"Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings."

— Anaïs Nin

"I don't like this, Danny." Sam dug her nails into the old, faded spider plushy. There was a tiny rip at one seam, snarled with violet thread; she picked at it viciously.

He paused, then took a slow, deliberate sip of from the half-empty bottle. "I know. But I'm going anyway." The gatorade seemed to be helping, at least. He was sitting up, more alert, his complexion faded back in from that deathly paleness.

"Go where?" She tried not to sound as frantic as she felt. He was really leaving them. Again. It didn't seem real.

He shrugged. "Away from here. Somewhere the ghosts aren't gonna follow and make trouble."

Her chipped nail polish caught on the thread. "You could stay with me. I could hide you in one of the spare bedrooms. You've seen the fourth floor of my place, Danny, nobody goes up there. No one else would know."

"Vlad would find me. You know he would. Either him, or the GIW, or your parents. It's the first place they'd look." Danny set aside the empty bottle and got up carefully. She watched him, ready to jump up and catch his arm if he stumbled, but he was steady on his feet as he walked across the hideout, head ducked to avoid the low ceiling of corrugated metal. He knelt next to the half-packed bag.

Sam rolled back on her heels and stared at him, as if she could melt his shoes to the floor by willpower alone. "How can you be so calm about this, Danny? I don't like how you're... so prepared."

She'd expected to find him upset, half panicking, fumbling around in his insecurities like usual...not this. He was following through on this plan with a kind of eerie, quiet deliberation. She wanted to call it confidence, but that seemed like the wrong word. "You act like you've been planning this all along."

"I haven't—or, I wasn't. Before." Danny pulled a flashlight off the shelf and wedged it into the backpack. "When I was at that place, the lab, all I could think about was getting back here to you guys. To my family. To Amity Park. I was worried about the ghost attacks, and how much you guys must have been freaking out looking for me. I missed you, Sam." Danny paused, shoulders drooping. He was little more than a silhouette, vaguely outlined by the half-dark of battery-powered lights. His face, half turned away from her, was lost in the shadows of his dark hair. "I missed all of you."

"Then why do you have to leave us?" The rip had widened into a hole. Sam glared down at it, at the little tuft of stuffing that had come out.

She heard him sigh deeply. "I just… I just don't fit here. Okay? I've been trying, Sam. I can't..."

She glanced up, but Danny's focus was on the bag, scowling at it as he yanked at the zipper, trying in vain to close it over the bulging contents. He shoved the backpack down with a half-growl. "Going home next week, and school...it'll just get worse. I can't keep pretending that everything's normal...because it's not. I'm not."

"Normal?" Sam tried to force a laugh. This was an old fear, one they'd learned to joke about in the years after the accident: Whether he was ghost, or human, whether he and Vlad were some strange species of their own; in the end they'd always reassured him that it didn't really matter. "Come on Danny, un-normal is awesome. You think anybody with more than two brain cells to rub together cares about normalcy?"

He twisted to face her, frustration flickered over his face. "I'm not talking about popularity, Sam. I'm talking about...you know, living. Being a functional human being."

Sam stubbornly, desperately, refused to understand. . It was like he was saying that it was more than his hand. That the thing that got damaged was him. She wouldn't accept that idea. "So...so what? What's so great about being human anyway?"

"Not getting dissected for one thing," Danny shot at her, lunging to his feet and storming to the far side of the hideout. His footsteps clanged on the metal floor, voice pitching rough and raw. "Not looking over your shoulder for government agents, hugging your mom without your heart rate spiking like you've just jumped off a cliff, sleeping on your back without feeling like you're strapped down in—in—"

He cut off, dragging his fingers through dark, messy hair and glaring hard at the far wall. "Being able to look your friends in the eye and tell them the truth without feeling like it'll make you both crazy."

Sam's blood ran cold at the images that her imagination painted, vivid and awful, in the spaces Danny refused to fill in. "That should never have happened. Human or not. Not to you, not to anybody."

