limp, his form reverting back to that of a human still dressed in a hospital gown. Vlad was unsurprised to see that he'd bled through the bandage on his shoulder. Idiot boy. Vlad faced a dilemma now, though. After this encounter he knew Daniel would not stay in a hospital and, since they didn't know what Daniel was, there was no way the doctors would be able to keep him there.

That left only one option, a path that had Vlad gritting his teeth in annoyance. Somehow, though, it wasn't as bad as he knew it should have been. Shaking his head at his own folly the older half-ghost scooped up the younger bridal-style, careful not to jar the sluggishly bleeding shoulder further.

If a hospital couldn't hold Daniel Fenton, Vlad Masters would have to do it himself.

-DP-

And so concludes chapter 1.

I'm trying a genre that I don't usually write, so if it's bad, that's why. I'm a person for fluff and happiness, not death and depression, so it takes me some time to churn out decently-sized chapters like this at the best of times.

Before anyone says anything, I know in TUE Clockwork refers to Danny as fourteen but he needs to be a bit older for my conscience. It also deals with my annoyance that he doesn't seem to have advanced grades in school though there are, if I'm not mistaken, two episodes that deal with summer, suggesting that the series occurs over a span of two years.

Appearance-wise I'm not worried, since I subscribe to the idea that a halfa ages extremely slowly. Yeah, it's a cliché, but I like that cliché.

Like I said, this was really difficult to write and, though it seems like Danny's entirely too calm, give it time. He has an image to uphold, to himself anyway.

Who thinks Danny and Vlad's relationship will become father/son? Yeah, I didn't think anyone did.

Canta Per Me Translation:

With a sweet voice I sing farewell
On a moonlit night I draw near to your face
The song I play on my memories
Leads everyone into a meadow

One white lamp-light is left
On the road where someone has walked
Someday these feelings will reach that someone
That faraway place and time--surely, you are there

Word count: 5,632

-AkizukiSakura