Danny felt absolutely pathetic. There was no other way to describe his current position, he decided. A ghost that had lost the will to live. Ironic, really. He was sure anyone who he told would just laugh in his face. He was sure anyone who saw him, even not knowing the story, would agree with his assessment of patheticness as well.

Currently, Danny was in his ghost form sitting in some corner alley, arms hugging his knees tightly and head limply hanging in between.

A month ago Skulker had kicked him into this alley right before Valerie showed up and blasted Skulker into the ghost zone, and Danny lost the will to leave. For the next few hours, he had just sat in that alley in a position very much like the one he held now, just letting the darkness dawn on him. Since then, he came here often whenever he was... deciding. He knew his trembling shoulders and tear stained face were just the picture of pathetic. He was pathetic, he was useless, he was the single biggest lie he told himself. To think that he used to see himself as a hero, someone who helped others when really all he did was cause the pain. He remembered the words of the ghost he had just finished battling. 'You're nothing, no one really cares about you, they care about your powers. That goth girl? She likes you because you're a freak, and she loves the abnormal. Your parents? They're after that part of you that makes you different, they want to destroy you because you're different. The rest of the town that hails you as a hero? Well, you have first-hand experience to know how they treat you without those powers, they hate you without them. Actually, come to think of it, they hate you anyway.

Of all the times for Spectra of all people, or rather, ghosts, to show up.

Sure, he knew she fed you anything she could to siphon off your misery, but the fact remained that she didn't distort the truth all that much. Just because what she said made you feel horrible didn't mean it wasn't true. Everything she had said to him was true. A fight that should have taken twenty minutes ended up taking an hour, all because he could barely keep it together long enough to concentrate his powers. He had just barely gotten the two of them, Spectra and Bertrand that is, into the thermos before he was racing towards this ally, a trail of silver tears leaving a glistening glimmer of glowing green in the air behind him. He wondered if all ghosts could cry, or if it was just him. It must fascinate his enemies. That knowledge that he was human enough to hurt but not human enough for anyone else to care. It was practically an invitation to do him damage.

A silent, for he could suffer only in silence, sob raked his shivering body and that brightly glowing ghostly aura, which had been dimming steadily over the past few months, lost another bit of brightness. The aural light that radiated off him after the accident had once been enough to light up a warehouse at midnight, now it wasn't even enough to be a nightlight. Just another thing he wasn't good for, he supposed. He unwrapped his arms from his legs, and instead rested his elbows on his knees, hands fisting in his hair. In a fit of something that was like feral instinct, he pulled on it until tears of physical pain came to his eyes, and found that his hands refused to stop. The physical pain was good, it meant he couldn't think as much about the rest. But it didn't erase it. Not completely.

Useless

Loser

Monster

The light irritation that came with pulling on his hair couldn't possibly compare with the realization that everything he was trying to protect would be better off without him. That everything he ever loved did nothing but hate him in return. In the next second, he was consumed with a sudden bubbling anger. Why didn't they care for him the way he cared for them? Why did they hate him? Why didn't they care or listen? Why couldn't they see him for who, and not what, he was? Why didn't pulling his hair hurt more?!

Danny stood with a scream of rage and turned to the alley wall. Next thing he knew rubble exploded out of the red brick he had just punched. He starred and heaved for a second.

Then he did it again.

The wall was thick, and only small chips of mortar and red dust flew out every time he punched it. He couldn't stop the tears, but at least he could give himself something else to cry about as he let his mind be consumed by rage and pain. Every time his fist punched into the wall he could feel little pieces of rock pinch through his gloves. He could feel the impact shiver through his body, he felt it as, halfway through, his gloves finally ripped and he could feel the hard wall against his bare knuckles as they split open. Glowing green blood spilled out of the wound, but rather than act as the instinctual warning it was supposed to be, the blood only served to remind him of his freakiness. What kind of monster bled a toxic substance anyway?

Despite all the pain, the initial shock was wearing off, and he was starting to think about why he was punching this wall in the first place. He was suddenly desperate to stop the thoughts. That's when the sudden idea hit him that this would hurt a lot more if he were human, and without much more of a thought than that, the dim white rings formed around his waist and the green that had been covering him promptly flushed to a sinister darkened red as it pooled around the floor. His new, less resilient, human body was bombarded with a wave of sudden pain to the point it flashed through his head and briefly drowned out his ability to see or think with its suddenness, but wasn't that the point? He welcomed the pain from his hands as it was sent to his brain, begging him to stop. He didn't want to stop. He knew that this pain that was slowly draining away to emptiness could never compare to the so much worse feeling that would come flooding the moment he stopped this merciless bombardment on his physical self.