"I know it Sam, but it did happen. And this," he gestured in disgust at his still too-skinny frame, the crippled hand, the shadowed eyes that spoke of sleepless nights. "This is all that's left of me. Last year, I can't get that back. It's gone."

All because of the GIW. Them, and Maddie Fenton. Ectobiologist extraordinaire. Sam threw down the plushy and sprang up.

"Why didn't you say anything?" The question had been eating at her from the minute she'd put things together in the hospital room. How Danny could have gone all those weeks without telling his secret… and for what? For this? " Did you even try to talk to your mom? Explain before you just let her pick you apart?"

"What was I supposed to do? Just announce it right there with the GIW waiting for a reason to put me away for good?" He shuddered. "They can only catch ghosts, but people… people they'd just totally destroy. You think something like me—something as useful and unique as a human-ghost hybrid would ever see daylight again?"

"They couldn't do that to you. There's no way that'd be legal!"

"You think they care? With me already 'missing' and in a secret lab where nobody but government agents could find me? Would you take that chance?"

Sam glowered. Danny was right. The GIW had proven they weren't above illegal and unethical practices; there's no way they would have passed up such an opportunity. They could make Danny Fenton disappear just as easily as Danny Phantom, if not easier.

"She should have been able to tell it was you," she seethed. "She should have helped you."

"Mom did help me, though." Danny turned around and in two strides was standing face to face with Sam, eyes intense, searching. It was like he was begging her to understand. "Don't you get it? She got me out of there, she smuggled me past the GIW security. She saved me. Phantom. A ghost. A-and that's huge. Even after everything that she…" His eyes dimmed. "Well, that happened. I wouldn't ever have made it out of there without her help."

As if that could make up for what she did. What they'd all been through because of her. Sam glared up at him. "I can't believe you're defending her. And—and now you want to leave?! Do you have any idea what we went through?"

He stiffened, pulled back. "What you went through?"

"Yeah, Danny, in case you forgot." Sam snatched up the empty gatorade bottle and stalked to the corner, throwing it in the trash bin. The plastic rattled in the empty metal wastebasket, sending hollow echoes through the metal box of a room. "You were dead, don't you get it?"

The silence from the other end of the room told her nothing.

Her voice came out low, brittle, barely controlled. "For a whole month, Danny, they were saying you were—that you drowned or starved and all these awful things, and we knew you weren't just lost because you could have just flown home anytime." That frustrating teary blur had returned; this time it streaked mascara onto her cheeks in traitorous twin tracks. "None of the trackers were working. We couldn't find you. You were gone."

She turned and found him staring at her with an expression she couldn't place, something twisted and between anger and pain. Maybe she shouldn't be saying it, but he had to know what he was doing—to her, to all of them. She wouldn't let him ignore that part, no matter how much he wanted to. "Now you want to leave us? You'd put us through that all over again?"

"I guess it's a good thing you're used to it." Danny snapped, green fire sparking in his eyes.

Sam flinched. "That's cruel."

Danny glared at her—but it only lasted a moment, and then his anger faded out, leaving dark hollows under his eyes. "Sorry."

He shuffled over to the shelf and picked up the first aid kit that he'd left open on the floor. Shutting the lid with a snap, he crouched and shoved it back into its place on the bottom shelf. "It'll be better like this," he said, not looking at her. "For everybody, not just for me."

"That's not true."

Danny stayed crouched on the floor. His arm crept out and encircled his knees. "Did you see Mom's face when she figured it out? And Dad too...he...they couldn't handle it."

Sam stared at his bent back, refusing to bend to the hurt in his voice. "You think by up and leaving again you'll fix that?"

"No! I don't know! I just—I can't do this right now. I really, really can't. Okay? Look at me right now, Sam, I—I'm—here, feel this." Danny pushed himself to his feet and grabbed her hands.

His fingers were ice cold and clammy with sweat; she could feel shivers running through his frame, one after another, like . For half a moment she was sure his fever had come back—but then she realized what it was: fear. Just raw emotional terror. Danny, who faced monsters on a regular basis, was coming apart at the seams at the idea of going home.

Sam pulled back, speechless.

