Coincidentally, Vlad did not have to search hard to find Danny. It did not take much time, of course, to locate one boy on mostly abandoned streets—people had shut themselves in their homes to mourn over the deaths of the late Fenton's and the children of the Manson's and the Foley's and one mostly unrecognized teacher—when you had a bird's eye view from the air. Danny had not, luckily, gone ghost, which Vlad found himself entirely grateful for because it signified that Danny could not have meant to seriously run away when he'd left. Vlad had thought it was fine that Danny wanted to be alone but not if it meant leaving the house and risking bringing injury to himself or having a mental breakdown, which was a perfectly plausible idea considering Daniel's current emotionally unstable state of mind, and not having someone with him to provide him assistance and comfort in the time he needed it most. Ultimately, found Danny sitting with his back against a tall oak tree in a park near Casper High. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his head was down in his folded arms. Vlad frowned deeply as he descended into the park's wide, open field. An icy wind stirred his onyx tresses and made the shortly-clipped green grass quiver. Vlad realized how cold it was on this particular day, though it should not have been. It was early spring, and the days should have been warm and light, inviting the occupants of Amity Park to abandon their computers and videogames for the afternoon and spend that time outside, but today it was cold and repressing. Vlad had a sudden but very vague notion that the death of his beloved "wife" and the others had physically altered the weather. It sounded farfetched, but death was the coldest thing there was. The deceased were cold, and so was the soil of their graves and inside their coffins and in the morgue, and it left loved ones feeling cold, did it not? But perhaps it was not the town as a whole that the cold had descended upon but rather him alone, because he now felt about as cold as the bodies of the Fenton's would be by now after having cooled down from the explosion, or what was left of the bodies. But perhaps it was not only him; he did not have to ask to know that the chill had descended upon Daniel as well.

He certainly looked cold. At first glance, Vlad thought Daniel was crying, but after closer speculation Vlad realized his was just shaking. No tears, not a whimper or any sound to indicate he might have been crying, accompanied this involuntary gesture. He was simply shaking. Vlad felt awful as he watched him convulse in this way. In his panic to find Daniel, he had had a momentary lapse in judgment and had left the Fenton home without a coat or a blanket of any kind. He knew there was no way he could have anticipated it might be this cold, but he still felt awful. Daniel was wearing what he usually wore, a simple pair of jeans and a light white and red t-shirt, which offered no warmth whatsoever. Vlad knew it was his duty now to properly take care of Daniel, but he was unsure what he could do to help him, that was, of course, aside from bringing him back home. But Vlad was sure that that would be no easy feat in itself. However if Daniel would not come back voluntarily he would have to drag him back, not literally, of course, and while he would not have normally had the courage to do such a thing in any other situation under these special circumstances, he would not tap dance around the issue and turn the other cheek if it meant Daniel harming himself—or rather, freezing himself from this cold that may or may not have just been in their heads.

Vlad was unsure of how to approach him, but he sat down timidly next to him. He had read somewhere that when talking to children, especially about important matters, it was necessary to be at their eyelevel rather than to be standing over them in a menacing, threatening manner. He did not want to, of course, force Daniel to come back home with him, but he would if it became necessary. He would first attempt to coax Daniel into doing so, which was a concept he was not too entirely familiar with. Normally, if he wanted something done, there was no sweet-talking—there was only an ultimatum, which went like so—you had better do this this instant or I'll have to make you do it myself. In Danny's case it would have been—you had better get back into the house right this instant or I'll have to drag you back there myself. It would have been, normally, but these circumstances were not normal. So he sat beside Danny, calculating his words carefully, as he tried to go about getting Daniel back into the warmth of the Fenton home.

Beside him, Danny had not looked up, or even stirred in the slightest. His body was submissively still but rigid with the knowledge of Vlad's presence. He was still quiet, uttering not a whimper or a sound of weakness.

But when Vlad put a hand on Danny's shoulder, he jumped without lifting his head from his folded arms. Then, he once again became still, only shaking lightly from the frigid air, without acknowledging Vlad, quiet and passive. "Danny," Vlad started in the softest voice he could manage, "little badger, where did you think you were running off to?"

Mumbling into his folded arms, Danny said with distinct confusion, as well as that ever-present hopelessness, ringing out in his voice, "I don't know."

Vlad frowned as he stared at him. "Are you upset about the flight I scheduled?"

"Yes."

"Will you come home with me and talk with me about it?"

"I don't know."

"Little one?" Vlad said, his frown deepening.

"What?"

"How can you refuse the temptation of your warm home in such frigid weather?" Vlad asked.

Danny looked up a little from his folded arms. His face was pale and morbid as understanding began to formulate. "I thought it was just me," he said.