Then why, if the pain was supposed to protect him, did the thoughts still leak out? Freak, punch, monster, punch, loser, punch, useless, punch, pathetic... Why wasn't it helping anymore?! He stopped punching the wall and silently screamed again as he wrapped his arms around himself. Turning back into Phantom in order to try to get rid of some of the emotional upheaval (his ghost half didn't seem to process emotions as easily as his human half, and sometimes gave him the ability to feel strangely numb). He gripped himself tight and clawed his hands into his shoulders until five perfect little crescent shaped rips were created on each side of his jumpsuit. He didn't stop, pressing harder and harder until little droplets of glowing green blood were pooling over.

Another 'advantage' of the ghost half. Ghosts had open circulatory systems, and so he 'bled' much much easily and more freely as Phantom. His blood gave him a strange comfort. While it was true the toxic glowing green color reminded him of his pathetic uselessness, watching it come out of him was almost enough to trick himself into thinking that everything that was hurting him was slowly draining out of his body. It made him think in some distorted part of his mind that he was somehow ridding himself of enough feeling now that there wouldn't be any left if he decided to stop.

He bit his lip, closed his eyes, and angled his head towards the sky as he slowly dragged his fingers down his arm, the nails leaving five messy, and more importantly painful, cuts behind under the torn sleeves of the jumpsuit. The blood seemed to pool on them for a while before flowing down to the ground. It wasn't enough. Tears, finally relating a bit, if not completely, to physical pain, flowed freely now as he mercilessly clawed at his arms, letting the stinging feeling of his skin being forced open wash over him. His recently broken arm added to the catharsis as his head could scream only 'hurt', too muddled now to tell the difference between emotional and physical. Then he felt the rings form, turning him human when, because of 'blood' loss he no longer had the energy to support his ghost form.

"No," he whispered when bits of the pain on his arms faded and any green ectoplasmic blood caught on his body turned a dark maroon. "No, no, no," he cried as he felt the less severe wounds that hadn't been made on his human form close up. There were still the cuts on his arm, but they were too shallow now, and his red human blood refused to pool in the same sick way his green one did. It seemed almost... normal. He quickly snapped open his eyes and looked down at the plentiful puddles of glowing green blood that hadn't been caught in the transformation rings, and they quickly reminded him that he was anything but.

"No," he shook his head, "no, no, no" the volume increased with each proclamation as he began tearing at the human flesh as well. Ripping at the collar of his shirt and pushing it aside as he clawed at his shoulders and arms, shaking his head as if that would help rid him of the real turmoil sneaking up on him. Why did his human form insist on such a clear understanding of emotions? The red blood suddenly poured out much more easily as if he had hit some sort of dam, and the dizzy feeling accompanying blood loss snuck into his head to finally start drowning everything else.

That was when his body finally let out on him. he had no more energy, no more rage as he was consumed with only more pathetic sadness. His knees gave out and he was left kneeling, facing the back wall. He used the last of his energy to change into Phantom once again, not to alleviate the emotions, which were mostly gone, this time, but just to feel a bit closer to death. The fresh red blood caught in the rings became a glowing green, his body not finding any source of reprieve in the change. Completely spent, he fell forward and his forehead banged against the sticky red and green brick, different colored blood dancing together, but not quite mixing, as it fell slowly towards the Earth. The gooey feeling of his cool ectoplasmic blood pouring back out over the watery sticky feeling of his warm red blood was unnervingly opposing, and Danny had a sudden urge to laugh at the sensation.

"Looks... like... Christmas," he pointlessly, and with much difficulty, laughed in between tears, thinking about how much he couldn't stand the holiday.

Oh, God, I'm losing it. He thought to himself with a smile, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The dizziness was taking over, he thought he had lost more blood than a human ever should. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I won't wake up. The humor in his thoughts would send shivers up anybody's spine. Then, to him, there was only darkness and pain, somehow coexisting, for none got rid of the other. His body slumped to the side, ghostly aura flickering to nothing like a candle being blown out but not turning him back to human, and landing with a sick splat in a large puddle of his own duel-colored blood.

A/N: ... sick. And not in the good way. Just plain sick.

Wow, that came out... different than planned. He was just supposed to be thinking about his decision. Guess his condition is a lot worse than I thought. Poor Danny. Will he survive? Is he even still alive? What has Maddie been doing? Is she any closer to figuring out Danny's secret? Even if she does find out, is she already too late? I already know, but I'm not telling, guess you'll just have to wait and see for yourselves...