He let her, dropping his eyes to the ground. Guilt pierced her at the shame that crossed his face. "I—I know it's selfish, and maybe it won't fix anything—or make things worse, but… I can't be Danny Fenton right now." He laughed humorlessly, running a hand over his face. "I can't even be Phantom. I'm nobody. I'm just… messed up."

"Danny, you're not—"

"Don't lie." The hand dropped from his face, and that eerie calm was back, betrayed only by the slight tremor in his hands, the sheen of sweat on his forehead. "You don't have to like it, Sam, and I'm sorry. But I'm going. Whether you help me or not."

He bent to pick up the backpack, still only half-zipped.

A thrill of horror shot through her. He was leaving. Again. And she'd wasted the last ten minutes that she had with him arguing.

"You can't go!" she blurted out. "I—I mean, not yet."

He stopped. "They're already looking for me. I can't stay invisible all the way out of town; the sooner I get out of here, the better."

"I know, but… you…you don't even have a jacket!" She pointed to the bin of spare clothes. "You'll freeze at night if you don't have something. I'll find you one, so just… a few more minutes, okay?"

He sighed but nodded, sinking down on the mattress.

She rummaged through the box, glad that her back was to Danny. A flush had risen on her face and it refused to die down. It was selfish. Completely selfish.

Except it was her, not Danny.

She'd just wanted him to stay close. She'd been acting like that was all that mattered.[1] At least Tucker had done the right thing, what would help Danny, even though it had to be killing him to not be here right now.

Her fingers closed on the sleeve of a huge, shapeless hoodie. She snatched it up and held it out to Danny, not looking at him. " "Put this on. You need to be inconspicuous."

He eyed the faded but still distinctly orange garment. "And this will help...how?"

"They'll be looking for a kid with a bad arm, not some dork in oversized clothes. Trust me."

He took it from her. "I do trust you, Sam. If I didn't I'd be gone already."

Her eyes dropped to the floor. "I know that." Sam snatched up her backpack from beside the door. "I have something else for you." She plunged her hand into the bottom until her fingers closed on the thick wad of bills she'd gotten from the hospital lobby's ATM. Danny's eyes widened as she drew out the cash.

"Where'd you get all that?"

Sam looked up at him with perfect calmness. "I stole it."

Danny's jaw dropped and he stared at her wide-eyed. "You—you—you're kidding, aren't you?" His head fell back against the pillows and he actually laughed a little.

Sam played along, secretly delighted that she'd gotten that black cloud to lift just a little. She rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm kidding, Danny! My parents are filthy rich. Why would I rob a bank when I can rob them?"

"They'll find out. How much is that exactly?"

She shrugged. "It's from my pocket money account, so not that much. Eight hundred."

"Eight hundred dollars?! Sam, that's almost a thousand bucks! I can't take that much money."

Sam peeled off a couple of twenties and stuffed them in the hoodie's pocket, then shoved the rest of the money into Danny's backpack, squeezing it between the flashlight and the thermoses he'd already loaded into the main compartment. "Danny please, don't try to be honorable or embarrassed or whatever the heck it is you're trying to do. I'm your friend. Which is why I'm helping you and not dragging your skinny butt back to the hospital right now."

She took at deep breath, zipping the backpack shut. "And... I think you're right. You should go." At the very least she didn't want to think of him being in the same house with that woman anytime soon. "You need to be here because you want to be here, Danny. Not because you have to." Not because she wanted him to be.

His hand fell on hers; it was still cold, but the shaking had stopped. He squeezed her fingers. "Thanks."

Danny stood up and with a grunt of effort, hefted the backpack and slung it over his shoulder. He looked at her tiredly. "I guess this is it, then. Tell Tucker I'm sorry."

Sam flung her arms around Danny and hugged him tightly. A thin arm circled her waist, returning the pressure gently. He held on for a long time, chin resting on the top of her head. Danny had grown so much taller this year, while Sam stayed at a stubborn five foot four. He and Tuck were leaving her behind.

Not letting herself think about it too much, because her smarter half would have talked her out of it, Sam kissed him right there on the soft part of his neck. She felt him start in surprise.

Pulling away, Sam snatched up her own backpack, zipping it up with much more force than necessary and nearly ripping the worn purple fabric. "I'm heading back. They'll start to wonder where I am if I don't show up somewhere, and I don't want them to find this place."

"Sam."

It made things worse. She knew that. There was stuff between them that hadn't ever been resolved, that maybe should've been, a lot earlier. He didn't need to be dealing with that—whatever it was—on top of everything else right now... but... she just couldn't stand for it to go unsaid. Not again.

"I... care about you, Danny. A lot." That didn't nearly cover the boiling knot of emotions in her chest, but it was the closest thing that would pass her lips.

"Sam, I..."

She flinched at the exhaustion and guilt that filtered into his voice. Her fault. But she couldn't be sorry. "I know, you can't. Not right now, and that's fine." Lie.

"I'll come back."

I know you will, she wanted to say, but that would be another lie.

Maddie wandered down the steps and found herself in the lab. Familiar smells surrounded her; the familiar, sharp blend of hot solder and chemicals and ectoplasm that had been her constant companion for years. Now they made her feel nauseous. She gazed up at the portal, its acid green glow hidden behind the heavy-duty doors. It had taken them two decades to perfect the design, and five years with thousands of dollars in grants and patent earnings to build. She was familiar with every panel, every switch and wire and circuit board that had gone into its creation.

It was all strange and menacing to her now.

They had never figured it out, not really. They had just assumed that it had been a matter of a loose wire, an unturned switch, a delay In sequencing. But they had been wrong. It had taken that bridge-a literal link between life and death, a living being in the process of dying—to bridge the gap between the two dimensions. Danny had been the key to unlocking the Ghost Zone, whether he'd realized it at the time or not.

When she had first begun her research into the paranormal field, she had studied its history. And uncertain and superstitious as it had been, there was always a pattern when those old mediums had accessed the Ghost Zone. Death—immediate and directly linked to the summoning or banishment.

Animals and even humans were struck down in these ancient, arcane rituals. The act was said to bridge the gap—however instantaneously—between death and life. To open the door between dimensions. It was the shift of energy from living brain patterns to dead, ghostly ectosignatures. She'd dismissed the idea as brutal and archaic, determined to find a clean, modern, perpetual mode of access to the other dimension. She had even been proud of the fact. They were the first to do so successfully, after all.

In reality, its creation had been dependent on that very same rule of passage into death. And Danny, her baby, Danny, he had taken the brunt of that sacrifice.

Stumbling away from it, she backed into one of the many tables. A box clattered to the floor, its contents spilling across the stained concrete. They glittered in the harsh white lighting. Scalpels. Some were rusty, some stained green with age and use…but it was the bright, scrubbed-clean silver that caught her gaze and held her there.

She picked up the near-new tool almost reverently. Feeling the familiar roughness of the grip, letting the light glint off the razor fineness of its edge. It had a kind of surgical purity to it. It was unculpable in this state, a simple object in steel. The only threat in its potential. Maddie set it on the table, unable to take her eyes off it. Had Danny seen it, before she started? Would he have been so drawn and afraid at the same time?

Maddie pulled off her glove and pressed her bare hand against the steel tabletop. The smooth, brushed surface of the metal was slick and shockingly cold—so much that it raised goosebumps on her arm. She shivered. Had Danny felt this cold?

She gazed down at her own hand. It wasn't so different. Older, narrower, more feminine, with small green scars and thick calluses on the palm from hours of handling weapons.

What she had found so extraordinary about Danny's hand was quite mundane in her own. She studied the hard, carefully manicured nails, the texture of the skin, the contoured muscles delineated by the sharp lines of the tendons, the veins that pulsed ever so slightly with her heartbeat.

It was no different from Danny's hand. Only that soft glow, that faint greenish tint, had differentiated them. And yet that had been enough. Somehow, that had been more than enough to set aside any empathy she possessed.

She picked up the scalpel, and let it hover over her skin. Was it here that she'd cut him first? Or here? She flinched as the sharp blade nicked her, letting the red blood well brightly up onto the skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, and the after-image was bright green against her eyelids.

A huge bang shook the house to its foundations. Maddie jumped, and the scalpel clattered out of her hands. The upstairs shuddered as someone stomped across the living room and down the stairs.

Jack appeared in the doorway.

"Ja…" she trailed off when she saw his black expression. Jack was angry. No, he was furious. Veins stood out on his forehead, and the tendons bulged in his neck, pulsing with every breath that hissed through his clenched teeth. His brows were knitted together into one dark line.

Maddie flinched when he looked her way, but his eyes passed over her without pausing. With an inarticulate growl he overturned the table, sending dozens of wires and circuits crashing to the floor. He turned to the next one and heaved, scattering scrap metal and screws. A jar full of ectoplasm hit the concrete and shattered. Maddie watched in complete silence as her husband methodically wrecked the entire lab, ruining hundreds of dollars in equipment.

He stood in the middle of the carnage, heaving, gazing up at the portal just as she had.

His hands were twitching, and she wondered for a moment if he would try to destroy it, too. But they had worked too hard and long on it. It represented a lifetime to both of them. She knew he couldn't throw that away, even now…even now that they knew.

"Jack," she said softly.

He looked at her for the first time, and her heart sank at the hurt and confusion in his eyes. Jack looked at her almost as if she was a stranger. It was as if she'd performed her betrayal all over again.

"I don't understand, Maddie," he said. "You were studying him for weeks, with all those resources. You couldn't tell it was our Danny?"

Maddie struggled to answer steadily. It was getting hard with the lump stuck in her throat. "He was a ghost, Jack. Why would I look for anything else? How could he be alive?"

"He—he looks like him. He always has."

"It could have been a trick, an imitation." Even as she said it, it sounded so absurd—so ridiculous. That a ghost, any ghost, could copy her son so perfectly. It wasn't a theory so much as the delusion of a fevered mind… or one simply and utterly incapable of containing the horror of what the real truth implied.

"Didn't he tell you?"

"Ghosts lie." People lie. Danny lied. He'd lied to them for so long...

It was as if all the sorrows of the world rested on those broad shoulders, caving them in, buckling even Jack's strong frame. "He's always looked exactly…just like him."

"I know." Maddie stared at her feet; numb horror washed over her as she realized that her boots were splattered with ectoplasm from the broken lab equipment. She could have been standing back at the facility, fresh from removing parts of the hand… her spine crawled at the idea, bile burning in her throat.

"Mads, he's our son."

Maddie dug her fingernails into her palm. "I know."

The steps to the kitchen groaned tiredly under his feet, and she heard the door at the top of the stairs close with a gentle click.

Maddie stood alone in the half-darkened lab with broken glass at her feet.

:: Ties that Bind :: End

... tbc ...

A/N:

And thus ends the beginning. Part two will lead into parts unknown, in more ways than one.

Well, life continues to be insane, but somehow I've pulled it off more or less on time, yay! Not without a lot of help from some highly talented ladies…

Many thanks to my betas MyAibou and Anneriawings for their hard work on this chapter! Also thanks to LunarMothim for her critique and invaluable Sam ICness detection.

To my dear reviewers:

I can't tell you how awesome it is to hear how you're experiencing my story and that you're enjoying it thus far. Especially in this sequel, which is totally new territory for me as a writer. Y'all are the best. I hope I can get back to responding to you personally soon, but for now, I'll just give you my deepest thanks. :)

In Other News

Phanniemay is in full swing on Tumblr, a month-long Danny Phantom prompt challenge run by Thickerthanectoplasm. While the better ones will be prettied up and moved to FFn eventually, if you want to see 'em rough and hot off the keyboard you can check out my blog's writing tag (link at the top of my profile).

I'm also hoping to launch a new fic that I managed to draft out (finally!) during Camp Wrimo last month. It's a little action/adventure story featuring my favorite ghost and ghost hunter, titled Roughing It. Keep an eye out for it, coming sometime in the next few weeks.

-Hj